I exhale shakily, trying to calm down. “Shit,” I mutter, swiping to answer. “Hi, Liz.”
“Mason, hey. Sorry to bug you,” she says. I can hear the background noise of Beachside Burgers—fryers hissing, voices shouting orders. “Peter called off sick. Any chance you could come in and cover?”
Guilt stabs through me. I rub my eyes, glancing at Hunter half-asleep beside me. “Sorry, I can’t today. I’m out of town.”
“That’s okay,” she says easily. “Worth a shot. Take care.”
“Wait—” I blurt before she can hang up. “Thank you, by the way. For having Maddie over with Bella this weekend.”
There’s a pause. Then Liz’s voice, tight with confusion: “What are you talking about? Maddie’s not with us.”
The blood drains from my face as I sit up in a panic. My stomach drops like a stone.
“She wasn’t with you last night?” I croak.
“No,” Liz replies quickly. “Wait, did she tell you she was with Bella?”
“I—I’ve gotta go,” I stammer, hanging up before she can say anything else.
The phone slips from my hand onto the sheets. My chest feels hollow, scraped raw. Heavy breaths puff through my burning lungs as I stare at the comforter numbly.
Hunter pushes himself up, shirtless, rubbing his tired eyes. “What happened?”
I can barely get the words out. “Maddie lied.”
He pauses. “What?”
“She said she was with Bella this weekend at a sleepover. She’s not.”
Hunter frowns, lips pressed together. “Maybe she just misspoke? Maybe she’s with another friend?”
I swallow hard. A terrifying thought creeps into my gut, and I feel like I might puke.
I shove off the bed, tugging a clean T-shirt over my head and stumbling into a pair of gray sweatpants. “We gotta go.”
Hunter looks at me, brows furrowed. “Wait, Mase—”
“Get dressed and pack your shit,” I snap, louder than intended.
He flinches at my voice, and the guilt slashes through me. He stares at me with wide eyes, like he doesn’t even recognize me. It makes my heart crack and splinter.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my bedhead of curls. “I just—we need to leave. I have to make sure she’s okay.”
Hunter nods slowly, though the wary look in his eyes lingers as he packs his bag. He slips into a pair of denim shorts and a yellow tank top. The beachglass pendant rests on his chest, reflecting in the early morning sunlight. He wore it all night, not even taking it off to sleep.
Sweat creeps down the back of my neck as we walk downstairs and step outside. I lock up the cabin, leaving the key in the dropbox. We climb in my truck, and the engine rumbles to life.
The gravel crunches beneath the tires as the cabin shrinks in the rearview mirror. The silence between us is suffocating—the kind that makes every exhale sound too loud.
Finally, Hunter speaks, quiet but firm. “Where are we going?”
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Stephen’s house.”
***
Three years ago, on my eighteenth birthday, Stephen sent me a card with a return address on the envelope. I was surprised to learn he still lived in the rural outskirts of Claremont Shores.
I threw the card in the trash, but not before Googling his address. A newly constructed ranch-style home. Fresh siding. Perfect lawn. While we lived in a rotting trailer with duct-taped windows and a broken refrigerator.
