I wake up covered in a cold sweat.

Shane and I ended up having sex last night. I didn’t quite mean for it to go all the way, but I could tell it was what he wanted very badly, and I couldn’t bring myself to say no. After all, he had been deprived of this for ten years. You can’t say no to giving a glass of water to a guy who has been lost in the desert for ten years.

Okay, I realize it’s not the same thing. Still.

It was over quickly, and afterward, I felt strangely empty. Shane drifted off to sleep almost instantly, so we didn’t have a chance to talk, which was for the best. I slipped out of the guest bedroom and back into my own room, where I tossed and turned for over an hour before finally drifting off into a restless sleep.

And of course, that sleep was filled with nightmares.

It was the same nightmare I always had. I was back at the farmhouse, in the black living room with the storm raging outside. And that snowflake necklace was tightening around my neck. The bolt of thunder shook the farmhouse, and a link on the necklace snapped.

And that’s when I woke up at three in the morning, my nightshirt drenched.

I lie in bed shaking. It wasn’t so much a nightmare as it was reliving what happened that night. Tim choking me with that necklace. And then the bolt of thunder. And then…

Something else.

I heard something else just as the thunder erupted. I’m sure of it. But I can’t remember what it was. The memory claws at the outskirts of my subconscious, and I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration.

Well, if I haven’t been able to remember for ten years, I won’t remember now.

I realize that a sound had woken me up from sleep. Something from outside. There’s still a snowstorm outside, so it was hard to make out, but it almost sounds like…

A car engine. Right outside my window. And something else:

The garage door opening.

I climb out of bed, my head spinning. I navigate through the dark to the window that overlooks the front of my house. It’s pretty dark out there, with just the dim light from one street lamp, but I can tell my garage door is closed. And…

Are those tire tracks in the snow?

I squint down at the front of my garage door, trying to decide if I should go check it out. Am I losing my mind here? Why would somebody be using my car? The garage door is locked. Nobody is getting in there except from the inside. And the only other person in the house is Shane, and he doesn’t even have a valid driver’s license. Not that he isn’t capable of driving, but…

My heart is pounding too loudly to even attempt to get back to sleep right now. I shove my feet into my fuzzy slippers and creep down the hallway to the guest bedroom, where Shane was sound asleep last time I saw him. And presumably, he still is.

The door to the guest bedroom is shut. There isn’t any sign that Shane has been outside the bedroom. I press my ear against the door, and I can almost make out the sound of him breathing deeply. I don’t want to knock or burst in on him. He looked like he could use a good night’s sleep.

I’m being paranoid. Nobody was using my car. Nobody is out there.

The garage door is closed.

Of course, there’s one way to verify this for sure. I could go down to the garage and see if there’s snow on my Toyota. If there is, somebody has been driving it very recently.

Except the more I think about it, the crazier it all seems. I don’t think I heard a car engine. It must’ve been part of my dream.

I need to calm down and go back to sleep.

By the time I get out of bed in the morning, I feel truly horrible. My eyelids feel like they’re glued together, and I almost have to pry them open with my fingers. Before I even shower, I stumble down to the living room to grab a cup of coffee.

Shane is already wide awake and in the kitchen. He’s doing something at the stove while he hums to himself. I rub my eyes, watching him for a

moment until he finally notices me. “Good morning!” he says cheerfully.

“Morning.” I yawn loudly. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well.”

“I slept great.” When he turns to look at me, the dark circles under his eyes are almost gone. I feel stupid for thinking he was wandering around town in my Toyota in the middle of the night—he was clearly getting the night of sleep I wish I had. “That bed is so comfortable.”

It’s really not. But I know how awful the mattresses are at the prison. “I’m used to waking up early,” he explains. “So I made some breakfast

if that’s okay. I also brewed coffee if you want some.”

I pour a cup of coffee from the machine. Usually, I put in cream and sugar, but this time I drink it black. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

“Josh loves pancakes. Especially if you throw in a few chocolate chips.”

“Will do.”

I glance over at the pantry. “I thought we were out of pancake mix.” “I made them from scratch, actually.”

“Really?” I didn’t even entirely know you could do that. “I’m impressed.”

“My mom and I used to make pancakes every Sunday morning,” he says. “I’m making a ton of them if you want to wake Josh up and let him know.”

He says that last part somewhat shyly. He wants more time with Josh. I get it, but he can’t force this.

“After breakfast,” he says, “I’ll go out and shovel the driveway, okay?” “That would be great.” The snow stopped somewhere during the early

hours of the morning, leaving a thick blanket all over the driveway and the street outside the house. I’ve been shoveling it myself—one of the many responsibilities that fall squarely on me as the only adult in the household. It’s nice for Shane to step it up.

“And after,” he adds, “I thought we could drive out to the farmhouse.

See how bad it looks and maybe clean up a little.”

I had a mouthful of coffee in my mouth, and I almost spit it out. “Drive out to the farmhouse? Today?”

He flips a pancake, which is now golden brown. “Why not? It’s going to take a while to get it ready for me to move in there. And it’s Saturday. May as well get started.”

“Yes, but…” A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. It’s probably really dirty and maybe even dangerous. It’s been sitting empty for a long time.”

He purses his lips. “Right, and that’s why I need to check it out. It’s not going to get any cleaner just sitting there.”

My hands are trembling. I place the cup of coffee down on the kitchen table before I drop it. “I just don’t feel comfortable driving out there. After everything that happened, you know?”

He looks at me in surprise. “Really? It was eleven years ago.”

We did, in fact, just pass the eleven-year anniversary of that horrible night. “Yes, really.”

He lays down the spatula he has been using to flip the pancakes. “Well, I don’t know what I’m going to do then. I don’t have a driver’s license, so how am I supposed to get out there?”

“I…”

He frowns. “Could you at least give me a ride? You don’t have to stay or go inside. Just drop me off.”

I hesitate. “Please, Brooke?”

I feel a stab of guilt. The poor guy doesn’t even have a driver’s license, much less a vehicle. All he wants to do is go back to his childhood home so he can get it back in inhabitable conditions.

“Fine,” I say.

But even as the words are coming out of my mouth, I know I will live to regret them.