Chapter 2

NEIL

What the fuck was Penelope Skinner doing here? Neil eyed Laszlo sidelong, but his friend would not look at him.

"Laszlo," he started. Laszlo took a long swig of his cider as Daniela Mitchel leaned forward on the table, eyes blazing with curiosity. "I know you can hear me," Neil groaned.

"It's going to be good for you." Laszlo nodded, as if he were trying to convince himself. "This is what the two of you need."

"Laszlo."

"Just try for me. You can both be civil, can't you?"

Neil could try, but Penelope Skinner had never made it easy. Though he wanted to resist the urge, he couldn't stop his gaze from drifting around the corner. She leaned against the bar, head in her hands as the bartender filled her glass with whiskey. She looked… She looked like the life had been drained out of her.

Over the last few months, he'd stared at her picture for hours and rewatched the recording of their panel time and time again. He knew every shadow, every line, every facial expression. Although her physical appearance had changed, her demeanor had not.

"Well, this is juicy," Daniela drawled.

Neil ignored her, his attention focused solely on Penelope Skinner. She'd made him doubt everything . Made him doubt his success, his seat at the table. Penelope Skinner had made him doubt his own ability to write. Before the Incident, Neil had simply praised the conviction with which she held her ground. No one had ever called him out before, and then she had to do it on a panel in front of hundreds of people. Yet, in taking him down, she'd taken herself down too.

He grabbed Laszlo's arm and yanked him to the side. "Do you have any clue what she did to me, Lasz? I haven't been able to write a single fucking word in four months. Four months. "

"I know! I know and I'm sorry, but I didn't have a choice."

"What do you mean, you didn't have a choice?" Skinner hissed, rounding the corner. She held a fresh glass of whiskey, just less than a finger's worth of the amber liquid in the glass. Neil found himself suddenly distracted. He'd never taken her for a whiskey drinker.

Laszlo wouldn't meet either of their eyes, his attention turned to the floor, sandy hair a mussed mess as if he'd been running his fingers through it nervously. "It was a last-minute change," Laszlo started. "Okay," he amended, "that's also a lie."

"Laszlo," Neil ground out.

"I may have fibbed a bit! To both of you… But it was the only way."

"Why?" Skinner demanded. She set down her whiskey and pinched the bridge of her nose, her glasses fogging up. She pointed at Laszlo, her tone accusing. "Did you only invite me because he canceled?"

"Pen—"

"You did! You really chose him over me?"

"No, it's not that. I didn't think you'd want to come if he accepted, and he'd backed out last minute, so I called you. But after you bought your ticket, he called and said he'd changed his mind and wanted to come! And instead of being honest, I figured what better place to work out your problems with each other than in a castle . I haven't seen you since… and I hardly hear from you. But you said yes!" He threw up his arms and sighed. "He's my friend too, Pen. I can't be in the middle of you two forever."

"You invited her because I canceled?" Neil asked quietly.

That hurt. They'd known each other since sophomore year of college. They'd been dormmates, then friends. Neil was supposed to come first. He knew he shouldn't make Laszlo choose, but Neil should have come first.

Laszlo sighed, defeated. "Yes, okay. And after she accepted, you reached out and walked back your answer. Was I supposed to tell her she couldn't come?"

"Yes! Yes, that's exactly what you're supposed to do."

"Wow," Daniela cut in. "I feel like I'm on a reality TV show for spurned writers."

"Not helping, Dani," Laszlo admonished.

"I can't do this," Skinner said. She grabbed her whiskey and turned to go. Neil's nostrils flared as he watched her.

"How are you ever going to write again if you don't let this go?" Laszlo called. He turned to Neil, raising his voice over the pub's music. "You both need this, and you know it. You need this retreat more than you're willing to admit. What are you going to do without it, huh?" Skinner stopped, back still turned to them, and Laszlo continued, his voice softer. "You two could do so much good together in the book community if you got over this little rivalry."

"It's not a rivalry, Lasz," she said, jaw clenched as she whirled around to face them. "It ruined my career."

" Your career?" Neil laughed, taking a step toward her. "What about my career? What about what you did to me?" His hands curled into fists at his sides, and his stomach churned when she looked up at him, storm clouds brewing behind black-rimmed frames.

"To you?" Skinner slammed her whiskey on the table. The amber liquid spilled over her hand, and she shook it off, fingers curling into a fist. He followed the movement warily and thought, almost jokingly, that if anyone were to punch him, it would be her. "You have always been able to float on by without a worry. You have a solid audience. You're a man . Everything for you is that much easier."

"Easy?" He took another step forward, towering over her. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her. "I'm a Native man in a white man's world. Nothing in my life has ever been fucking easy."

"You had me fooled."

Their chests rose in time with each other, and Neil wanted to laugh. Even their breaths were in sync. They would fall together and rise together, a tide and a moon connected by some invisible string of fate, whether or not they liked it.

Though they would deny it, they were more similar than either of them would be willing to admit. Stubborn and hell-bent on hating each other, Penelope Skinner and Neil Storm were too like-minded for their own good. He needed this retreat as much as she did. Neil knew that Skinner hadn't written a book in years, not since The Lies They Told Us . Writing retreats were often a terrific way to meet hard deadlines. And he hated to admit it, but without this retreat, without something to hold him accountable for his writing, Neil was ready to give up altogether.

And from the hard set of her jaw, if he wanted this retreat, he'd have to give in first.

"A temporary truce," he ground out. God, he hated the sound of those words.

"What?"

Neil cleared his throat and stepped back. "A temporary truce. Civility in the face of foolishness." He directed the last bit at Laszlo, glaring sidelong at his blushing friend.

"You make it sound so easy," Skinner muttered.

As if to prove his point, Neil held out a hand. He would be the first, that much he could do. "You and I have both paid for our portion of the castle. We're already in Scotland. And surely the castle is big enough that we never need to see one another. We'll sequester ourselves in our respective corners and hunker down to write." He paused, searching her face. His muscles uncoiled as she scowled at him. "Tell me you don't need this as much as I do."

Because he needed this. Fuck, did he need this. Without this retreat, without this week, without the structure, Neil was going to fail. Neil Storm did not fail. He was not used to failing, and he wasn't going to start now.

She pressed her lips into a flat line, resolve flitting over her features as her eyes flicked from his hand to his face before she turned to Laszlo. "Whatever happens," she started, grasping Neil's hand in her small, warm palm, "it's your fault."

Laszlo's shoulders slumped in relief. "I deserve that."

Neil frowned at their joined hands, confusion warring in him. Her fingers lingered for a moment longer, brushing the inside of his wrist as she pulled her hand back. The touch made Neil unpleasantly warm, and he snatched his hand away with a grimace, wiping it down his jeans like that would make him forget her phantom touch.

Skinner lifted her whiskey. "To not killing each other."

He could have sworn he heard Daniela say, "Please, do."

Skinner drank the small bit of whiskey, slamming the empty glass on the table with a gasp. After nodding to Laszlo, she turned and fled.

"I'm going to regret this." Neil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I won't," Daniela called cheerfully.

Neil shot her a glare before he, too, slipped out of the pub and made his way back to his hotel, more sober than when his night had started.

The next morning, when Neil rolled up in the rental van to the bed-and-breakfast Skinner was staying in, a bitter part of him hoped she wouldn't show. He'd spent most of the night tossing and turning, dreaming of a small, angry woman who'd made him doubt his entire career. He'd hoped, when he pulled the van into park and rolled down his window, that maybe she'd decided to go home, give him the retreat. Be the bigger person.

Because he sure as hell wasn't going to be.

But of course, she was waiting for them outside.

Neil tightened his hands on the steering wheel as she glowered at him. When he swiveled to get a good look at her, he could see that a rather large part of her had hoped he wouldn't show up. Touché, Skinner, touché.

Laszlo hopped out of the car and helped load her bags, and when they were done, she climbed quietly into the back seat, her body carefully angled away from Daniela as Laszlo slid into the passenger seat and slapped a hand on the dash.

Neil jumped. "Is that necessary?"

"I hope you all don't mind," Laszlo said, ignoring him and turning to the others, "but we're going to make a pit stop first."

"Where?" Neil asked, changing the gear. The grin his question elicited from Laszlo was nothing short of terrifying.

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

Without meaning to, Neil caught Skinner's gaze in the rearview over the top of his sunglasses. Her lips were pursed, fist covering her mouth to keep from laughing. Her eyes were more blue than gray today, and they widened, her lips curling down. Something in Neil's stomach twisted when she didn't immediately look away, and he blinked in surprise, focusing on the road as he pulled away from the curb.

Neil suddenly had so many questions for the woman who'd ruined everything, but his tongue felt heavy, and his stomach was a mess of knots. Was he nervous? He tightened his hold on the steering wheel until his hands were numb. Pressing his lips into a flat line, he ground his teeth, saying nothing for the rest of the drive.

God, this fucking drive . He would never admit as much aloud, but it was setting his nerves on edge, and he didn't know how much longer he could mask it, especially in her presence. Something about Penelope Skinner had him leaning forward, wanting to lay his soul bare, and it was terrifying .

Her attendance only made the treacherous journey that much more difficult, because as much as he wanted to focus on her, he needed to concentrate on the road. These Scottish roads were excruciatingly tight. His stomach dropped as he rounded each bend, fully expecting an oncoming car barreling down the narrow road toward them. He hated being afraid more than anything, and he'd be damned if anyone knew just how terrified the drive was making him. Skinner didn't need any more fuel to use against him.

When Neil had finally lost feeling in his fingertips, Laszlo motioned for him to pull over. Neil could feel his heart thundering in his chest, the painful bud-ump working its way through his fingers as he flexed his hands. He squinted through the windshield until he saw a pullout a ways down. The van slowed to a stop, and he changed gears, putting them into park.

"Here? You want me to pull over here?" Neil blinked against the midmorning light.

"Well," Laszlo said as he slid out of the car, not quite looking at Neil, "I'm not one hundred percent on this, but I think we might be lost."

Daniela unbuckled and climbed out after Laszlo.

"Of fucking course we are," Neil muttered.

He unbuckled before opening his door and hopped out of the van. His neck and lower back popped as he reached up and stretched, his body angry from fifteen years spent hunched over books and keyboards. Yawning, he rolled back his shoulders, enjoying the brisk morning breeze that sent a fresh wave of goose bumps across his skin.

Laszlo and Daniela stumbled off to the side of the main road, both of them motioning to an empty field out beyond the trees, visible through a break in the brush.

"Where are we?" Skinner asked, leaning out of her window.

"Are you talking to me?" Neil said, jabbing his thumb into his chest.

She rolled her eyes and pushed open her door, climbing out. She unfolded to an astonishingly short height. Standing side by side, he had the strange urge to rest an arm on her head.

"Laszlo and Daniela are a bit busy," Skinner said, pointing. "So, yeah, I'm talking to you."

Indeed, they were leaning over Laszlo's phone, talking in hushed whispers. Laszlo peered back at them once, turning around just as quickly, shoulders hunched.

"I honestly don't know where we are. Laszlo was navigating." Neil shrugged. Much as he liked Laszlo, the man could be a bit oblivious. Neil sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. "Now that I think about it," he continued, "the last road trip I took with Laszlo was back in college, and it ended with us stranded at a motel in the middle of the desert with no gas. We probably shouldn't have let him navigate."

Skinner made a small sound but said nothing more. When Neil scowled at her, he found her smiling. Annoyed that he'd caught her, she scrunched up her nose and peered past him to the others. He tried not to stare at the way her braid swung down her back, exposing the expanse of her neck. Or the way one side of her sweater slipped down to reveal her shoulder and the light sprinkling of freckles across her pale skin.

Annoying as she might be, he couldn't deny that she was pretty.

And… white. She looked it, anyway. It was strange, the differences between multiracial and biracial. While her skin was pale, his was a smooth gold that only grew darker in the summer. He knew she got shit for it, for not being Native enough. No one said anything like that about Neil Storm. Despite the curly hair and the green eyes clearly inherited from his mother, he was always enough . He was enrolled. He had proof of his Nativeness, but she didn't.

There was never any nuance about these sorts of things. Getting enrolled in a tribe included paperwork, Dawes Rolls numbers, birth and death certificates, and an extensive list of living and dead family enrolled in the same tribe along with their enrollment numbers. Neil recalled the paperwork his dad did when he was younger, the dozens of times his dad was rejected before the application was finally accepted, well into Neil's teens. Neil felt a strange sense of pity for Skinner and all the crap she encountered, all because she couldn't present some card.

"Stop staring," she said. "You look like a creep."

Well, she was certainly more annoying than she was pretty. He'd focus on that.

Neil tried to calm his breathing. His vision was growing fuzzy at the edges, the beginnings of a headache drumming a beat at the back of his skull as Laszlo and Daniela wavered before him. Skinner sighed and crossed to the others, squeezing in between them before taking the phone from a confused Laszlo. She zoomed out with two fingers and glanced down the road, back the way they'd come.

"Laszlo, you took the wrong turn. It looks like we need to go back a ways before taking a right."

Neil moved behind her and peered over her shoulder, squinting at the phone. "How the hell did you figure that out?"

She motioned to the terrain view, her finger tracing along a thin trail. "Logic, which no one here seems to use."

Neil almost snorted.

Almost.

Skinner handed the phone back to Laszlo and disappeared to the front seat of the van, slamming the door shut behind her. Neil stood there, flabbergasted. Daniela rolled her eyes before climbing into the back, and with a shrug, Laszlo slid in beside her.

A week, Neil thought as he clambered into the van and buckled in. He'd agreed to spend a week with these people, trapped in a castle. The thought made him want to eject his passengers and drive back to Edinburgh alone. But he needed this, needed a week away from civilization to focus and reconnect with his story—well, his outline.

Okay, his paragraph-long summary of an idea .

Oh, god. What had he been thinking? He came on this retreat without a plan, without an outline or a map. Neil needed to draft a book, but he'd never taken the time to figure out what he'd do once they reached the castle.

He started the van and pulled out as Skinner ordered him back the way they'd come only minutes earlier.

As it turned out, Penelope Skinner had a knack for directions. She swiveled in her seat and met his stony expression with a knowing smile as he took the turn.

She was right.

He'd rather be dead before ever admitting it.