“And yours is refusing to believe they’re dead?” I ask. I’m not even surprised he knows what I’m talking about. Hell, he probably knows Royal’s habits better than I do. He tracks his car, so of course he knows how much time Royal spends there. I always suspected that’s where his sister died, but this is the first time someone’s confirmed it.
“They aren’t dead,” Preston says with complete confidence. “And I don’t hang out there hoping they’ll show up again.”
“Uh huh,” I say. “So why are you trying to make me go back, if you don’t?”
“Because I already let go.”
I bite my lip, checking his reaction as I ease off the gas. It’s my third time past, but my heart lurches crazily inside me at the thought of stopping.
“Just pull over,” he says. “We can sit in the truck this time if you want. Next time, maybe we’ll go further.”
I pull over on the side of the highway and stop the truck. Then I just press my fist to my chest, trying to keep it from blowing open and spilling the contents of my heart when it explodes from beating too hard. Preston rubs my shoulder and neck, like a little back massage is all it’ll take to fix this tension.
“What about people?” I ask, turning toward him and leaning my arm along the top of the steering wheel. “You let the Dolces have power over you.”
He shakes his head. “I’m the only one they haven’t been able to control, the only one they don’t have power over. That’s why they hate me most.”
“And yet, you’re moving out of your house because of them.”
“There’s a fine line between keeping your dignity and losing your life for foolish pride. I may bend when that’s what it takes to survive, but I don’t break.”
“Funny, I’m pretty sure your cousin said something like that.”
“Colt has no pride,” he says. “He sucked their dicks and crawled in the dirt for them a long time ago.”
“He’s also still going to Willow Heights while you had to drop out.”
He shrugs. “I guess we all do what we think is right. I wasn’t willing to compromise what he has, but I’m practical enough to know when self-preservation comes above pride. I’d rather move to a new apartment than fucking bend over and take it up the ass from them every day just to keep living there.”
“Interesting choice of words,” I mutter.
“How so?” He cocks his head to one side, watching me with his good eye in a way that reminds me too much of the way Baron studies people, that intent curiosity that lights up his eyes.
“Never mind,” I mutter, opening the door and climbing out. “Let’s go.”
“You sure?” Preston asks, climbing out, too.
“Yeah, come on,” I say, because I don’t want to lose my nerve, and thinking about someone else is the only thing keeping me going.
Preston doesn’t say anything, but I feel him studying me as he fits a headlamp onto my head and takes down the kayaks. He puts one on my back and shows me how to carry it, and I start across the rice paddy without waiting for him. My feet squelch into the mud, and water begins to seep into my boots. It’s been rainy, so the aisles are filled with water, just like they were last year. It’s cool like it was when they brought me here last spring, too, so the snakes will be moving slow if they’re out at all.
The kayak is unwieldy on my back, and focusing on it keeps me from having to think about what I’m doing as I pick my way across the open area toward the dark woods on the far side. This is totally different. I’m not scared. I’m not vulnerable. And beyond my justifications, he’s right. I do trust him, just as I love him—to the best of my ability.
By the time I reach the far side of the rice field, Preston has caught up to me. My heart is beating erratically, and I can tell I’ve slipped into my shell a little, like I do every time I go over the reasons I don’t have to be afraid. Yes, I’m alone out here with a man with a gun, but what’s he going to do to me? He’s already fucked me every way he wants, and he’s not into hurting people. If he wanted to kill me, he could just do it.
“How you holding up?” he asks, setting down his kayak and taking mine.
“Fine,” I say, digging my nails into my palms until I feel the skin break, the pain easing my racing thoughts.
“We could wade through,” he says. “The water’s shallow for a kayak, but it’ll be faster. Plus, no snakes this way. If you get stuck, just holler, and I’ll get you going again.”
“Okay.”
He sets the kayak into the water, wading in and holding it while I climb in. I’ve never been in a kayak in my life, but he shows me how to use the paddle and then just lets me go. I start paddling, moving off into the trees. It strikes me again how odd it is that he trusts me so much, just like all those times he gave me his truck. Maybe he’s the one who should be afraid, but he’s not. Men are so fucking fearless.
I get the hang of paddling pretty easily, gliding through the shallow water and pushing myself off tree root clusters with the paddle. I don’t know if I’m damaging his gear by doing that, but it’s easier than steering, and he doesn’t say anything. I only know he’s behind me because I can see the beam of his headlamp along with mine. Every now and then, he tells me to steer right, but otherwise, the only sound is our paddles dipping into the murky water. It’s eerie in the swamp, but I don’t feel the terror I expected. There are no memories closing in, no lightning strikes ofdéjà vuthat take my breath away. It’s as if I’ve never been here at all.
I was too terrified on the way into the swamp last year to take note of my surroundings, too deep in shock on the way out, when Preston carried me wrapped in a blanket all this way. Even in a kayak, moving without the resistance of wading through thigh-deep water, I can tell it’s a long way. I remember playing chase with the twins, their taunting words as they pursued me through the swamp like prey. It felt like they caught me in no time.