Slut. Why can’t I fucking leave? It’s time to go in. I’ve been here too long. That fucking slut. That stupid slut.

Go in. Deeper into the mountains, he means. It’s where he runs when everything hurts.

Tiernan… another book reads. But that’s it. Just my name.

I flip to the back and take a breath, seeing more.

They’re such deep sleepers, they don’t hear you at night. Just me. When I touched your face, you quieted. When I tried to leave, the nightmare started again. So I stayed. I come in every night. You tuck your cold feet between my legs, and I hug you to me, resting my hand on your back and feeling your body calm as it nestles into me. Do I make you feel safe? I like taking care of you.

I stare at the text. How did I not know that? How long was he coming in? Even when we fought?

I know you’re scared of me, and I know it’s my fault. Cici trying to slap me in the cave that day, because I didn’t want her, and instead, falling into my shoulder and bloodying her own damn nose ended up being the least of your worries. I did horrible things to you all on my own. I hate that I never did anything to get you to love me. You’ll never love me.

I clench my teeth, struggling to see past the tears.

You make me shake. My hands shook at the tree with you today, and I don’t understand what it is or why it’s happening. I just feel it. I never want you to walk too far away from me.

The tree. In December when we cut branches for the decorations. He wrote this after we made love in the barn.

You scare me. I scare you. Don’t let me hurt you anymore. Why can’t I stop wanting to hurt you? Just fuck them, okay? Keep fucking them, so I won’t want you so damn much. I’m a mess, because wanting you feels good, and I don’t know what to do when things feel good. Everything is a mess, and I’ll make a mess of all of it, but…

I’m going to miss you.

I’ll miss you.

I exhale what little air I’m holding.

He’s killing me.

All this time I pushed it away, trying to survive and act like I could win, but he’s right. It’s a mess, and we’re a mess, but I always knew that if he walked through the door and said anything to me—or communicated in any way—I’d melt. All I’ve ever wanted was one glimpse into his head.

I stand back, taking in the shelves and the dozens of books still waiting for me. Not once, so far, has he mentioned his mother.

He doesn’t care.

The pages are filled with what he loves.

I’m not leaving Jake here alone. I’m not leaving without Kaleb and me having it out. I’m not taking Noah without them saying goodbye.

I want him home.

I don’t know how much time I spend looking through more books and rereading parts I loved, but the house is dark and silent when I finally leave his room and come down the stairs. I missed the movie, but it’s okay. I’m glad Jake is asleep.

I slip into Noah’s room, hearing the faint sound of his music, and walk over to his bed, jostling him awake.

“What?” he groans and turns over, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

I lean down. “Let’s go get Kaleb.”

Tiernan

“It’s eighteen degrees,” I tell Noah, exhaling inside my jacket to soak up the warmth. I look up at the overcast sky. “Those clouds are less than six-thousand feet. We’ve gotta move.”

Snow swirls in the wind around us, but it’s only the beginning. A storm is coming.

I slip on my goggles and tighten the hood of my coat, following him through the snow in my boots and waterproof pants as he heads north.

After I got him out of bed last night, we loaded up the snowmobiles, packed on our gear, and headed out while the weather was still good. Once the sun rose, the chill was bearable, but now the clouds are rolling in, and I fucking misjudged that the storm wouldn’t turn.

It did.

Jake will be pissed. I left him a note on the table, letting him know we were heading deeper into the woods to the fishing cabin. Of course, there’s no guarantee Kaleb is there, but it’s the likeliest choice. I don’t care if Jake follows us. I only refrained from waking him, because I knew he’d stop us.

Noah pulls to a stop ahead of me, the flakes growing thicker as they whip across our faces.

He looks at the map, removing his goggles and wiping his eyes.

“I thought you knew the way,” I tell him, stopping at his side.

“Just gimme a break.” He turns the map around and searches the terrain. “I’ve been up here five times in my life, all before the age of twelve. Kaleb and Dad like it up here, not me.”

“Great.” I shake my head.

Taking the laminated document from him, I scan Jake’s sketch. He mapped the area years ago, marking his own landmarks—ponds, streams, caves. Things that were recognizable to him.

To me, it’s Chinese, though. The mountains and trees on the map all look the same as I scan the area around us.

I shove it back at Noah, letting out a hard sigh. Don’t we have GPS thingies now? Something that taps into a satellite? I curl my toes in my boots, my legs shaking a little. I take a step, sinking knee deep into the snow as I do a three-sixty and look around me.

The tree boughs sparkle in white, bunches of pine cones hanging from the branches, and I spot a narrow ravine to the left. I pull out my water bottle from my pack, both of us loaded down with everything we could carry when we finally had to abandon the snow mobiles due to the terrain. We’ve been on foot since eight this morning, our rifles strapped to our bags.

I look up at the clouds again, unable to even locate the sun. It must be around two in the afternoon, though.

“Kaleb said it was ‘in the valley’,” I tell Noah. “‘Where the river creeps and the wind rushes.’”

“Kaleb said?”

I glance at him, mumbling, “I found a journal. Of sorts.”

He stares at me for a moment, but then fixes his gaze out on the horizon of the lonely white forest.

“Valley with a river...” he murmurs to himself.

Studying the map again, he chews his chapped lip, looking confused. “I have no idea,” he blurts out. “I don’t see that here. Did he say anything else?”

“Surrounded by the creaks?” I tell him, unsure if I read that correctly in the book. “Not a creek. Creaks. Like the sound.”

Noah straightens, staring off as the wheels turn in his head. I move in front of him, giving my back to the wind.

Fuck, it’s cold.

“What?” I ask him.

He blinks. “It was like a flue,” he says. “Like a chimney flue. The glen was small, enclosed by rock walls and trees. When the wind would blow in, it would rush through and out, sounding like a chimney flue.”

He lifts his chin, his shoulders relaxing as he exhales. Thunder cracks overhead, and I glance to the sky, hugging myself.

“And the snow from the peak would melt and come down in a waterfall that we couldn’t see beyond the walls of the glen, but the flow forked into two streams,” he finally remembers. “One feeds where we fish. The other…” He meets my eyes. “I know where he is.”