“Only me,” Owen says. There’s a red lump under one of his eyes and he’s holding the outside of his shoulder with his palm.
Sienna wraps her arms around his neck. “Are you okay?”
Owen nods through a wince. “Didn’t see that coming,” he says. Sienna feels her heart aching for him, not just because he’s hurt, but because he looks so disappointed, and even a little bit embarrassed. He’d wanted to show her a good time, she knows. This hadn’t been part of the plan.
She hugs him close and follows Maggie back toward the tents, where a smaller, more civilized group has regathered. They’ve started a campfire and Sienna helps Owen down to a spot on the soft, cool sand, as a couple of girls pass out the fixings for s’mores.
“Our hero,” Maggie says, giving his shoulder a light squeeze.
Ted looks up from his guitar. “Let me guess,” he says. “O-Man to the rescue again.”
The group laughs and Owen blushes. Sienna inches closer to him, careful not to jostle his wounded arm.
“Hey, remember when my brother brought those douche bags over to work on his house?” Maggie grabs a long stick from a pile and pierces it through the top of a marshmallow. “And they tried to take off with all his money, before the job was done?”
Jeremy laughs. “Owen let them get halfway up the ramp to the boat before he tapped the big one on the shoulder,” he says. “Excuse me, sir,” he mocks.
Owen buries his face in his hands.
“Who did you say you were?” Jeremy asks.
Maggie leaps forward, excitedly. “He said he was the family attorney! I have no idea how it worked, that guy could’ve wrecked you with one hand behind his back. But they got all spooked, and sure enough, they were back to work that afternoon.”
Sienna leans into Owen’s side. He looks at her and rolls his eyes, but she can tell he’s loving the attention. “You don’t mess with the Tribe,” he says, and shrugs.
Ted plays a few loud chords on his guitar and everybody toasts, holding up their drinks to the fire. Sienna smiles, but inside her is an uneasy shift. She hasn’t heard much about what Owen’s life was like before, back when they all were just regular kids, before they were busy building boats and waiting for the asteroid. She knows it’s ridiculous, but a part of her is almost disappointed. She had started to let herself think that she and Owen had met when they had, the way that they had, for a reason, and that nothing before that moment would ever matter again. They could both start over, and be nobody to anyone, except each other.
But here was a whole group of people who mattered to Owen, people who had their own stories about who he was. And none of them knew a thing about her. She could have been anyone. So what if she was the first girl he’d brought home, as Maggie had said. They were his home. Not her.
Sienna untangles her arm from Owen’s elbow and wraps it around her knees. She thinks about Ryan, alone in his room. She thinks of Dad, of everything she’s put him through. There’s a dull throbbing in her heart and she has to clench her teeth to keep from crying. Shouldn’t she be with the people who truly know her?
Ted strums a few more bars of a song before ending with a dramatic flourish. Everyone claps and cheers, and before she knows it, Owen is reaching across her lap for the guitar.
“Uh-oh,” Maggie says, cracking open a new beer. “Is it that time already?”
“Time for what?” Sienna asks.
Owen spends a few moments carefully arranging his injured shoulder while tuning the guitar with one hand. Maggie laughs. “Owen has a secret singer-songwriter fantasy,” she says as Owen reaches out a foot and playfully kicks her in the ankle. “He thinks he’s got this Bob Dylan thing going on, that nobody knows about. Except when we’re all together and he starts to serenade us for no reason…”
The group laughs and Owen interrupts them with a sudden strum.
“I am not serenading anybody tonight,” he says, his face serious, his eyes unblinking and calm. “It’s just something I wrote a few days ago, but if nobody wants to hear it…” Owen looks around.
“Oh, just do it already, we don’t have all night,” Ted says, tossing a marshmallow at Owen’s face. “Actually,” he reconsiders. “We do.”
Owen laughs and slowly starts playing, a simple melody floating up around them. He closes his eyes, in mock serenity, and Sienna forces a smile. She tries to ignore the unsettling feelings, the new uncertainty in the pit of her belly, and focuses instead on Owen’s hands, his fingers swift and steady on the strings. When he starts to sing, his voice is clear and unadorned, the kind of voice that makes you lean toward it to hear more.
“I met a girl, at the end of the world,
You’d probably think I was lying.
I knew her before, when we were both four.
Four rhymes with ’fore, you should try it.”
There are a few throaty chuckles around them, but Sienna can feel a shift in the group, as everyone turns to her. Her heart is pounding and she feels the tips of her ears start to burn.
“I’ve heard people say, don’t get carried away.
No need to take it so fast, boy.
But who cares about time, when the planets align,
Or maybe … you, me, and the asteroid.”
At this, the group erupts, holding up their drinks and cheering. Sienna feels her pulse settling down, and a smile springs to her lips.
“It’s a love story and it ends with a bang
A big one, but that’s how they all go.
I met a girl, at the end of the world,
Sienna, can I see you tomorrow?”
The last chords ring heavily around them, quickly drowning in heartfelt applause. Still seated, Owen takes a quick and modest bow before passing the guitar back to Ted. Maggie gives Owen’s good shoulder a gentle shove.
“You big softie,” she teases. “That sure sounded serenade-y to me.”
Owen turns to Sienna with a smile, goofy and genuine. “Sorry.” He shrugs. “I lied.”
Sienna blushes. Ted rustles to his feet and says something about restocking the cooler, and soon the rest of the group has taken the hint, scurrying away to different corners of the sandy ledge and leaving Sienna and Owen alone.
“So what do you say?” Owen asks. His hair is wild and he tucks a few dark strands behind his ears, anxiously. “Does tomorrow work for you?”
Sienna smiles and looks into the dark pools of his eyes. Suddenly, she feels a panicked jolt. “Did you … how much did you hear, before? When I was on the phone?”
Owen bites his lower lip. “What do you mean?” he asks. Sienna takes a deep breath. Maybe she’s being crazy, she thinks. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that he’s made such a big, grand gesture, on the very night she professed her love for him out loud.
“Oh.” Owen nods slowly. “You mean did I hear you gushing about me to your dad, about how madly in love you are with me, you can’t stand to be without me, et cetera, et cetera?”
Sienna’s stomach drops and she winces, as if bracing for more.
Owen’s face cracks into a smile and he leans in closer to her. “Yeah,” he says. “I did. But it’s okay.”
“It is?” Sienna asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“It’s more than okay. It’s actually really convenient,” he says. “Because I’m madly in love with you, too.”
Sienna feels all of the blood rushing back to her face, a smile creeping to her lips. Unable to look at him for a second longer, she stares at the tops of her hands, her knuckles pale and raw from gripping the sides of her knees.
Owen sighs. “Good thing that wasn’t awkward.”
Sienna smiles and stares up at the smooth underside of his jaw, the dimpled chip in his angular chin. Suddenly, he’s not a member of somebody else’s tribe. She doesn’t care who he is when he isn’t with her, or who he’s been to anybody else. He’s still the kid who used to chase her in the waves, with seaweed on his head. And she’s the girl who isn’t afraid to get caught.
CADEN
Caden is on his way upstairs to bed after saying his third good night to the twins. His head buzzes, thick and fuzzy from the few warm sips of Scotch that Tobias—Uncle Tobias—had insisted he try. The light is on in the downstairs bathroom, and Caden hears a muffled voice from behind the door.
At first, he catches only broken snippets: “Disrespectful.” “Humiliating.” “Ungrateful.”
It’s Arthur, and he’s pissed.
Caden steps into the dark hallway beyond the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone else is nearby. Most everyone has gone to bed, but a few of the men are still up with nightcaps, swapping stories in Arthur’s study.
Suddenly, another voice. It’s Sophie, small and afraid. Caden leans closer, pressing his ear against the crack in the door.
“It doesn’t feel right,” she’s saying. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Where should you be? Back in that shithole where I found you? All alone? Not a chance in hell of surviving?”
“What do you care?” Sophie asks, behind a tearful hiccup.
“What do I care?” Arthur shouts. “How do you think it will look, if I let you go now? After years of defending you, to everyone, to my family…”
There’s a loud sob and a confused commotion, uneven footsteps approaching the door. Caden ducks back around the corner just as Sophie appears in the hall. She had joined them late, in the pool, and is still wrapped inside one of the big white bathrobes that hang on brass hooks near the hot tub. She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, leaving a dark trail of mascara on the clean, plush cotton, and walks quickly through the kitchen and back outside. A moment later, Arthur appears, drying his hands on the sides of his pants, as if it was all just a bit of cleaning up.
Caden watches Sophie through the window, her arms hugged around her waist as she gazes longingly up at the sky. He’s hardly said a word to her since he’s been back. Seeing her in the pool, surrounded by his new family, felt funny. As if, all of a sudden, he belonged there in a way that she did not.
But after hearing the way Arthur spoke to her, his voice so cold and condescending, Caden wants nothing more than to run outside and say something, do something … anything to make her smile, the way she’d smiled the morning she made him breakfast. Like they had something in common. A secret understanding.
He stands in the darkened hall, waiting for it to come to him, the perfect line, a good excuse. But it’s too late. He hears the muted squeak of the sliding glass door, the gentle padding of her footsteps as she makes her way slowly upstairs.
* * *
The house is silent and dark. Caden was surprised to find his door unlocked, and wondered for a moment what it meant. Maybe Arthur forgot. Or maybe he was so disappointed in Caden that he no longer cared if Caden left Hart Haven.
Whatever the reason, Caden can’t sleep. He tiptoes into the kitchen, and stops short. Curled on a cushioned bench and gazing out the bay window is Sophie, her profile lit up by the moon.
“Hey,” he says softly, before he can change his mind.
Sophie jumps and a hand flutters up to her throat.
“Sorry,” Caden says, taking a few steps closer. “I just … I couldn’t sleep.”
Sophie smiles. Her eyes look tired, her skin pale and drawn. “Me neither,” she says. “I already tried warm milk. There’s still some on the stove, if you want…”
Caden glances at a saucepan on the stove, the empty mug beside her on the table. “That’s okay,” he says. “I was thinking about going for a walk. What do you think?”
Sophie looks up at him, surprised. “With me?”
Caden almost laughs. “Yes, with you,” he says, trying to sound convincing. “If you want.”
Sophie smiles and follows him slowly, quietly, through the French doors. They walk past the pool and across the open lawn, stepping carefully along the rocky path toward the beach. The sky is dark and dotted with stars, and there’s a chill in the air. Caden wonders, on a scale of one to ten, how lame it would be if he offered Sophie his sweatshirt.
“I know you heard us fighting, earlier,” Sophie says suddenly, leaning against a rickety shrub oak to step out of her sandals.
The skin on Caden’s forehead wrinkles and pulls. “What—?” he stutters. “What do you mean?”
Sophie points a sandal at his grimy sneakers. “I saw your shoes under the door.”
Caden looks down, guiltily, at the tops of his slip-on Vans. They had always been his favorite. Now he wishes he’d never seen them before in his life.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just, I heard him yelling, and you sounded upset…”
“You don’t have to apologize,” she says, balancing her shoes on a rock and continuing barefoot onto the sandy path. “I just didn’t want to go through the whole awkward thing, where you pretend you don’t know anything, and I pretend not to know that you know…”
“Right,” Caden agrees, following her through an opening in the beach plum bushes at the top of the dunes. “That would suck.”
“Definitely.” Sophie heads straight for the calm, dark water and stops at the edge, letting the rush of the tide swirl around her slender ankles. Caden stands to one side, removed. He stuffs his hands in his pockets.
Sophie drags her toes through the sand, a thick line that’s quickly erased by the incoming push of the tide. She draws it again, and Caden takes a step closer. There’s something powerful in his chest, solid and clenching inside his ribs.
“Can I ask you a question?” he finally manages.
“Sure.” Sophie shrugs.
“Why do you want to leave?” he asks. “Or, I mean … if you want to get out of here so badly, why don’t you?”
Sophie crosses her arms around herself, hugging the outsides of her elbows. “That’s two questions.” She smiles.
“Sorry.”
Sophie catches the flyaway hairs at her forehead and pulls them back behind her ears. “My mom is sick,” she says. “And I feel like I should be with her, but…”
Caden stops abruptly. “What do you mean, she’s sick?” he asks. “He won’t let you see her?”
“It’s complicated,” Sophie says quietly. “My dad died when I was sixteen, and since then it’s been just the two of us. When she got sick, I had no idea what to do. I moved back home to take care of her, but it wasn’t enough. She doesn’t have insurance, and neither of us had any money to pay for the treatments. Arthur is the reason she’s still alive.”
Sophie gazes out at the water, like she’s trying to see something that isn’t there. Caden shuffles his feet in the sand.
“But that’s, I mean…” Caden struggles to find the right words. “That’s insane. That he won’t let you be with her. If it’s what you want…”
“It is what I want,” she insists. She looks at him the same way she was looking at the horizon, like she wishes he were more. “You don’t understand.”
Caden doesn’t know what to say. He hopes she’ll keep talking, but instead, she walks ahead. Caden hurries to catch up, but her steps get quicker and closer together every time he starts to match them.
“Hey,” he calls after her. “Hey!” He grabs her lightly at the elbow. When she turns around, her eyes are wet and glossy.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
The words sound strange as they float between them. He’s never said anything like it, to anyone, before. Usually, it’s some well-meaning girl, hanging on his elbow with droopy eyes and a sad, meaningful smile, trying to get him to talk. Insisting that he can tell her anything, that she really wants to help. He never asks for help, but he
knows there’s something about the way he looks, or talks, or breathes, that makes people think he needs it. Ever since Carly grew up and started taking care of herself better than he could, the idea that he could help somebody else has never once seemed a possibility.
“If you want to go,” he says. “You should go. Forget him. You should be where you want to be.”
“I can’t go,” Sophie whispers. “He’ll find me. He’ll find me, and he’ll take it all back. The nurses, the medications, all of the equipment—he pays for everything. And he’ll take it away. She won’t have a chance.”
Sophie searches Caden’s eyes with her own. She smiles. “I know it’s crazy, with everything that’s happening. What should it matter if she lives a few more days, right? Would she really want to be around for whatever happens, anyway?” She shakes her head.
Caden swallows. “She doesn’t deserve to be uncomfortable,” he says firmly.
Sophie nods, looking grateful that he understands her, and more than a little surprised.
Caden kicks at the sand with the sole of his sneaker. “But she doesn’t deserve to be alone, either,” he says. “And neither do you.”
Sophie’s eyes fill again with tears and before he can talk himself out of it, Caden wipes the corners dry with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. His blood boils with the familiar frustration of wishing he knew what to do. How to help.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and through a sniffling sob, Sophie smiles, the smile he’s been waiting for. He takes her hand and closes it in his own, holding it just for a moment, as if sealing a promise he hasn’t yet made.
ZAN
“This way.”
Nick grabs for Zan’s hand and pulls her across the street. The last act, a soulful jam band that had the crowd dancing until almost three in the morning, has finished its set, and an announcement was made that the music would continue acoustically, per request of the mayor. (Who was, apparently, somewhere among them, and received a mixed greeting of grateful cheers and disappointed boos.)
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