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Our bodies moved together in such perfect harmony it felt almost spiritual, until we were both swept away in a tidal wave of rapture so thrilling it threatened to shatter us into a million pieces.
We collapsed into each other, our ragged breathing slowly easing to a steady rhythm. As I ran my hands lazily over her body, I whispered something in her ear.
“No matter what happens, I want you to know I’ll always be here for you, Clover,” I said. “I’ll always protect you.”
Suddenly, I noticed her hand rise, swiping at her eye in a quick, almost imperceptible motion. A tear.
“Clover?” I asked, the concern evident in my voice.
But she just rolled over, her back to me, her shoulders hunched in a defensive posture. My hand reached out, hovering just above her, unsure if I should offer comfort or respect her need for space.
“Clover,” I said again, but this time she didn’t respond.
The silence that ensued was deafening. It filled the room, pushing against the walls, seeming to close in around me. Suddenly, the room felt smaller, colder. I could still feel her, her warmth seeping into my skin, but the connection felt distant, like it was slipping through my fingers.
Something was wrong. The realization hit me hard, churning my stomach. I could tell from her silence, from her unusual response, that something was deeply, deeply wrong. But what? And more importantly, what could I do to fix it?
As these thoughts whirled through my mind, I stared at the back of her head, the dim light casting a soft glow on her hair. I wanted to reach out, to comfort her, to reassure her. But I was frozen, trapped in my own uncertainty and worry.
“Clover . . . ,” I whispered one last time, but the silence remained. And with it, a sinking feeling of dread.
CLOVER
When I woke up, the house was quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil that filled my mind. I sat up, my heart hammering in my chest. The sheets were cool next to me, the emptiness mimicking the hollow feeling in my stomach.
I looked around the room, my heart aching as I took in the familiar sights. The morning light streamed in through the windows, casting a warm glow over everything. It was comforting, normal, everything my life was not. The walls felt like they were closing in on me, the space too confined to contain the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
Avery. I needed to call Avery.
Scrambling out of bed, I grabbed my phone, my hands shaking as I dialed Avery’s number. She had spent the night at a friend’s house, a last-minute sleepover that had been a welcome distraction from everything that was going on. But now, it felt like a blessing, a small reprieve from the storm that was about to hit.
“Avery,” I whispered into the phone when she picked up, my voice hoarse from the knot in my throat. “You need to go to Laura’s house. I’ll meet you there.”
“What?” she sputtered, clearly confused. “Clover, what’s going on?”
“I can’t explain right now,” I rushed, my words tumbling over each other in my haste. “Just promise me you’ll go. We have to leave today.”
“But—”
“Just do it, Avery,” I cut her off, my voice pleading. “Please.”
There was a pause, then a quiet sigh. “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll go. But Clover . . . what’s going on?”
“Hank knows,” I admitted, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “He knows everything.”
The line went quiet. And then, “Okay, Clover. I’ll go.”
I hung up, my heart pounding in my ears. This was it. The beginning of the end.
I quickly typed a text to Mr. O’Riley, our friendly neighbor and a horse lover, telling him he could have our horses for free. “Please take good care of them,” I added before hitting send.
Heart pounding, I dashed to my closet. I yanked out the emergency backpack Avery and I had packed when we first realized we might need to run. It was a mishmash of essentials—clothes, money, toiletries. We’d briefly planned for this day, but now that it was here, it felt surreal, like I was living in a bad dream.
Time was slipping through my fingers like sand. I needed to move, and fast. But I didn’t have a car. I observed my old bicycle leaning against the side of the house. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.
I grabbed a few more things, stuffing them into the backpack. A photo of dad. Avery’s favorite book. Things that couldn’t be replaced.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. I glanced one last time at the home that had been my safe haven for so long, the walls that had heard my laughter and seen my tears, the house that was about to become just a memory.
