Owen wanted to get to know us? The problem with that was there's a lot we didn't know about ourselves. Life seemed to have hit pause since leaving Mr. Bryson. We haven't gone forward much or backward in years. Almost like we were in some sort of limbo, waiting for something to mix up the dreary monotony.

Then Owen shows up like an answer to our prayers, but the beginning of a nightmare. Speaking to him and having him in our presence was more than a roller coaster ride of emotions, he had the ability to skyrocket my emotions to a high I've never experienced and quickly crash them within the same sentence.

We needed to know more about him.

"That bandana is a gift from my dad, you know," he said, nodding to the blue cloth around my neck. "Before he went to prison, we were here, building this place. He wanted me to keep that bandana to remember him."

I untied the bandana, slipped it from my neck, and handed it to him. "Here."

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "No, keep it. I don't have any use for it."

"Well, I don't want it anymore." The thought of using someone's memento for silly games didn't sit right with me, so I tossed it on the bed next to him.

He glanced at it and shrugged. "So ... when did you guys find the place?"

Ethan had that look of contemplation on his face. The look that said he didn't know how honest he should be in the moment. "Four years ago."

"Four years?!" Owen's eyes widened, stealing our attention. "I was almost eighteen the last time I was here, and that was ... a little over four years ago. Wow! We could have met each other that year!"

"I'm glad we didn't." I stared at my shoes to avoid his expression at my insult.

Owen snorted. "Feisty, isn't she?" He stood and strolled around the small room, tinkering with items as he explored. Stopping near the bookshelf, he picked up the hatchet, sneered at it and placed it back on the shelf.

"What are you doing?" I looked to him, to the rusted hatchet, and back to him again.

"Just wondering if you guys have something to eat?" He rubbed his belly and groaned. "I'm starving."

After sharing what was left of smoked trout, making it stretch by preparing it as a soup, we doused the fire in the pit before the smoke gathered more unwanted attention. To keep warm and stay out of the snow we made ourselves comfortable inside the wooden walls of the hut.

I sat in the chair by the window, Ethan took the corner of the bed, while Owen relaxed on the floor with his back to the wall.

"I'm named after my father, Owen Bradley Etling." A proud smile formed on his lips, confusing me as I thought of his father sitting in an identical position but behind bars.

I brought my knees to my chest and secured the blanket around my shoulders. "What did your dad do?"

"Nothing worthwhile." Owen shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "At least, that's what Mother always said." His tone change when mother left his lips.

"Where is your mom," I went on.

"Dead."

"Oh, sorry." I glanced over to Ethan to see his reaction. He didn't react. He listened while picking pieces of lent from the mattress with his fingers.

"Don't be sorry." Owen looked to me, his bright eyes and calming voice sucked me in. "It was a long time ago. I've already moved on."

I looked at Ethan again, prompting Owen to do the same.

"You're not very talkative, huh?" Owen tilted his head as if he were intrigued.

"I talk." Ethan continued to finger the mattress top.

Owen tilted he head to the other side, and the odd interaction between the two stole my attention. He kept his eyes on Ethan and his busy fingers. "Well, what's your full name?"

I glared even though he couldn't see it. "Why does it matter?" Maybe he would hear the irritation in my voice.

Owen's smile was barely visible but his eyes never left Ethan. "I'm curious."

Ethan shrugged. "Ethan Avery Bryson. I'm not named after anyone though."

When Owen chuckled, flashing his perfect, bright teeth, a bead of anger slowly swelled in my gut. Why did he seem so interested in Ethan all of a sudden? And what about Ethan's name was so amusing?

I cleared my throat to demand attention. "My full name is Allison Lynn Bryson. I'm named after my mom, Lynn Bryson."

"Is that so?" Owen finally looked at me. "What's her middle name?"

I shrugged. "She doesn't have one."

"Why not?" He looked to Ethan again as if he had the answer. "Everyone should have a middle name."

"Well, she doesn't," I confirmed.

Ethan sighed. "Allison, you just don't know her middle name, and that's okay."

"Ethan!" I couldn't hold in my anger. "That's not true. She doesn't have a middle name."

Ethan seemed annoyed. "It was Carol, after her mother."

Did he have to correct me now, and in front of Owen? The heat of embarrassment rushed my cheeks, and I tried everything to prevent either of them from seeing it.

"So where's she at?" Owen looked between us curiously.

When I looked to Ethan, he answered, "Allison doesn't know her mother and neither do I."

"That's a shame, I guess. Oh, well, who needs mothers anyway?" Owen's comment and his chuckle got under my skin.

I tightened the blanket around me, tossing aside my embarrassment and replacing it with rage. "That's cruel and not funny at all."

"It's funny to me." Owen was quickly becoming an expert at mixing my emotions, and I didn't like it at all. "Mothers are pretty worthless."

"What a fool." The muscles between my eyebrows tightened as I glared. "You wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for your mother. You should give her a little more respect than that."

"How much respect do they deserve for walking out on us?" Owen stared at me as if he was waiting for an answer.

I sat forward, as an angry heat gurgled in my chest. "Your mother died. She didn't walk out on you."

He looked to Ethan again. "She left all the same, and frankly, I couldn't care less."

The way he operated in the short amount of time of getting to know him spoke volumes. And I finally saw the ugliness in him that I had been searching for earlier.

I stood, allowing the blanket to fall from my shoulders. "I'm not surprised that those words would come out of your mouth, because I know all about you."

Ethan looked back and forth between us with a look of confusion on his face. "You don't know him, Allison. And we shouldn't judge him for his beliefs, no matter how ... twisted."

Ignoring the underhanded insult, Owen nodded to Ethan with that smile on his face. "Thank you, Ethan Avery Bryson."

Did Ethan's cheeks take on a rosy tint?

"I do know him, Ethan. I know all about him." I turned to face Owen, focusing my attention on him. "I saw you."

"You saw me? Where? When?" Owen raised his palms like an innocent man.

"I saw you there." I pointed out of the window and toward the frozen lake.

Owen stood and looked out toward our icy stage. After a few awkward seconds, he smiled. "This place has such a great, beautiful view despite all the dead trees and brush." He turned to Ethan who remained seated on the corner of the bed. "I remember one year I tried to go ice skating on that lake. It was so funny because I constantly kept falling on my ass. I bruised myself up something fierce." He laughed and returned to the same spot on the floor.

Baffled by his casual demeanor, I tapped the window with the tip of my finger, hoping to make my point. "It melts in the spring. You know?"

"I know." Owen shrugged off my words. "So what? You saw me near the lake. When, earlier?"

"I saw what you did Owen, so stop playing games." I allowed my voice to raise, as I no longer cared about being civil. "Why are you here?"

"What did you see him do?" Ethan finally stood, concern in his voice.

"He was with a girl," I paused to see if he would continue where I left off and confess, but when his smile didn't fade and he remained silent, I continued, "The girl he was kissing."

"Kissing?" Owen chuckled as if it were the craziest thing he's ever heard, but I wasn't crazy.

Ethan glanced to the window. "The girl with the dark hair?"

"Yes, she's in the lake and he put her there." To say it out loud was a relief, especially now that I was sure of what I saw.

Owen's eyes narrowed and his confusion was obvious. "What are you guys talking about?"

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want from us? We answered your questions. You've gotten to know us—"

"I don't want anything!" Finally, a spark of anger in Owen's tone came through. "I just wanted to come and relax in my place. I have no idea why she's saying these things. I wasn't ever kissing a girl nor did I hurt anyone."

"He's lying, Ethan," I sneered, disgusted with his lies and the truth I had witnessed with my own two eyes. "He—he bashed her head with a huge rock and dragged her body into the lake."

Ethan came to my side and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "Are you sure it wasn't just your imagination, and your mixing reality with a plot from one of your stories that—?"

I gasped, shocked that he would question me. "You don't believe me?"

Visibly frustrated, Ethan shook his head. "We make up a lot of stories, Allison. Maybe you saw him, but mistakenly blended his characteristics with your vivid imagin—"

"I know what I saw." I tossed my hands up angrily before pointing to Owen. "You'll believe this lying stranger over me?"

Owen casually ran his fingers through his short, blond locks. "She sure is a feisty one."

"Oh yeah? Is that right?" I marched to the door. "Come on, Ethan. You don't believe me now, but you will."

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