A provocative, psychological drama for readers who loved Black & Blue, Gone Girl, The Lucky One, and Safe Haven.

When the bus came, James thanked me for hanging out with him and said he’d see me at school the next day. I got onto the bus and found an empty seat at the back. As the bus pulled away from the curb, James raised his hand in a small wave; he was still standing there when I reached the end of the street, like a beacon on a lighthouse, warning tall ships to be careful in the fog. For some reason, the image made me think of a poem I’d once read:

“Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,

Who countest the steps of the Sun,

Seeking after that sweet golden clime

Where the traveller’s journey is done;

Where the Youth pined away with desire,

And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow,

Arise from their graves and aspire,

Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.”

(William Blake)

"This book should be given to every teen girl before she goes out on her first date." (Sharon Lopez)

"...heartbreaking and captivating..."

When I finally managed to get outside the building, I sprinted across the street, my chest burning as the air finally filled my lungs. The wind turned the sweat on my forehead icy as I hurried along the street, back over the railway tracks; I never looked back at the white and red building. Even when I remembered that I had left my backpack inside his apartment, I didn’t stop moving or consider going back for it. The image of the boy who had scorched me, inside and out, was imprinted on my brain as I ran. Before that day, I had often felt like a lamb headed to slaughter, but never before had I felt such exhilaration, such heat, as my own body responded to the proximity of another person; never before had I experienced the heightened awareness of the implications behind another’s words, nor tossed and turned all night long in a tangle of damp sheets as a result of them.

"Ms. MacLeod's prose is mellifluous and fluid..."

"It was definitely a page turner for me."

My eyes are closed tightly and I fight back the tears that press insistently against my eyelids. I will my body to stop trembling – to take charge of myself – to find the strength to retaliate. I should have defended myself a long time ago, but I have forgotten how. Then, the insults begin as he dresses himself. I hug my body to myself and stare at the ceiling. I find the crack immediately, for I have been there many times. There is just enough room for me to squeeze my mind inside. It is dark in there, but I am not afraid of the blackness; it is strangely comforting. I have become expert at this – losing myself in the shadows of the bedroom ceiling, detaching any of the human qualities that remain and separating them from the living whole. Most people don’t know what it feels like to lose their own soul; I wonder if I’ll ever find mine again.

Abalone shells are not only beautiful and unique, but incredibly strong. They possess the ability to heal damage to their own shells.

“Martyn…” I protest.

“It’s okay – I’ve got it,” he tells the cashier. Back outside in the humid air, Martyn clears his throat and says, “I just meant I’d be excited,” he tries to explain. He places his hat on his head and hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “I think you’ll make an incredible mother,” he adds, stumbling over his words as we cross the street, “so sweet…”

I’m still blushing when I look over at him. “Thank you,” I say quietly and then glance at the sidewalk. We stop in front of The Heart of Chiton.

“And I would feel privileged to share something so beautiful with you.” His expression is so genuinely heartfelt and vulnerable that it makes my heart ache.

“I doubt James will see it that way,” I say morosely. “I’m terrified to tell him, if the test is positive,” I admit.

“Liz…” Martyn starts to speak and then, pauses for a few seconds before continuing, “I can offer you a safe place to stay, if that would help. I can pay for a motel room here, or I can move in with my mom, so you can use my guest house on the ranch for you and Peter and the baby.”

“Martyn,” I gush, “I could never let you do that for me; I’d feel so guilty.” I shake my head sadly.

“Well, don’t,” he says firmly, “I’d be happy to help – especially since it’s thirty degrees out, but you’re wearing long sleeves.” He looks at me tenderly. “I worry about you all the time – lie awake at night and hope you’re safe.” He touches my cheek gently, sending an electrical current through my body. “I have to get dressed for a meeting,” he tells me reluctantly, “but please, message me and tell me what you need – anything at all.” He smiles at me shyly and walks around the back of the motel to his room. Before he disappears from sight, he turns back around and says, “I mean it, Liz – anything.”