Page 72 of Torin

“I can carry one.”

“I know.”

He picks up two anyway.

I settle for my backpack.

The lodge is blissfully cool when we step inside. My eyes are still adjusting after the glare outside when a chair scrapes across the wooden floor.

Orson gets to his feet. He looks from me to the boxes in Torin’s arms. His face changes. “Tell me those aren’t hers.”

“They’re hers.”

Orson stares at him. “You saw the news?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?”

Torin puts the boxes on the counter. “Making sure Hannah has somewhere safe to stay.”

Orson looks at me again, and I wish suddenly that I could disappear.

“Her father is a sheriff, Tor.”

“I know.”

“He’s got her face on every fucking news station. He’s got cops looking for her.”

“I know.”

“And you thought bringing her here was a good idea?”

“Better than leaving her alone in that cabin.”

Orson gives a short, disbelieving laugh. “Those were the only two options?”

“For me? Yeah.”

His voice has changed.

Orson hears it too. He stares at his brother for a second, jaw working, then turns away and drags a hand over the back of his neck.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” I say.

Both of them look at me.

“I mean it. I can go somewhere else.”

“No,” Torin says. Then he turns to Orson. “I’m not leaving her on her own.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t say you should.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That maybe we should think for five fucking minutes before you move a missing woman into our house.”

Heat burns through my face.