He unlocks the door and when we step inside the air smells dusty and stale. It’s too dark to make anything out, so I stay at the door side until he flips on a switch. One single overhead bulb comes on with a low buzzing noise accompanying an even lower glow from the bulb.

  “That probably needs fixing, it’s kind of old.”

  I’m too busy looking around me to reply to this. The fact is, everything here looks old. And dirty, too.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “You look disappointed.”

  I want to say ‘duh,’ but I don’t want to sound like a typical teenager.

  “Um… I guess it’s just not really what I’d imagined. Is there a bedroom?”

  “Yeah.” He looks uninterested. “Over there.”

  He points out a door to the left and then makes his way over to the kitchen area. There’s a refrigerator that hums and rattles as he pulls it open and takes out a bottle of cola. I move to the bedroom door and push it open, the rough splinters of the wood pressing into my fingers. The moment the door swings open, the stench of decaying wood and mold descend over me and I put my sleeve to my nose to block the smell. Sure enough, it’s a bedroom, but this is not a place anyone could actually sleep in, let alone use for any kind of romantic endeavors. There’s dampness in the air and an underlying smell I can’t place. And the one bare mattress has a weird-looking stain on it. There’s no nice way to put it; the room is disgusting.

  I close the door again. There’s no way I’m going back in there. This whole shack is old and damp and it’s making my skin crawl. I’m completely re-thinking the idea of coming out here. I don’t even know why he brought me. I would have been happier meeting up at the falls, like we usually do.

  “Here you go.” Quinten hands me a glass and I take it from him.

  He holds his own out and I reach mine up to clink his, the dark bubbles inside rushing up to the surface, crackling and raining gently down onto my hand.

  “To us,” he says, and takes a glug.

  I smile, relaxing a little, and follow suit. Clearly this isn’t brand-name cola because the taste is a little off, but I chug it down before placing the glass on the countertop. He takes my hand and kisses it gently, staring deeply into my eyes.

  I can’t help it. I melt inside. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter where we are or what that weird smell lingering in the background is, because all that’s important is that we’re together. I can see he feels the same way I do. There’s an intensity in his eyes I’ve never seen before. And that’s when he says it. The three words that send fireworks through my veins and make tears spring to my eyes. The words that I’ve wanted to hear and repeat since the first day I saw him. On every night that we secretly met by the waterfall. On every stolen moment during our robotics builds when Hutch and Mrs. Parker weren’t looking.

  “I love you, Mory.”

  I throw my arms around his neck and whisper softly in his ear. “I love you too, Quinten.”

  44

  RUBY

  “Hutch is on his way over now,” I tell Justin as I watch him pull on his coat, getting ready to go search for Mory. “He’s not seen or heard from Mory all day either, and wants to help track her down.”

  Justin straightens the collar of his jacket then puts his hands on my shoulders. “I know you and he are probably jumping to the worst conclusions, but she’s likely just out with friends. Do you have any of their numbers?”

  “No, I don’t,” I say, ashamed.

  I don’t even know any of her friends’ names. These are basic things that I should know about my daughter, but she doesn’t talk about her friends to me. She only talks about Hutch. Does she even have any friends at school? She says she does, but I’ve seen no actual proof. She doesn’t invite anyone around and I’ve never heard her talking with anybody but Hutch on the phone. She lied to me about where she was going today—is there somebody she’s meeting that she doesn’t want me to know about?

  “Do you think I should call the cops? I mean, she’s been gone for hours now.”

  Justin rubs at the stubble on his chin. “Ruby, did your mom call the cops every time you lied about where you were going as a teenager?”

  He has a point. Once, when I was sixteen years old, I told my parents that I was having a sleepover at Ashley Jenkin’s house and even had her call my mom, pretending to be her own mother, to confirm this. My mom bought it hook, line and sinker and Ashley and I spent the whole night at Gordy Abrahams’ party, getting drunk on his dad’s vodka and making out with boys.

  Up until now I’ve been thanking my lucky stars that Mory is more sensible than I was as a teenager, but the past couple of hours really have me wondering.

  Justin kisses me on the forehead and pats his pocket. “I’ve got my phone, call me if she shows up. I’ll start driving around, see if I can spot her.”

  He gives one last glance at the two boys, who are now taking it in turns to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths as a movie blares in the background, then closes the door behind him as he leaves.

  I listen to the sound of his engine start up and then grow quieter as he pulls away into the low evening light, and I give silent thanks that I have someone in my life who is looking out for my little family. I don’t know what I would do without Justin, he’s been the glue that’s held everything together over the past few weeks. And he’s right, it’s too early to be thinking of calling the cops yet. Mory is seventeen and it’s been seven hours since she left the house. Soon she’ll be an adult, and I may go days without knowing where she is or who she’s with. The thought of that makes something jagged stab at my heart.

  But the thing that nags at the back of my mind is that I know Mory is a smart girl. If this was just another Ashley Jenkins situation, wouldn’t she have come up with a better lie than going out for fro-yo with Hutch and then just choosing not to return home or even text me with a new excuse as to why she’s not back yet?

  It doesn’t make sense.

  But if parents started calling the cops every time their teen was a couple of hours late back home, it would be a waste of time and resources. They’ve already been out here once today about the photos and they’ll likely be back tomorrow to continue their search. If Bernice was still with us, she’d have a field day with all this drama.

  I wonder now if the cops have visited Benton to question him yet. I made it clear to them that he was the only person who could have left the photos here. I always got the feeling Benton Shepherd was a sleazeball, but now I know he was likely responsible for whatever happened to Elle and those other girls, it chills me to my core that I ever let him into my home. I was so out of it when he dropped me off last night, he could have done anyth— My train of thought is intercepted by a sudden idea that didn’t even occur to me until now.

  I remember the way Mory was drooling over Benton the day we moved in. She’s always had a tendency to gravitate towards older men. That’s why I was so happy to see her seemingly pivot and go after Hutch, who at eighteen is an appropriate age for her. But now I’m wondering if Benton managed to sprinkle his charm on my daughter, after all. If he’s sick enough to kidnap and torture the women in those photos, he’s probably not above going for a girl as young as Mory.

  I don’t waste any time, pulling my phone out of my pocket and finding his number.

  He answers on the third ring. “Benton Shepherd.”

  “Benton, it’s Ruby. Are you with Mory?” I demand.

  “What are you talking about? Why would I be with Mory?”

  I grit my teeth. “Benton, I swear to God if you are with my daughter I’m going to rip your⁠—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He cuts me off sternly. “I’m not with your daughter, Ruby. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that? After you left that photo of Elle on my bed last night?”

  I hear a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “Yeah. The police told me about that. I was really sorry to hear about it, that must be rough for Justin. But like I told the police earlier, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “You were the only other person who was in my house. You brought me home last night, and after you dumped me on the couch, you left that photo on my bed for me to find.” I realize my voice is so loud now that the boys can probably hear me in the next room, but I’m furious at this man. And I don’t understand why the police just let him go after questioning him. Why didn’t they arrest him right then and there?

  “Listen, Ruby.” Benton’s voice is still as smooth as ever, but he’s lowered his tone. “I’ve been as patient as I can be with you. I did you a favor last night by dropping you home. You were completely wasted, and I did nothing wrong. I gave you a blanket and water. I did not go in your bedroom. I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’m sorry if you’re having issues at home, but right now, I’m trying to have a nice meal with my girlfriend, and your daughter is definitely not here with us.”

  I go to open my mouth in retort when I hear it. The background noise. I hadn’t noticed before because I was so busy seething, but now that I’m listening, I can hear the familiar sounds of a restaurant in the background behind his voice.

  “I…” I don’t know what to say next.

  Am I wrong? Does Benton really have nothing to do with this?

  “Mom?” Cameron appears by my side.

  I hold my finger up for him to wait, and he nods when he sees the phone in my hand.

  “I have to go,” I say, and hang up on Benton before he can say anything else.

  I have no idea what to think right now, and I really wish Mory would just walk through the door and put my mind at ease. I put my phone back inside my pocket, then run my hands down my face and groan before I remember Cameron is waiting silently beside me.

  “What is it, honey?” I ask.

  He has one eyebrow raised. “Um, were you talking about that photo on the bed?”

  Crap. I knew I should have kept my voice down. But… I didn’t tell Cameron about the photo of Elle. Justin and I made sure the boys were distracted so that Xavier didn’t catch word of it. The poor boy has been through enough without seeing a photo like that of his mother.

  “Cam, how do you know about the photo?” I ask.

  “I found it this morning under the loose tile on the bathroom floor.” He shrugs. “I knew you were collecting them so I went to your bedroom to give it to you, but you weren’t there, so I left it on your bed.”

  A groan escapes my chest before I can stop it. I’m an idiot.

  “What?” Cameron asks, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, kid.” I sigh. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did.”

  I think I’ve lost count of how many things I’ve accused Benton Shepherd of now. It’s seeming less and less likely that he’s got anything to do with either the photos left in this house or my daughter running off unannounced.

  And Hutch, who I’d assumed she’d spent the day with, hasn’t even seen her today.

  So, where the hell is Mory?

  45

  MORY

  I’ve always felt a little bad when I’m around Hutch. It’s not like I don’t enjoy his company, because I do. He has truly become my best friend since we moved to Lonerock. But in the beginning, the main reason I made friends with him was because I knew it was the only way to spend more time with Quinten.

  I know it’s wrong to have led Hutch on like I have: spending so much time together, letting him take me on a date, holding his hand on occasion. And I’m going to have to think of a way to let him down gently when he eventually makes a real move on me. I don’t want to hurt him. But I guess there’s no avoiding that, since I’m in love with his father.

  One day not so long from now—when Quinten has left Felicity and I’m eighteen and nobody can stop me—he and I will be free to share our love when and where we please.

  He’s the one. I’ve always heard people say that, and I guess I didn’t know what they meant exactly, but now I get it. From the very first day I walked past Quinten on my way home from school—when he looked back at me, and I looked back at him and our eyes met—I knew there was something between us. An electricity. A meaning. There’s just something about him that captured my whole heart and hasn’t let me go.

  And as cute as Hutch is, he’s only eighteen. I know, I know, I’m only seventeen. But girls mature so much faster than guys, and I’ve always felt like older guys are so much more in control of themselves. More mature. More refined.

  Quinten is the definition of all these things. He commands the attention of every room he steps into. Not just because he’s ridiculously gorgeous but because he has this air about him, this authority, that makes it difficult not to gravitate towards him. At least that’s how I feel about him. Obviously Felicity must have been crazy about him too at one point, to have married him. But from everything that Quinten has told me, that’s not how it is anymore. He says it’s become stale. That they’ve only stayed together for the kids, and he’s become lonely in their marriage. How sad is that? He’s a guy who has everything going for him, he’s gorgeous and smart and funny, but he doesn’t feel appreciated or loved anymore.

  And I know I should probably feel bad about stealing Felicity’s husband from her, but will she even care? Like he said, their marriage is dead. Doesn’t Quinten deserve to be happy?

  I feel his hand on my knee and I scoot myself closer to him on the couch. There’s a weird taste in my mouth after the cola; I hope I don’t have bad breath when we kiss.

  “Is this the necklace Hutch gave you?” Quinten asks, scooping back my hair.

  His touch sends tingles all the way down to my toes. I wish he’d just grab me and carry me to the bedroom right now. Okay, maybe not the bedroom, because it smelled like something had died in there. I guess I might end up losing my virginity on this threadbare, scratchy couch. Not exactly how I envisioned it happening, but it’s more about who it’s with and not where it is that makes it special, right?

  Although, if Quinten is planning on putting the moves on me, he’s going about it slowly. My phone is still turned off in his car, and there doesn’t seem to be a clock in here, but based on the fading light outside it’s got to be at least dinner time. My mom is probably complaining to Cameron right now about me never answering my phone.

  “Yeah, it is.” My fingers move to the necklace automatically. “I… I feel kind of bad about Hutch. I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me when he finds out about us.”

  Quinten’s eyes narrow just a little. “You don’t need to worry about that right now.”

  I nod, knowing he’s right. This moment is about us. Me and Quinten. I want to forget about everything and everyone else in my life. I move forward, bringing my lips towards his. But just before I reach them, he puts a finger to my mouth and I stop.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” he teases. “Not yet.”

  I suppress a groan. Why is he putting this off?

  I wait for him to elaborate, but instead he gets up from the couch and scurries off towards the bedroom. I make a move to get up but he wiggles a finger and ‘ah, ah, ahs’ me again, so I sit back down. It’s probably for the best, too, because I feel a little lightheaded from standing up too fast. Probably low blood sugar. I get that sometimes, if I skip a meal. Usually, I’d be eating dinner around this time of the evening, and I’m starting to get hungry. Hopefully Mom will leave me some leftovers for when I get home. She’ll probably just figure I’m having dinner at Hutch’s house tonight. I should probably get my phone from Quinten’s car and text her to tell her I’ll be home late, otherwise she’ll start worrying I’ve been kidnapped or something.

  I can’t wait until I’m eighteen and I can live my life without having to report back to her every five minutes. She goes on about the good old days, when kids were so wild that they had to put announcements on the TV at night to ask parents if they knew where their children were—but she’s a bucket of contradictions because she literally wants to know what I’m doing at every moment of the day. You can’t have it both ways, Mom.

  The problem is, it’s already getting late and it’d take us over two hours just to get back to Lonerock from here, even if we left now. Quinten better hurry up. What is he doing in that bedroom, anyway?

  “Quinten?” I call out. Whoa, my voice sounds weird.

  There’s no reply.

  That’s it, I’m going to get my phone. I’ve got to text my mom before she ends up calling Felicity to see if I’m there and finds out I lied to her about going out with Hutch today. My legs are wobbly as I get up, and I have to use the arm of the couch to steady myself for a second before I move towards the door. Why do I feel so weird?

  My fingers have just gripped the cold metal of the door handle when I hear a noise from behind me.

  “Where are you going?” Quinten stands by the bedroom door, holding something I can’t quite see in his hands.

  “I have to get my phone from the car, I’ve got to text my mom and make up an excuse for why I’ll be home late,” I say, my voice sounding funny to my ears.

  “You don’t need to do that,” he says. “She won’t care.”

  I laugh, but it comes out a little strangled. “You obviously don’t know my mom.”

  Quinten ignores this and waves me over to him. “Come here.”

  I obey and walk to him, seeing now that the thing he’s holding is fabric. He grabs my waist and kisses me softly on the neck. My legs nearly gave way. I’ve heard of going weak at the knees but this guy literally makes my limbs collapse.

  “You know I love you, Mory,” he murmurs in my ear.

  “I know.” I smile.

  He slips the shoulder of my top down and kisses the skin beneath. “Will you do something for me?”

  Finally, he wants to take this further. I thought it would never happen.

  “Anything,” I reply, attempting a sexy voice.

  He pulls back a little and passes me the bundle of fabric he’s holding. “Great. Put this on for me.”