Prologue

PROLOGUE

Easton

Ten years ago

D ad’s gonna be pissed , Ella says in my thoughts.

I pace the woods behind our house. It’s one of the places I go when I want to get away.

She’s right, I know she’s right, but I’m so tired of caring. It used to matter what Dad thought, both before and after Ella died, but I’m done with that now. It doesn’t matter what I do or don’t, he’ll never be happy with me. I’ll never be the kind of son he wants.

He’ll never love me.

He never has, and he sure as shit won’t start now.

“Fuck him. I hate him,” I reply out loud.

I walk over to a log and sit down. My leg’s bouncing up and down. My heart’s slamming against my chest.

In my mind, my dead twin sits beside me. She looks how I imagine she would if she’d made it to seventeen like me—blond hair, blue eyes, just like our mother. That’s what everyone always says about us; well, about me now.

Ella looks at my hands, which are bruised from the fight I got into. I got suspended, but by this point, I should be expelled. The only reason I’m not is Dad. He intervenes on my behalf, but he doesn’t do it for me. When he gets me out of trouble, it’s for himself, because of his reputation, because he cares so much about what others think.

This time, though, it wasn’t Dad who came to the school. It was my oldest brother, Rhett. He just got home from law school —he’s following in Dad’s footsteps. I can’t help wondering when he’ll start hating me just like Dad does.

You need to stop fighting, East , Ella tells me . I’m worried about you.

“I’m fine.” But I know I’m not. I don’t know how to be fine…or if I care enough to try. I don’t sleep well. Have nightmares. I’m a mess. “I just miss you…can’t figure out how to make it stop.”

She gives me a sad smile, her eyes the same shade of blue as mine. It’s like looking in a mirror.

“East? Who are you talking to?” Rhett asks, and my pretend-Ella disappears.

The thing is, I know she wasn’t there. She hasn’t been there since we were nine years old and I killed her. Since we were playing hide-and-seek, and I gave her the idea to hide in the boat…the boat that turned over…that trapped her beneath it…where she drowned. But my head and heart are really good at making me think she is with me sometimes. I want it so much. I can’t let go of her, can’t live without her, so I do whatever I have to do to make sure we’ll always be together, even if that means creating her in my head.

“Go away,” I snap at Rhett, wanting him gone, needing him gone so I can talk to Ella again. If I do it in my head, I’ll just space out, and he’ll know something’s wrong.

“Easton, who were you talking to?” Rhett asks again, coming closer, looming over me and making me feel small. I’m not a little guy, but he’s broader than me, taller. He and Morgan—our middle brother—both have dark hair and look more like our dad.

“Nobody! Myself. Jesus Christ. Leave me alone.” I shove to my feet. “Did you come out here to tell me how big of a fuckup I am? Because I already know. I don’t need you to tell me. I don’t need you to be Dad’s fucking errand boy. Stop trying to fix me.”

I try to walk away, but Rhett grabs ahold of my wrist. “I’m not here for Dad. I was worried about you. In fact, I was thinking we don’t even have to tell Dad about this. I took care of it, so the school won’t call him.”

My heart stumbles over his words, hope trying to push its way to the surface, before I realize that Rhett isn’t doing this for me either. It’s not because he cares about me. He just doesn’t want to upset Dad. Everything is about him.

“Fuck you, Rhett.” I jerk my arm away.

“Hey. Chill out. Why are you so pissed at me? I’m trying to help you.”

I don’t answer, walk away, wishing Ella were here for me to talk to. She always loved me. She is my person. My heart.

“I’m worried about you, East. I know I’ve been gone for a while, with college and law school, but I’m back for good now. I want to fix things with us, to help you.”

My body tenses. They all think there’s something wrong with me, and there probably is. I know there is. I killed my sister, and I’ll never be able to get past that, and all I can think is if they fix me, she’ll go away. “Where’s Morgan?” I snap. If Rhett’s out here with me, Morgan must not be around.

Rhett flinches as if I’ve hurt him, but I’m not sure how I could have. The two of them have always been in some kind of Swift brothers’ club I’ve never been invited to. They’re the sons Dad cares about. And they’ve always cared more about fighting each other than about me. The only place I’ve never been an outsider was with Ella.

“I’m just trying to help,” Rhett tells me again.

“How many times do I have to say I don’t need your help?” I’m sorry. I’m broken. I’m not worth it. I don’t know how to be any other way.

Rhett sighs, looks down, shoulders suddenly looking like he’s carrying the weight of the world on them. Without another word, he turns and walks back toward the house.

El? I say, in my head this time. I talk to her this way too, but now she doesn’t reply, doesn’t come back, leaving me feeling even more alone than usual.

It’s more than an hour later when I return to the house. As soon as I step inside, I hear Dad. “He’s a loser! I’m done with that kid. I should have sent him away a long time ago. He’s a disgrace to the family name.”

With each word, I sink into myself more and more, hide anything positive or hopeful that might linger inside me, buried deep and unreachable.

“He’s hurting. Maybe we should try and get him some help,” Rhett tells him.

“Now you sound like Morgan. All about feelings and emotions. I thought you were better than that, Rhett. We all lost the same things, and none of us act like Easton. He’s been different from the start. There’s something wrong with him.”

I leave before I can hear anything else because the truth is, he’s right. They don’t even know my worst secret, yet Dad already knows I’m not worth it.

I stay out late, get drunk, and stumble onto the porch at God knows what time.

Morgan shoves out of the house, bag in hand, almost tripping over me as I lie by the stairs. The porch light is bright. There seem to be two Morgans, and both are bruised and beaten up.

“Shit, East. There you are. I was looking for you.”

“You’re leaving already?” I can’t take my eyes off his bag. Morgan hates it here as much as I do—the difference being that I would hate it everywhere and he won’t—but him leaving wasn’t supposed to happen for a few more weeks.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore. I… Rhett…”

“What about Dusty?” The two idiots are in love with each other. I’m pretty sure Dusty realizes it, but Morgan doesn’t. Or he won’t let himself because he knows loving Dusty means staying in Birchbark.

“Fuck Dusty. Fuck Rhett. I don’t give a shit about either of them. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here and never look back.”

What about me?

“Jesus, East. Are you drunk?” Morgan kneels beside me, tries to reach out and touch my face, but I pull away.

“I thought you were going?”

“What happened to you today?” He looks at my hands, which means he must not have talked to Dad or Rhett. They didn’t tell him I fucked up again.

“The same thing that happened to your face.”

He’s trying to help. Rhett was too, earlier.

El?

Let them help you, East. They love you. They’re not like him.

If they do love me, they shouldn’t.

They’re our brothers. Let them in. I don’t want you to be alone.

I’m not alone. I have you.

“East? Are you okay?” Morgan’s voice is sharp, panicked, pulling me out of my conversation with Ella. From the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he realized I was lost in myself, that I didn’t notice him talking to me. If he knew why… They would lock me away. No one would understand.

“What happened to your face?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

“Come on. Let’s get you in the house. I’ll help you into bed before I go.”

I shake my head, fold in on myself. Bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

Take me with you, take me with you, take me with you.

“Hey, East. Talk to me. What’s wrong? I know I haven’t always been the best brother. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’m here for you. I love you, and you can always come to me with anything.”

I want to, want to go to him, to Rhett, but I can’t. I don’t know how to let anyone in.

“I’m fine. Get the fuck out of here, Morg, while you still can.” At least one of us should get out, get away.

I stand and walk into the house.

“Easton!” Morgan calls after me, but I keep going, hear Rhett arrive, and the two of them start shouting at each other. I don’t hear the words, just the muffled anger, and know that they’ve disappeared into their anger, forgetting about me, like they always do.

*

Archer

Three years ago

I’ve always loved camping. We used to go a lot as a family when I was a kid. Sometimes my aunt and uncle went—we have a big, close family—but even when they didn’t, my cousin Travis would always join us. Along with Cass, he’d been my best friend, only with Travis, it had been since birth. His family had moved to Detroit when we were teenagers, but we’d stayed tight.

It had killed me when we lost him. Eighteen is too fucking young. But I like to come out here, camping, when I’m missing him because Trav loved it so much.

“Why are you so quiet, Archer Thorn?” Janice asks, looking up at me with wide doe eyes. There’s ten of us out here camping this weekend—me, Cass, friends, and friends of friends.

“I don’t really know,” I answer honestly. Maybe part of it is thinking about my cousin. It’s been fifteen years since he passed, and I still miss him.

“Well, if you need anyone to put you in a better mood, I’m available, is all I’m saying.” She gives me a flirty wink. I’ve always been turned on by people who go for what they want, and Janice is a beautiful woman, but for a reason I can’t really explain, I’m not in the mood tonight. There’s something restless inside me that’s not a real familiar feeling. I get it occasionally, usually when something ends up being wrong, but I’ve discreetly checked in with my family already, and everything seems fine there. But I can’t shake it tonight, which is keeping me from enjoying myself.

“Maybe another time.” I give her a smile.

“And it might just be too late by then,” she tosses back, earning a chuckle from me and almost making me change my mind. No-strings-attached sex would feel a whole lot better than the prickling feeling on the back of my neck, but ultimately, I still turn her down.

I try and have fun with everyone else. Cass’s daughter, Meadow, is with family tonight, and my broad-shouldered, ginger best friend is currently surrounded by people listening to him tell a story.

Everyone likes Tripp Cassidy. He’s a good man with a big heart and a firm sense of right and wrong. He’s the best kind of person to have in your corner because no one will have your back like Cass, but if you hurt someone he cares about…let’s just say you don’t want to be on his bad side.

I drink half a beer as night falls, everyone eating and laughing around the fire. When I can’t seem to stay still, I grab a flashlight and make my way over to Cass. “Hey, I’m gonna go for a walk.”

He frowns. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, just feeling restless.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cass says, but I shake my head. He’s enjoying himself, letting loose and having a night out. I don’t want to ruin it for him.

“Nah, I’m good. I won’t be long.” He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t like it very much. Cass is protective as shit, we both are—something else we have in common. “I have my phone on me. I’m not gonna get lost, Dad ,” I tease. I know these woods too well for that anyway.

I sneak away from the group and down a trail through the trees. I’m not sure how far I walk, but it’s a pretty good distance away. I can’t hear my friends or see the light from their campsite. As I continue, I hear a voice in the distance…then something that sounds like crying.

My heartbeat picks up, my feet automatically moving faster. I’m not armed, since I’m not on duty, but I don’t let that stop me as I hurry toward the sound. My foot catches on something, but I keep going, the voice getting louder. It sounds like a man, the voice deep, but painfully broken, the anguish cutting into me like a knife.

There’s a light up ahead, a small fire, and as I approach, I see him.

Easton Swift.

He’s younger than me. I’m closer to his brothers’ ages, though I don’t know either of them well. I saw Morgan more when we were younger, but he moved. I’ve had more contact with Rhett in recent years, since I’m a patrol officer and he’s a lawyer. Still, everyone knows the Swifts, and the tattooed, blond man leaning his forehead against a tree stands out as the outsider, the troublemaker, in an otherwise seemingly perfect family.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I don’t move toward him, staying tucked away. This is a personal moment. I don’t want to invade his privacy, but on the other hand, I can’t leave him. There’s something so…lost about him.

“I can be sorry,” he says, which makes me frown. “It was my fault…I miss you so much.” His voice cracks, and he wilts to the ground, as if his knees have given in. Whom is he talking to? There’s no one around but me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeats over and over, and begins to wail. His fist pulls back, and Easton punches the tree.

My adrenaline spikes, body nothing but reaction as I lunge at him, wrapping my arms around him just as he’s about to punch the tree again.

Easton seems to be responding on instinct, bucking and kicking, trying to fight his way out of my hold.

“It’s me…Officer Thorn…Archer Thorn. I’m not going to hurt you.” I try to speak calmly, but I hear the panic in my voice. My heart is beating out of my chest, body tight as I try to keep hold of Easton.

“Get the fuck off me.” His elbow snaps back, landing in my gut.

“Fuck,” I grit out. That hurt. “If you calm down, I will. I’m not going to let you go if I’m not sure you won’t hurt yourself.”

We’re kicking up dirt beneath us, wrestling around, each trying to get the better of the other.

“I was hitting a goddamned tree. Who gives a shit about that?” He elbows me again, and I almost let go of him.

“Me,” I reply, and I don’t know what it is about that one simple, easy word, but Easton Swift goes still in my arms, stops fighting me, but I don’t let go right away. We’re both breathing heavily, me having worked my way on top of him. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and his eyes are red from a mixture of being drunk and crying.

“You don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Yes,” I reply. “I do.”

“You don’t even know me.” This time when he pushes me away, I let him. We collapse onto the ground, both of us on our backs, looking up at the starry sky.

He’s not wrong. Still… “That doesn’t mean I can’t care.” That’s not how I’m built. I’ve seen him around town since he was a kid. I remember when his sister died. My mom was the EMT that day. She came home and spent the whole night crying, talking about the Swifts and all they’d lost. About the little boy who’d tried to cling to her but didn’t speak. Just fought to be close to his sister to the point where they’d had to take him along.

Easton.

“My cousin,” I finally say.

“What?” he snaps, sounding full of anger but also exhaustion.

“I know it’s not the same, and I’m not trying to pretend I understand your loss. Your story is your own, and you’re the only one who knows how to live it, but I lost someone I loved too. He was my cousin and best friend.”

Easton doesn’t reply for what feels like an eternity. I wish I knew what he was thinking, what to say, what to do. He should have someone who loves him here with him tonight, someone who knows him better than I do, but since that’s not the case, I won’t walk away.

It has to be a good five minutes of silence between us before Easton asks, “How did he die?”

Guilt wells up in me. If there was any way not to tell him, I wouldn’t, but Easton needs to feel less alone, to focus on someone else’s pain rather than his own, and I don’t have it in me to walk away when someone is hurting like that.

“He was getting into trouble, and I didn’t know. Had fallen in with the wrong crowd. He’d started to pull away from me, and I didn’t try hard enough to figure out what was going on with him. I was eighteen and graduating from high school. I was too busy with girls and my own life.”

My eyes sting, and I brush them with the back of my hand before sitting up. I don’t move away from him, still in the middle of the dirt, while Easton rolls onto his side, looking at me.

“He called me…the night he died. I didn’t answer. Not on purpose. I was just doing my own thing, ya know? I saw the voicemail but didn’t listen until the next morning.” I pause, rub the ache in my chest, fight to push the words out for this man who is both a stranger and not. “He was so scared…said he was in a bad situation and wanted me to come get him, to help him out of it.” I swipe at the stray tear. “I called him back, frantic, afraid, but he didn’t answer. We found out later that day that the guys he was hanging around with had a beef with some other guys. They were going to rough them up, break into their place. Trav was scared…and when he tried to back down, they took him as the enemy too. He didn’t make it out alive.”

Easton is quiet for so long, I’m not sure if he even heard me speak, if he cares about what I said. Hell, maybe he fell asleep or passed out or fuck, I don’t know…

“It’s not your fault,” he says softly, without looking at me. He’s curled in a ball on the ground like a child, and I’m not sure my heart has ever gone out to someone more.

“It’s not yours either,” I reply, then hold my breath, waiting for the anger or some kind of explosion. Instead, it’s loud, aching sobs that break free.

“Hey…shh. You’re okay. I’m here.”

I touch him, and he doesn’t fight me, doesn’t yell or scream. He’s just crying, lost in himself, too tired to struggle.

I pull him closer, but he’s like deadweight. The best I can do is position him so his head is in my lap, my jeans getting wet from tears and snot, but I don’t care. I just sit with him, stroke his head, run my fingers through his hair. Tell him he’s not alone, that I’m right here. That I’m not going anywhere.

Easton Swift falls asleep crying, with his head in my lap. It’s a struggle, but I manage to work my cell out of my pocket without waking him.

Me: Hey…just wanted to let you know I won’t be back at the campsite tonight.

Cass: What do you mean you won’t be back? Is everything all right?

Me: Yeah, it’s fine. I ran into a friend. I can’t really say. It’s personal, but I’m good. I need you to trust me.

Cass: I don’t like this, but I trust you. You let me know if you need anything, okay?

Me: Thanks, Cass.

I set the phone down, touch his hair, see the hard set of his mouth, even in his sleep. Easton’s restless all night, whimpering, whispering, and apologizing to someone who isn’t there.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask quietly, brushing my fingertips against his temple. I’ve never been so curious about someone in my whole life, never wanted to find whatever it is that plagued them, and help fix it, the way I do right now.

I sit there, legs cramping, uncomfortable, but I’m watching him all damn night.

As the sun is rising, my eyes flutter closed, and I feel him tense, immediately sitting up and scrambling away from me, on his ass and using his hands and legs to do it.

“It’s me. Archer Thorn. You fell asleep last night. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Stay the fuck away from me.” Easton shoves to his feet, so I stand too.

“Well, that’s not what a guy hopes to hear after spending the night with someone.”

I mean it as a joke, hoping to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t laugh. He just…cocks his head, studies me, and somehow, I know the night is coming back to him: how I found him, what I said to him, how I held him.

“This is between us, Easton. I won’t be spreading your business around. I was thinking maybe we could go back to town together…get some breakfast.”

“I’m not your charity case.” He goes to his tent and begins shoving his things into a bag.

“I know that. It’s not what I’m doing.” But in some ways, it kinda is. Not in a bad way, but he’s right.

“Leave me alone. Stay away from me.” He grabs his bag, leaves his tent, and walks away.

I’m not sure if it’s the best decision, but I don’t go after him. Instead, I pack up the rest of his things, make sure the fire is out, and head back to camp.

When we get back home, it takes me no time at all to realize that last night was the anniversary of Ella’s drowning. That’s why Easton was out there alone. Where the fuck was his family? Why weren’t they with him or making sure he was okay?

The next day I drop his stuff off on the porch of his house…and a few months later, when we get a call that Easton is drunk and throwing a fit at a bar, I head down to get him. I’m the second officer on scene. He’s out of control, but for whatever reason, he calms down when I arrive.

“I got it from here. I’ll take him home to sleep it off,” I tell the other officer.

“You sure that’s a good idea, Thorn?”

“It’s all good. I got him.”

Easton doesn’t argue, lets me lead him to my patrol vehicle, lets me take him home.

The second time it happens, he’s not drunk, but he’s always getting into trouble for one thing or another—fighting, disorderly conduct. Still, he goes with me when he won’t go with anyone else. When we arrive at his place, I get out and open the back door for him.

“Why don’t you arrest me?”

“Do you want me to arrest you?”

“Do you want to fuck me? Is that what this is?”

“Jesus, Easton.” I run a hand through my hair, unsure how to respond. I’m bi, but not many people know that. I have no idea if he’s queer or not, but sex has nothing to do with this. He’s a beautiful man, but… “I’m not trying to get into your pants.”

“Mr. Fucking Perfect,” he says, then slams the door and heads to his house.

We keep going like that all year. We don’t talk, not really, but he always asks me why I’m there, why I give a fuck, and the truth is, I don’t have the answer to that yet.

There are times I’m not on shift, but it’s gotten so…routine, that when he’s at the bar, they’ll just call me instead of the department, otherwise he’d get arrested.

And I always go.

I don’t know why other than I feel like something happened between us that night. I saw him broken down in a way I’m not sure anyone else has…and he let me in. I don’t ever want him to be in a situation where he’s that low and he’s alone.

On the next anniversary of Ella’s death, I go back to the campsite, and Easton is there.

I let him cry, yell, whatever he needs, and when he wears himself down, he lets me hold him until he falls asleep.

The whole next year is more of the same. I’m the friend he won’t allow himself to believe he has, the person he finds a way to go to, though neither of us understands it. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person Easton Swift has, and we hardly even have real conversations.

And I know he’s always waiting for that moment where I give up on him, where I don’t show up when he needs me, because he doesn’t believe he’s worth it.

But that moment won’t come—somehow, I know he is worth it.