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Couldn’t swallow.
I couldn’t get out the words that were almost choking me.
“Penny?”
My eyes snapped up at the sound of Marissa’s voice, and something caught my attention. Through the flames, I saw the two guys talking. The one I thought I recognized was listening to the other guy, but he wasn’t paying him any attention. His blue eyes were set firmly on me.
Eyes I’d spent days and nights dreaming of.
Eyes that had once kept the nightmares at bay.
Eyes I thought I’d never see again.
“Penny, you’re freaking me out a little over here.”
Marissa’s voice barely penetrated my internal panic. I came to Camp Chance to heal. Not to have every scar ripped open again and laid bare.
But he wasn’t some figment of my imagination. A cruel trick of the mind.
My past and present had collided in a way I could never have predicted.
I never thought I’d see Blake Weston again, but he was here, sitting across the fire.
A ghost from my past.
Looking right at me.
CHAPTERTHREE
Penny
The second themusic stopped and Troy packed away his guitar, I fled into the woods, ignoring Marissa calling after me.
For the last three songs, I’d managed to avoid looking across the fire again, but the memories I’d fought hard to forget over the last six years assaulted my mind.
Six years.
“Penny, wait up.” Marissa’s voice closed in, but I pushed harder, pain throbbing in my already tired legs with every pound of my feet on the ground.
I hadn’t planned to run; it just happened. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and flight had won out. It was a blessing because I was in no way ready to face Blake.
Not yet.
So here I was, running in the darkness through the dense woods with absolutely no idea where I was heading.
“Penny, will you just slow down for a second?” Marissa called. “We can talk. I’m here for you.”
Her words brought me to an abrupt halt, and I dropped my hands onto my thighs, trying to get a handle on my labored breathing.
I’m here for you.
No one had been there for me in a long time. I dealt with life’s curveballs on my own.
Alone.
Yes, I’d had numerous therapists over the last few years. Yes, I’d dated three guys. Yes, I had colleagues at Vrai Beauté. But I didn’t have someone to talk to, to confide in. Not the way friends talked to one another.
Now here I was, sprinting through Hocking Hills like I’d lost my mind, while a girl I’d only known a little over twenty-four hours chased after me because she cared.
