Alex was lying low, holding his side, fighting back the scream of pain that threatened to escape.

His ribs had morphed into knives, stabbing his organs and muscles, and the wound on his thigh had busted open again. Blood trickled down the inside of his thigh, snaking around to his calf.

He should have grabbed his clothes, he realized.

But there hadn’t been time. Someone had been at Cam’s door, pounding over and over. Fear seized him as soon as the knocking started, and instinct told him to do one thing: run.

Despite the pain coursing through his body, Alex had lifted the shade and raised the window, then somehow managed to vault himself through the opening and into the side yard. He’d had one thing on his mind: escape. He stumbled forward a few steps, and even in his slightly delirious state, had noticed a white single-story home, two houses down from Cam’s, with a For Sale sign planted in the yard. A quick glance at the opened curtains revealed an empty living room, confirming the home was vacant. He managed to work his way toward it, limping and staggering like a zombie from some bad horror film, wearing only his boxers, his leg covered in blood.

He didn’t try the house, though. The garage tucked behind it was a better option. Less obvious. Safer.

The side door to the dilapidated building was locked but looked flimsy, resting drunkenly on its hinges. Under normal circumstances Alex would have easily been able to kick it in. But cracked or broken ribs and a bleeding wound in his thigh were not normal, and with barely enough strength to stand, he knew he didn’t have it in him to bust the door down. Instead, he stooped just enough to grab a rock from the landscaped area adjacent to the garage. He smashed it through the single-pane window and then jammed his hand through the opening, barely noticing as the jagged glass pierced his skin. He jiggled the lock and the door gave way, and he fell to the concrete floor. He’d had just enough energy to close the door behind him.

Now he took in his dank, dusty surroundings. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d sought shelter in the musty garage. It could have been five minutes or five hours, as he was pretty sure he’d gone in and out of consciousness a couple of times.

He tried to push himself into a sitting position but the pain in his chest forced him back down.

“Shit,” he muttered.

What the hell was he going to do?

He’d hauled ass out of Cam’s house because he knew he couldn’t stay. Not if it was going to put her in danger. Huddled there now, he felt like an ass for leaving her, but he knew if he wasn’t there, if there was nothing to connect him to her, she would ultimately be safe. At least he thought she would be.

He told himself she would be.

But him?

He was stuck in some strange garage, broken and bleeding, and with barely a stitch of clothing. He’d been in some sticky situations before, but nothing compared to this.

“Shit,” he said again, a little more forcefully.

He’d fucked up big-time.

All of it.

The shit that had gone down in Bentley.

Coming to Aspen Falls.

Involving Cam.

And now this.

He was beginning to seriously wonder if he might bleed out on the concrete floor.

Alex closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

He never should have come.

He’d said goodbye to Cam years ago. Lied to her. Told her he didn’t love her and then walked out of her life because he knew he’d never amount to anything. Breaking up with her had been far easier to bear than the thought of dragging her down with him. He knew that, for him, gang life was inevitable, and he didn’t want her to have to deal with that shit.

Cam deserved better.

And so he walked away.

That should have been it.

The end.

Goodbye.

That was what it was supposed to be.

Alex glanced down at his leg. The gauze Cam had wrapped around the wound was stained bright red, saturated with blood. Cam’s words from earlier echoed in his head.

She was right. He probably did need a doctor.

He sighed. He just needed a place to hide, to keep out of sight until he was well enough to formulate a plan.

As if he had any fucking clue what to do next.

No, that wasn’t true.

Alex knew exactly what he needed to do.

He had to stay hidden.

From everyone.

Even from Cam.

Especially from Cam.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut. His throat constricted, and he tried not to focus on the futility of his situation, of what was bound to be waiting for him.

Certain, absolute death.

He slammed his good hand against the concrete floor and tears sprang to his eyes. Not from the pain and not from sadness; they were tears of frustration, of anger.

Everything was fucked up.

And he had only himself to blame.