My mom doesn’t look at me when she opens a second bottle of wine. I don’t say anything, but the room’s tense anyway.

Some old Western movie is on TV. Mom sits on the bed, propped up with pillows, drinking. I lean back in my chair by the table, stretching my legs.

“This shouldn’t last much longer,” I say, breaking the silence. I’ve been here for maybe ten minutes and we’ve barely been talking.

“Yeah, I know,” she says, not looking at me.

“Mom, come on.”

“What?” She drinks her wine. “I can’t have a drink to loosen up?”

“Not what I mean,” I say.

“Isn’t it?” She glares at me. “You think I have a problem.”

“You admitted it yourself.”

She shakes her head. “I was just stressed. I didn’t mean it. I’m fine.”

“Mom,” I say softly. “Come on. We both know you’re an alcoholic.”

“No,” she snaps at me. “I’m stuck in this hotel room with nothing to do, so why not drink?”

“You’d be drinking this much at home too,” I say.

“No way,” she answers, shaking her head. “One glass, maybe two. No more than two per day, sometimes three if it’s been a tough day, but no more.”

I sigh. She can’t even see her own hypocrisy. I shouldn’t be surprised. Wyatt said she’d need time, and I’m trying to give it to her, but still… it’s frustrating.

I look out the window and glance at my watch. It’s around three in the afternoon. I expected to hear from Wyatt by now, but he hasn’t called or texted. I thought he was just having lunch with that guy from school, but I guess it’s taking longer than he expected. I was in my room for a while, but I got bored enough to come check on my mom again, which of course I’m regretting.

It’s hard to watch her drink herself to death. I want to help her, but it’s hard. Wyatt seems so patient, but I don’t know if I have that patience. I’ll have to ask him for more help. I think if anyone can help, he can.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. I watch TV with my mom, not really paying attention to what we’re staring at. She drinks steadily, not even bothering to offer me any, since she knows I’d turn it down anyway. We’ve gone through this little charade enough times at this point that she knows how the game’s played.

A half hour slips past and I’m starting to worry. I glance at my phone, but there aren’t any messages. I have full bars, so I should get any calls or texts. I know Wyatt doesn’t have to check in with me or anything like that, but with everything that’s happening, I just thought he would.

As we’re sitting there, I suddenly hear someone banging on a door near here. I don’t think anything of it until I hear more banging, and this time someone shouts my name.

I stand up as my mom looks at me sharply. “Don’t,” she says.

“That could be about Wyatt.” I walk to the door, fear spiking through my chest.

“Cora,” Mom snaps. “Don’t.”

I put my hand on the doorknob. I hear more knocking, and someone yells my name again. It’s a man’s voice, though I don’t recognize it. I glance back at my mother and I can see the fear in her eyes. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help myself.

If something’s happening with Wyatt, I have to know. I push the door open and look out.

Jaxson Moyer is standing outside of my room’s door. He looks over sharply and our eyes meet. A creepy grin spreads across his face.

“There you are,” he says.

I duck back into the room and slam the door. I slap the locks shut and run back to my phone.

“What is it?” Mom says.

“It’s him,” I answer. “It’s the guy.”

“Cora!” Jaxson yells my name from outside the room. “Cora, Cora, Cora!”

He slams against the door. The locks hold but I don’t know how long they’ll last.

“What did you do?” Mom hisses.

I grab my phone, ignoring her, and call Wyatt. He doesn’t pick up, so I call again and again, all the while Jaxson’s yelling my name and slamming against the door. The wood’s starting to buckle, and I can see the screws in the lock starting to twist and pull. Obviously this motel didn’t bother to install real security, because it shouldn’t be breaking this easily.

I give up on Wyatt and start calling the police. But before I can connect, the door smashes open, wood splinters kicking along the carpet. Jaxson steps into the room, a manic grin on his face.

“Cora, Cora, Cora,” he says, walking toward me.

I want to scream. I back up, staring at him with wide eyes.

His smile is so sickening, so starkly gross, that I can feel nausea bubbling up in my gut. I suddenly know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man killed my brother, and he’ll kill me next. He murdered Atticus in a horrible and brutal way, an unnecessarily bloody and gruesome way, and he’s about to do that to me.

He stops just inside the room, his smile enormous, swallowing his whole face. “It’s good to see you again,” he says, and he slowly pulls a gun from his waistband.

I’m shocked when my mom suddenly moves. I didn’t realize she had gotten out of bed, wine bottle clutched in her hand. She brings it down on Jaxson’s head, coming at him from the side. He clearly was too fixated on me to notice her. She smashes the bottle down hard, green glass cracking and breaking, and he crumbles down to the floor.

“Run!” my mom screams.

That snaps me out of my haze. I get up, darting up and over Jaxson. As I get past him, he reaches out and grabs my ankle, tripping me up.

My mom is out the door already. I scream as I go down and Jaxson groans, blood running down his face. His eyes are wide and there’s a shard of glass stuck in his scalp as he crawls toward me.

I scream and kick at him. The gun fell out of his hand, and it’s halfway across the room. I know I can’t get to it in time. I kick again, connecting with his nose, making him groan.

But he grabs my ankle again, not letting me go. His grip is ice and iron. He pulls, coming closer as he crawls like a slug, making this horrifying groaning noise.

“Cora,” he grunts. “I’ll choke you, bitch.”

I scream again and kick. It connects solidly again, and this time his grip loosens. I shake him off and scramble away on my hands and knees. When I make it over to the broken door, I get to my feet and start running.

I keep running until someone grabs me. I don’t know who it is and my instinct is to fight, fight and scream, but he’s holding me tight, saying my name over and over.

It takes me a second before I realize that it’s Wyatt. “Cora, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s me. What’s happening?”

I look around. I’m down in the parking lot. Wyatt’s looking at me like I’m insane. My mom’s nowhere to be seen.

“Jaxson,” I say finally. “In my mom’s room.”

His face goes serious. “Stay here.” He strides away, moving into a jog. He heads up the front stairs and onto the balcony.

I can see the room with the door kicked open. Wyatt approaches it a little cautiously. He slowly looks inside, but pulls back as three loud cracks break the stillness.

I recognize the gunshots for what they are. They’re so much louder than I thought they’d be. I fall down to the ground, but I can’t stop watching Wyatt. He drops backward, flat against the wall. He yells something, but it’s lost in the gunfire.

He falls back. I watch him open his room’s door and step inside just as Jaxson emerges from my mom’s room. Jaxson looks around, bleeding and clearly dazed. He stumbles down the ramp, toward the stairwell.

Wyatt comes out of his room and yells after him. Jaxson doesn’t hesitate. He fires at Wyatt, forcing Wyatt back into his room. Jaxson stumbles away again, down into the parking lot, and I want to scream.

I’m so afraid he’ll find me. He’s going to kill me if he does, and I’m just crouching down in the parking lot, hands over my ears, eyes wide, tears stinging my cheeks.

But Jaxson doesn’t even look for me. He jumps into an old beat-up green sedan and it peels out, driving away from the motel. I catch sight of a second person in the car, but I don’t recognize whoever it is. I don’t get a good look as the car speeds out into traffic and disappears.

Wyatt appears seconds later. “Are you okay?” His voice comes through muffled and distant.

He pulls me to my feet, arms wrapped around me as I sob into his chest. “She saved us,” I say.

“Who?”

“My mom. She hit him with her bottle.”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, but his voice is flat and expressionless.

I press myself harder against him, still shaking, fear flowing through me. But he’s here now, and he’s going to keep me safe. It’s going to be okay. It has to be okay.