I’d thought it was the flu.

The same day my rolling stomach began to send me to the bathroom earlier in the week, my father came home with news that Jaxon got the offer he’d put in for at the beginning of June. To travel the world. He’d done it. Just like that, he was accepted. So, I suffocated the selfish hurt in my chest at the fact that Jaxon didn’t tell me the news himself, and I called to congratulate him on his acceptance. I was truly happy for him, despite my rising insecurity that I would be alone in Balsam Grove without anyone who knew me—who knew I wasn’t the same drunken, unstable mess my father was. It was hard enough to make friends with Jaxon by my side. I couldn’t imagine not having him there to bat away the narrowed eyes and upturned noses. Somehow, none of that mattered when I was with Jaxon.

But one week later, I had my answer. The rancid reaction in my gut wasn’t a flu symptom. Not even close.

The room swirled as the walls closed in around me, the row of blue ducks decorating the wallpaper blurring into an indistinguishable mess. Woozy, I reached out to grab hold of something—anything—but before I could, I fell, my ass hitting the floor and my back slamming against the cold bathtub.

The indicator fell through my fingers and clattered to the floor beside me. I looked down, as if the three confirmations before it weren’t enough. But there it was. Another blue plus sign.

I was pregnant.

At seventeen.

And I couldn’t breathe.

My head fell back as I gulped in air, and a panic attack swept through me. I was done for. Not only had my father banned me from painting back in June, when I’d first arrived after my mother’s death, but he’d warned me away from Jaxon as if my relationship with him was something I could just cut off like a dangling string.

He’d heard the rumors, that Jaxon and I were more than just friends. The lonesome artist with no future, four years his daughter’s senior. Though I’d deny it at every opportunity, it didn’t stop the rest of the town from stirring up drama, and anything related to Henry June was surefire entertainment. It made me a target. People quickly learned that any news to do with Jaxon and me made my father act out—publicly. And it all led to the worst night of my life.

When my panic ceased, I wrapped up the four pregnancy indicators and tucked them into my bra. I ran into my bedroom and hid them under my bed before my father could stop to ask me what was wrong—not that he was awake. He’d come home from an afternoon trip from the bar and passed out on the couch.

It was nearing eight o’clock, and being late fall, the sun had already set. I thought I could sneak out the front door rather than my bedroom window, but the moment the door creaked open, my father flew from his spot on the couch. He mirrored me, red-faced and still half-drunk. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

I froze in place. “I-I was feeling better and wanted to get some fresh air. I’ll be back in an hour.”

He glared down at me, his eyes red and his unshaven face a cruel, twisted shade of flush. And he scoffed in my direction. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to running around the woods at all goddamn hours of the day and night? You ruin the boy’s future and you think he still wants to see you?” My dad let out an evil chortle. “When are you going to stop fucking with everyone’s future, Aurora? First your mom. Now Jaxon. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

The terror from my newfound pregnancy dispersed in an instant and was replaced with a medley of confusion and dread. What is he talking about? As far as I knew, Jaxon was still planning on leaving at the end of December. We had plans. He would be back in six months, I would graduate high school, and we would move to Durham. There, I would go to college and he would paint, and then we’d travel the world together. As much as I knew I’d miss him for six months, I was happy with that plan—even when I realized there was a life inside me.

I’d be seven months pregnant by the time he’d get back. The way I saw it, that was still plenty of time for him to be with me during the pregnancy. And by then, maybe he’d have enough artwork to sell so we could finally leave this place together. We wouldn’t have to scrape by.

“I haven’t done anything.” I reached for the door. Nothing would stop me from leaving this house. I’d deal with the consequences of my father’s bad mood later—if he even remembered this conversation.

My dad glared. He’d been glaring for months, ever since that shipment of my paintings arrived from my mom’s storage. It was like his patience, along with his mental health, was wearing thinner every day.

“If you hadn’t forced your mom to go to your art show, she’d still be alive today.” Anger tremored in his escalating tone. “But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?” He fumed, breathing heavily through his closed mouth. “You had to go and stop that boy from traveling to fulfill his dream, too. Why is that, Aurora?” He tilted his head, an accusing look piercing my heart. “When will you stop?” Spit flew from his mouth as he screamed the last question.

My jaw dropped. My body shook. Jaxon wasn’t leaving? Since when? He hadn’t called. He hadn’t stopped by. I was sick and promised I’d be by as soon as I got better, but why was I hearing this from my father?

“There’s got to be a mistake. I need to talk to him.”

And before my father could say another word, I flew from the house with Lacey at my heels. We ran as fast as we could into the storm and through the narrow path in the woods that joined my home with Jaxon’s.

I had to see him. He had to know about the baby. Maybe then he’d go.

I stopped halfway to his house as rain battered down on me, realizing I needed a plan. I stood there for what seemed like hours. What would I say? How would he react? How could I get him to leave Balsam Grove to fulfill our plans so we could have our life together and take care of a baby?

Oh my God. What if he doesn’t want this baby?

And that’s where my mind stuck, repeating over and over like a broken record. Suddenly, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. My determination dissolved into second guessing everything, and every decision Jaxon and I had made together festered within me until I grew angry. Angry that he hadn’t discussed such a life-altering decision without me. Angry that my father was the one to reveal such critical information to our future. Angry that there was a baby growing inside me, preparing to be born into the world of secrets and lies and mental illness that had ripped my family apart. And there was nothing I could do about it.

The rest of my journey to Jaxon’s house was a blur, my mind a raging inferno. I was furious and ready to unleash. But I didn’t expect to walk away in tears, without a resolution, in so much emotional pain it practically blinded me.

I fled Jaxon’s house after the worst fight we’d ever had. The panic from earlier still swirled through me, my tears an endless cascade. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about the baby.

I knew I’d only be returning to my father’s wrath. But I didn’t realize he’d be digging through my things during my absence.

I didn’t realize he’d find what I so foolishly tried to hide.

And I didn’t realize he’d be ready for me.

Oh, but he was.

When I returned to the cottage, tears streaking my cheeks, I found him sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, the buzzing light above him dim and flickering as it had been for days. I saw the silver metallic gleam of the label on his beer before I saw him, and I knew before I even saw his face that I should be afraid. His stillness halted me in my tracks, my heart thrumming triple time while the rain shower soaked me down to the bone.

I cowered into myself, not from the rain, but because of what he gripped in his other hand.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. My face was drenched with rain and tears, my eyes probably as red as his were. And there was nothing I could say or do to make any of it go away. To make any of it better.

From in front of me, Lacey growled something fierce, not liking my father’s rage. That helped nothing. He stuck his face near Lacey’s and growled back, unafraid of her shiny, white teeth that she bared in warning. She was ready to pounce, but just as she started to, my father’s heavy boot slammed into her neck, tossing her from the porch as she yelped helplessly.

I screamed. I screamed bloody murder at him, then scooped Lacey up and fled. Away from my father. Away from Jaxon. Away from my pain, though it never seemed to leave me. I just kept running, praying for the pain to dissolve. For the Earth’s axis to tilt back into my favor, to where dreams and plans didn’t seem so damn impossible.

At first, I thought I’d run right into his trap because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’d learn later that I wasn’t heading toward him. He had been watching, lingering. Just waiting for the perfect time to strike.