Page 106 of Tessa and Nash

I feel heat rush up my neck, shame burning.

“You think I wanted that?” I demand. “You think I enjoyed standing there and lying because I panicked?”

“You did it anyway.”

“Yeah,” I say, breaking around the edges. “I did. Because for once I wanted them to look at me like I wasn’t a joke.”

Silence drops.

Tessa’s breathing is sharp, controlled. Her eyes are fixed on mine, trying to decide if she believes me.

And I don’t know why her belief matters so much, but it does.

“I don’t have time for this,” she says finally, turning away.

She moves to the pantry cabinet and yanks it open, because I guess food is something she can control.

There are a couple of cans. Beans, maybe. Some crackers. A bag of flour. Coffee. Thank goodness. I guess her uncle keeps it a little stocked for… whatever reason.

Tessa scans it, inventorying survival.

“We can’t stay here long,” she says, mostly to herself.

“We can stay as long as we need to,” I counter, softer. “It’s a house. It’s warm enough.”

Tessa laughs once. “It’s warm because the radiator is fighting for its life.”

“Then we help it,” I say.

She shoots me a look as if I just suggested we perform CPR on plumbing.

I move past her, checking the back door.

Snowed in there too.

Then I check the windows. The wind is pushing snow sideways, piling it fast.

“We’re not leaving today.”

Tessa’s shoulders stiffen. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes,” I say, sharper now. “I do. I grew up in Buckhorn. I know what this looks like.”

She doesn’t answer.

I watch her, the way she presses her lips together, holding in an emotion worse than anger.

Fear.

Fear of being stuck.

Fear of being forced to sit still inside a house full of family ghosts while her life unravels.

Because if we’re here, she can’t go back to town and pretend this didn’t happen.

And if we’re here, she can’t run back to her grandmother’s kitchen and anchor herself in normal.

She’s trapped with me.