CHAPTER 2
MIA
I wake up sore in the best way.
My thighs stick together with last night’s evidence, and every shift of the sheets makes me shiver. Sunlight pours through the loft window, painting warm stripes across Uncle Chris’s bare back. He’s already gone from the bed, but the pillow still smells like him, smoke and cedar and s*x. I bury my face in it and grin so hard my cheeks hurt.
Downstairs the house is alive with clattering pans and cousins arguing over who ate the last Pop-Tart. I float through chores like I’m on a cloud: folding blankets, sweeping the porch, giggling at nothing. Mom keeps asking why I’m humming. I just shrug and steal extra bacon.
After breakfast Dad claps his hands. “Lake time! Suits on, people!”
Everyone scatters. I slip into the little bathroom off the ki
