I clench my jaw.

Spoke too soon. Not everyone in this family plays together, I guess, and someone certainly isn’t in the mood. I look up, meeting Kaleb’s eyes.

He stares at me across the table, the kitchen now silent, and if there was any doubt about whether or not that was deliberate, there isn’t now. The cold milk streams down my thighs and drips to the floor, and Jake stares down at him, breathing hard.

Noah tosses a towel into my lap and takes another, quickly wiping up the mess. Kaleb and I are still locked in a stare.

He’s all over me one minute. Can’t stand me the next. Pulls me into his lap, so I don’t get soda all over my clothes, and then turns around and douses me.

Sliding my fingers under my sweater, I hold Kaleb’s eyes as I pull down my shorts and slip them off my legs. My top hangs just below my ass, and I cock my head, watching his gaze falter as he drops it to my legs for a moment. I’m staying here. He’s not making me run. Or cry. He might not like someone new in the house—or a girl in the house—but I didn’t ask for this, either.

I sit there, showing him that he won’t make me run and hide anymore, and when he relaxes back into his chair, the tension in his muscles underneath his shirt easing, I think I finally have.

But then I watch as he slides his spoon into his bowl of oatmeal and lifts it up, facing me instead of putting it into his mouth.

“Kaleb, no.” Jake moves for him.

But he flings the tip of the utensil, the glob of oatmeal on the end launching across the table. I jerk my face to the side, squeezing my eyes shut just in time for it to land across my jaw, the warm goo splattering across my face.

“Goddammit!” Jake barks and rises, reaching for Kaleb.

But I interject, swallowing the ache in my chest. “It’s okay.”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Jake yells at him, fisting his shirt.

“It’s okay,” I say louder, letting the mess stick to my skin and not making any move to clean it.

But Noah scolds him. “Kaleb…”

Jake pulls Kaleb to his feet.

Stop!” I blurt out. “It’s okay.”

Jake darts his eyes over his shoulder to me. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s how babies communicate,” I explain.

He narrows his eyes, and I look to Kaleb, lifting my chin an inch.

“Right?” I taunt him. “They throw things, because they can’t use their words.” I pick a glob off my face and whip it into my bowl. “Did you want more? Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Kaleb?”

I pinch the fingers of each hand together and bob the tips of my right hand and left hand together. “Like this,” I instruct him. “More.”

Like babies who learn sign language to communicate before they can talk. Except Kaleb can talk. And write and sign. I used to think he just didn’t want to communicate, but no. He has no trouble communicating.

“Can you do that?” I ask him, making my voice light and sugary like I’m talking to a child. “Mooooore.”

He growls, throws his father off, and grabs the table, flipping it over. I gasp, watching the table crash to the floor on its side, everything on top spilling to the tile. Dishes break, the oatmeal in the pot splatters across the refrigerator, and Noah’s juice hits Jake’s jeans before shattering on the floor.

I can’t tell what’s happening on Jake’s or Noah’s faces, but I don’t move as I try to hide how my heart hammers in my chest.

I look up at Kaleb and almost smile, despite the fear. He’s losing his mind.

And he’s mean.

Did I just win and now he’ll stop?

Or did I make it worse and now I have to wait for him to strike again?

Before anyone moves, he’s gone. Spinning around, he walks out of the kitchen, and I hear the door open and slam shut as he leaves the house.

Unfortunately, he can’t go far, though.

Jake starts to follow him, but I call out. “Stop.”

It’s between Kaleb and me.

Jake turns, regarding me for a minute. “What the hell is going on? He’s never acted like that.”

I kind of feel a pang of pride at hearing that.

But I just shrug my shoulders and stand up, my long sweatshirt covering my underwear as I reach for the paper towels to clean myself up. “Just playing.”

Poor Noah got stuck cleaning up the kitchen, because Jake went out looking for his son only to find that Kaleb had taken the snowmobile out hunting. Good. I hope he is gone all day.

Hell, hunting can take multiple days. And since we just bagged a buck yesterday, we don’t need the meat, which means he wants to be gone as much as I want him gone.

I don’t understand him. I wanted to, but he’s like an animal. He eats. He mates. He fights. That’s it.

He can’t be jealous. He didn’t seem angry when Noah was on top of me the other night.

Noah. I drop my eyes.

And Jake.

My cheeks warm, and the guilt I’ve been pushing away creeps in again.

I’ll never not understand why it happened with Jake. Or why it could’ve happened with Noah. Something about this house—these people—lend credence every day to what I always knew I needed. Not sex. Not a guy.

Just a place. Somewhere or someone to feel like home.

And yesterday, Jake Van der Berg needed that just as much as me. I guess I feel guilty, because others won’t understand it. They’ll have opinions, but the great thing is they’ll probably never find out. Mirai’s not here. Strangers with smartphones aren’t here. TMZ’s not here.

We’re free.

I spend the rest of the morning catching up on school work and finally getting it submitted online when I can catch a signal, and then I bundle up in my coat, boots, gloves, and hat and step outside. A sprinkle of snow falls, little wet flakes hitting my face as I close the door, and I stop, tipping my face up to the cloudy sky.

I love this. The air seeps into my pores and caresses my face, making the loose hairs peeking out of my hat float and flit in the breeze. For a moment, everything is quiet, except for the sound of the snowflakes hitting the twelve inches of beautiful, untouched blanket on the deck.

Snowfall isn’t like rainfall. Rain is passion. It’s a scream. It’s my hair sticking to my face as I wrap my arms around him. It’s spontaneous, and it’s loud.

Snowfall is like a secret. It’s whispers and firelight and searching for his warmth between the sheets at two a.m. when the rest of the house is asleep.

It’s holding him tightly and loving him slowly.

I open my eyes, breathing out a puff of steam into the air and watching it dissipate.

The cordless screwdriver whirs in the shop, and I take a step, the snow packing under my feet as I head down the stairs. Noah and Jake work away behind the closed doors, and I walk past the shop, kind of wishing they’d let me go for a hike by myself.

But I get it. The wilderness is dangerous enough, and I’m a rookie in the snow.

Stepping into the stable, I walk for Shawnee, such a beautiful bay mare with a red-brown body and black legs, eyes, and a mane. Even the tips of her ear ears are black. She looks like a fox, and I can tell she’s plotting her next escape.

“Hey.” I grin and reach into my pocket, pulling out the plastic tube filled with her favorite treat. Tearing it open with my teeth, I push the frozen fruit juice up and out of the wrapping and break it off, feeding it to her with my hand. Her muzzle digs into my palm, grabbing hold of the flavored ice, and I come in closer as her head hangs over the door to her stall. I break off another piece and then another, feeding her the rest. As she chews and chews, I take off my glove and rub my hand up and down her snout and then up to her forehead.