What did I do? Like he actually cares.

Everything I felt a moment ago with Jake is gone. I straighten, ready to shove his son off me, but before I have a chance, Kaleb grabs me.

Taking me by the arms, he backs me up into my room and pushes me down on the bed, pinning me there.

“Get off,” I growl, fighting his arms, but he’s quick to keep hold.

He rears up a little, and I barely have a moment for realization to dawn before I turn away and squeeze my eyes shut, his spit landing in my hair.

Tears immediately spring to my eyes, and my chest swells with a cry.

He grabs something off my nightstand, and when he drags it across my forehead, I realize it’s my marker.

He quickly climbs off me, tosses the Sharpie, and I lie there, too stunned to move for a moment.

I don’t have to look in the mirror to know what he wrote.

He leaves the room, his footfalls heavy on the stairs to the attic, and when I hear his door slam shut, I finally sit up.

Tears hang in my eyes, but I’m not crying anymore.

I stare off, angry and feeling dirty all of a sudden.

But after a moment, the shame turns to more rage, and I almost smile.

He’s pissed.

I’m almost amused.

He’s had at least three women in his room since I’ve been here, not counting Cici in the barn that day. But I’m the slut who gets spat on. Would I have still been one if I’d let him and Noah share me that night last week?

His fucking spit weighs in my hair, and it’s all I feel. The anger building in my lungs with every breath is almost enough to drown out the ache.

Ours, Jake had said. All ours.

But in the quiet of my room, the dull thrum of Kaleb’s music vibrating overhead, I shake my head.

“Yours,” I murmur. “Not his.”

“No laptops at the table,” Jake says at breakfast.

He picks up my computer, and I grab my notebook and pencil off it just in time so it won’t tumble to the floor. “This assignment is due.” I argue. “I’ve been trying to send it for an hour now, but the Internet keeps going out.”

“They’ll understand.” He closes the top and sets it on the counter. “Try again later.”

I frown, but I toss my notebook and pen on the counter with the computer, giving in. I was on a roll. I’ve never had trouble being motivated for homework until now. You wouldn’t think a remote little place tucked away in secluded little Chapel Peak, Colorado, would provide so many distractions, but I constantly want to be doing a million other things.

Petting the animals.

Making treats for the animals.

Playing with the animals.

I glance at Jake as he doles out oatmeal into my bowl. Tucked away somewhere quiet with one animal in particular.

He must sense me watching, because he shoots his eyes over, meeting mine as he pours heaping scoops into the boys’ bowls. I spot the slight curl of a smile, because he knows exactly what I’m thinking, but he quickly hides it again as he drops the ladle back into the pot.

I tuck my grin between my teeth, picking up my spoon.

Both boys walk in, Noah shivering as he slips off his coat and sits down at the table, while Kaleb heads to the sink, washing his hands. I look out the window.

There’s no glow of the sun that’s usually hitting the deck by now, and I can’t smell the barn on their clothes—the hay and the animals—that’s usually so pungent. It’s too cold.

“How many inches are we expecting tonight?” I ask, knowing without looking at the weather that it’s going to snow.

Noah lets out a chuckle as if I just told a joke, and Jake stops dead, cocking his head, and throwing him a look.

And then it occurs to me. Inches. I roll my eyes and sprinkle some brown sugar on my oatmeal. Idiot.

He looks at his father, holding up his hands in defense. “I would’ve made that joke no matter what.”

Kaleb pulls out the chair across from me and starts to eat, and I watch him for a moment, almost hoping he meets my eyes. My forehead still stings from all the scrubbing it took to get that Sharpie off.

But he doesn’t look. Again, I’m not even here.

I drop my gaze and stick a spoonful in my mouth. I should tell Jake what happened last night after I left his room, but that wouldn’t hurt Kaleb. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and Jake can’t control him. The most annoying thing I can do to Kaleb is to keep doing exactly what I’ve been doing.

I stick another bite in my mouth and look back down at my copy of Beloved, turning the page.

“Have you ever seen snow before?” I hear Noah ask. “Oh, never mind. My mistake. You’re totally a Swiss Alps girl.”

“French, thank you,” I say without looking up from my book.

I take a bite, remembering the last time I skied. Another activity I could do alone, so I loved it. Winter and snow don’t suck if you’re having fun in it.

I look up again. “Yes, I’ve seen it,” I tell Noah, joking aside. “I haven’t played in it much, though. Or driven in it or lived in it. But I have seen The Shining, and I do know what happens to people cooped up at a remote location through a long winter in Colorado. It can be quite deadly.”

He chuckles, and I look back down at my food, but catch Kaleb’s eyes and stop for a moment. He watches me, his body still and his hot, green eyes hard on me.

I clear my throat.

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Noah jabs me in the ribs, teasing.

I squirm away in my seat. “Stop it.”

“All play and no work means I got a new toy,” he sing-songs and slides his chair over to mine, tickling me harder.

“Noah, stop!” I protest, but I giggle anyway as I squirm in his arms.

I’ve never been tickled before coming here, and I don’t like it.

But I can’t stop laughing.

I shake my head and kick him under the table, the silverware clanking. I’m dying to hit him, but I’m too busy trying to twist away from his fingers as I tear up through the laughter.

“Hands off,” I hear Jake chide. “Now.”

But Noah doesn’t listen.

He brings his hand up under my neck, and I go to bite it, but he pulls it away. I jab him back, tickling him, too, and we push back our chairs, the legs scaping against the tile as I start to fight back.

When I was little, my parents’ friends had a daughter who invited me to her birthday sleepover—because of who my parents were and not because we were friends—

but I remember seeing the dad wrestling with his toddler on the floor that night. They laughed and played, rolled around and he let the little boy tickle him back. It was such a weird thing to see. Families who played together.

I dart out for his glass, ready to threaten him with a little shower, but before I can take it, Kaleb shoves his bowl, hitting the pot in the middle of the table.

It slams into my cup of milk, making my drink topple over, hit the table, and spill across the top. I can’t make it out of the way before it spills over the side and right into my lap.

I shove my chair back, my bare thighs and sleep shorts already soaked as I dart my eyes up to Kaleb.

“Shit,” Noah mumbles, and I see him get up, hopefully to grab a dish towel as Jake shoots his eyes over to Kaleb.