Mom is surprisingly chill about my request to ghost her for the afternoon. "I have work to catch up on and a book to read," she tells me when I relay my plans with Hunter. "Go have fun."

This is a far cry from the helicopter parent she was even before my music career began taking off. The Mom of that parallel universe would have asked about the safety of being on a pedal boat, how far from shore we planned to take it, if there would be life jackets on board, whether there was a map of the lake with the spots we'd be going to marked out just in case, and when I expected to be back. I'm becoming a fan of Canada Vacation Mom, even if she does have rules against me being connected to the outside world.

So it's with her apparent blessing that I make the trek next door to Hunter's camp again early that afternoon, after I've showered, changed into shorts and a vintage cropped tee, and eaten enough for lunch that Mom doesn't get on my case. Hunter is already down at the beach when I arrive, putting life jackets and bottles of water in the boat.

"Hey," he greets me. "You're right on time."

"Would you have left without me if I'd been late?" I quip.

Hunter's gleeful smirk lets me know he recognizes the sass I just threw out and that he welcomes the challenge.

"I might have invited Alfie instead, since he seems pretty cool," he claps back. "Want to take that handle on the corner and help me bring this into the water?"

I reach for the handle. "Alfie is definitely cooler than me, but he might have a hard time reaching the pedals."

"Good point. How are you at that?" He looks me up and down, as if trying to determine my height—or lack of it—for himself.

I arch an eyebrow, pretending I'm not amused. "Oh, burn. Don't start in on my height unless you plan to pedal this thing on your own."

"Me, start in on something? I would never." He attempts to look angelic, but he doesn't quite pull it off.

"You only get one pass with the short jokes before I absolutely wreck you. Consider yourself on notice."

"You know, I believe you. And you look kind of terrifying right now."

"Good. You should be terrified." I nod my approval. "Now are we taking this thing out on the lake or what?"

"I'm not sure now. Will I make it back alive?" His shoulders shake from trying to hold in a laugh.

"If you behave."

"No promises, but I'll try my best. Scout's honor." He raises his hand as though swearing an oath, which results in me giving him my most dubious look. "What?"

"I'm not sure I believe you were a Scout." I don't know why I say that, other than there being something about Hunter that demands I tease him for no reason, the same as he does to me.

"Why's that?"

I shrug. "I've never known someone who was." This technically may not be true, since I've met a lot of people in my life, but none of my friends were.

"No one?" he asks. "You should get out more."

"I get out plenty." If only he knew. "Or is 'out' not the same thing as 'oot'?"

He makes a face. "Nice try. I do not say 'oot,' and you know it."

"You do a little."

"Get in the boat, Cali. We'll talk about your accent once we're on the lake."

"I don't have an accent," I inform him.

"I heard you pronounce 'roof' as 'ruff' last night. You have an accent."

"I pronounce 'roof' how I do because it's the correct way to pronounce it." I put my hands on my hips, silently daring him to defy me.

Hunter accepts the challenge. "There's a reason it's spelled with a double o, and it's sure not because the correct pronunciation is 'ruff.'"

"Can we talk about the correct way to say 'about,' then?"

"Not if you want a tour of this lake today. In the boat, please."

"Fine." I fight back a grin and do as he requests. Once I'm seated, he keeps hold of the handle on his side of the boat and walks it out a couple of feet into the lake—just enough so it's floating on the water's surface and not scraping against sand or pebbles on the lake's floor. Then he eases into the other seat, taking care not to tip the boat or take on water.

We begin pedaling and are soon yards away from the shore, headed out to the middle of the lake. Hunter shifts the steering handle and we make a gradual turn to the right. I can see cottages and docks from out here that are hidden from view of the lake road, along with fishing boats and canoes. One dock has a pontoon boat tethered to it.

"Where are we headed?" I ask.

"Over to a part of the lake that doesn't have many camps built on it. It will take us a few minutes to--"

He stops speaking mid-sentence. I glance over in time to see him watching two people on the shore. The people are a girl and a guy who both look to be our age, and the only way to describe Hunter's expression is stricken. He stops pedaling.

"You know what? I'm going to take you somewhere else first." He grips the steering handle and resumes pedaling. The boat turns and now we're heading back the way we came.

"Is everything okay?" I'm assuming the answer is no.

Hunter doesn't respond. I can't tell if his silence is intentional or if he doesn't realize I spoke, since his brow is furrowed and he's focused on getting us moving in the opposite direction. I let the subject drop for the moment and help him out by pedaling with more force and speed. The splash and thump of the rudder against the water overpowers most of the other lake sounds, but it isn't loud enough to mask a male voice calling out in the distance. I'm pretty sure the voice belongs to the guy we just spotted on the shore. He's yelling Hunter's name.

Hunter pretends not to hear him and pedals faster, something that causes me to have to do the same. I've just adjusted to the quicker pace when he increases the speed again, making it nearly impossible to keep up.

"Hold up." I stop pedaling but keep my feet planted on the pedals, trying to force him to slow down.

He takes it a little easier now, bringing us back to a pace I can keep up with. "Sorry. I didn't realize how fast I was going."

"Was one of those people who you didn't want to see at Adam's party, by any chance?"

Hunter grimaces. "You're perceptive."

The guy wears his heart on his sleeve, but I don't tell him this. "I listen and pay attention," I say instead.

"It's actually both of the people I didn't want to see."

I can't read his expression, especially not with his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, but his clenched jaw and how he stares straight ahead at the water tells me a lot.

"A falling out?" I guess.

"If that's what we're calling being knifed in the back by your best friend and cheated on by your ex these days, sure."

Hunter's sharp tone catches me by surprise. It's easy to tell that what happened still stings.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

He shrugs, as though he's trying to play it off, but I suspect it's just for show. "Don't be. I'm the one who should apologize. I invited you out here for something fun to do. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"I'm the one who asked, and venting can help. Well, sort of." There are some things that talking about hasn't helped, like my nightmares and panic attacks. But having Sawyer listen to me blow off steam about Bowie has helped, both before and after we caught him with Portia. Or it did until Mom took my phone away.

"I guess." Hunter doesn't sound convinced.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There isn't a lot to say. It's just one of those things where I thought I knew two people, and then it was like they both became different people."

"And you don't know if they were always that way, and if they were, you can't figure out what you liked or trusted about them in the first place?"

Hunter redirects his gaze from the lake to me. "You say that as if you know."

"Not the part about being backstabbed by my best friend, but yeah, the ex part sounds familiar."

I stop before I say anything else about Bowie. Hunter doesn't need to hear about what happened, and I don't want to think about it. Not here and not now.

"Something recent?" he asks.

"Something that happened a few days before I left L.A."

He bobs his head a couple of times. "I'm pretty good at listening, too, you know."

"Thanks. It's like you said, though. There isn't a lot to say. It's over now, and we broke up, and that's all that matters."

The fans and haters on social media would disagree with me. They'd have quite a bit to say, and they've probably been saying it. It's too much to explain to Hunter, though, especially when I would need to use different names and skip over a few details to keep my cover. I'm also here to forget about everything from recent weeks, the Bowie-and-Portia debacle included.

We both become quiet. I concentrate on the scenery around me.

Hunter breaks the silence after a couple of minutes. "Want some music?"

"Sure. Did you bring your phone?"

"Nope. I didn't want to risk it going for a swim, since it's happened before and I had to do some major groveling to get another one. There's a portable radio in the bag back there."

Hunter stops pedaling and twists around in his seat so he can reach for a plastic bag in the back of the boat. He grabs hold of its handle and sets it on the console between me and him, then unearths a small radio that runs on batteries.

"It isn't satellite radio, but we get a few stations out here. How's rock and alternative?"

"Sounds good to me," I reply.

He presses a couple of buttons and turns a dial. Static crackles through the radio's speaker, and it's soon followed by music. I don't recognize what's playing or the voice singing something about being ahead by a century, but Hunter appears to.

"Who is this?" I ask.

"The Tragically Hip. The song is older than I am, but I think everyone in Canada knows it."

I settle back against the seat and listen, angling my face up to the sun. Now that we've put some distance between Hunter's ex-best-friend and ex-girlfriend, he's relaxing again. And now that we've stopped talking about exes, so am I.

A female DJ comes on the air after the song ends, reminding listeners of what song we just heard along with the temperature and the time. What she says next makes my body tense up.

"Coming up in entertainment headlines at the top of the hour, some new information about the explosion at Cayden Indigo's concert in L.A. last month and a possible motive have just been revealed. We've got the update on this and more after music from The Weeknd, Ariana Grande, and the Headstones, so don't touch that dial."

A commercial for a local business plays next, but I'm not listening to the words or the jingle. I'm finding it difficult to breathe.

"You don't get seasick, do you?" Hunter is speaking to me, but his voice sounds as though it's coming from somewhere in another galaxy.

"Huh?" I blink a few times, trying to pull myself into the present moment.

"All the color just drained from your face. Is it the waves out here on the water?" He removes his sunglasses and continues to examine me.

"I'm fine." Those words have become a meaningless mantra this summer. I give Hunter a weak smile. "I just got a dizzy for a second. Probably too much sun."

"We'll be at the shore in a minute, and then we'll have shade from the trees. You should drink some water."

It's then I notice Hunter has turned the boat and we are, in fact, approaching the shore. We make it there not long after the radio commercials end and the promised block of music begins, and before hearing the entertainment news.

Hunter switches off the radio after we lift the boat out of the water and set it down in a grassy clearing. Blood pumps through my veins and my mind is off in orbit somewhere, buzzing with a million different thoughts. I need to know what the new information about what happened at The Domino is. I have to hear what possible motive Dallas could have had for wanting my fans and probably me dead. The rest of the world will know before me. They likely already do, since I'm sure it's been reported online and on some of the TV news channels.

I want to ask Hunter if we can turn the radio back on but think better of it when I notice he's still watching my every move. His puzzled look and the concern in his eyes are clues that he's aware something is off. I need to pull it back together, and that won't happen if I'm listening to news about the worst night of my life and finally learning why Dallas did it. My hands tremble and a lump rises in my throat just from thinking about it.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Hunter asks. "Do you need to go back?"

"I'm fine," I tell him again, and I even force myself to smile. "You aren't getting out of tour guide duty that easily."

"I wouldn't dream of it." His gaze lingers on me for a few seconds longer, and then he puts his sunglasses back on. "Let's go this way. Have you ever seen a beaver lodge?"

He starts walking. I follow close behind, trying to keep myself grounded in the reality of where I am now, instead of where images of The Domino lingering at the edges of my mind want to take me.