A LIGHT IN THE FOREST

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

VEGA

Colorado

April 2021

Vega stood in the middle of the kitchen with her left arm boundso tightly behind her back the tendons in her shoulder gave way toa sharp pop. She closed her lips to keep a moan inside.“Don’t laugh at me.” Her boyfriend, Zach—fingers so tight herhand had gone numb. No hint of lightness in his words. A cruelangle to his jaw. Not the man she’d met a year ago, on a warmday in October when she’d been camped at a state park. He’d justfinished a mountain bike ride. She was putting hers away. He wascute, handsome in an unassuming way. Ruggedly sexy. But in thismoment—with his hand crushing her wrist, using his strength tointimidate her—he was someone else. A stranger in his skin.Her head buzzed, her senses assaulted, overwhelmed with thesmallest details.Warm air from the cooling oven.Sleet in wet taps against the window.Broken glass at her feet. Orange juice sticky across thecounter.Riley crying from the pack ’n play on the floor behind her.Her pulse raced, panic twisting knots into her stomach. Hermother’s voice in her head. Run. Frenetic energy raced down herlegs and into her arm that hung free by her side. His other handrested casually on the counter by his untouched plate of food. Likethis was a normal morning. Like his hand squeezing her wristhadn’t just destroyed what she’d hoped would be an idyllic life. Heyanked her arm, and electric shocks raced through her shoulder.She started to buck against his grip, a wild desperation to freeherself racing through her body. She knew what men could do towomen. Had felt a sickening suspicion about Zach growing. Hewasn’t special. Or different. He was exactly what her mother hadwarned her about.She grabbed the grapefruit spoon and stabbed his hand on thecounter. The spoon bounced off the hard bone, hardly breakingthe skin, but he grunted, releasing her, and for a second, she feltrelief and even a traitorous hope that it would break whateverspell had turned this man into a monster.He punched her in the stomach.She couldn’t breathe. Pain in her belly. White spots bloomingin her vision. Urine wet on her pants. She crumpled to the ground,arms pressed into her gut, and leaned her back against the pack’n play.A bloodied napkin landed on the floor by her feet, followed bythe flutter of an empty Band-Aid wrapper. The front door slammedshut.She breathed in, but it came out a sob. Her hair reeked ofburned meat. And when she lifted her hand, she noticed abracelet of reddish-blue fingerprints marring the skin of her wrist.She stared at it.Vega knew what this was. Had seen the bruises, the fear in theslouched backs of other women. But she’d never felt it herself.Her mother had spent her entire life trying to help women insituations just like this. And Vega had grown up helping her.She turned her wrist, winced at the pain that shot up her arm.She brought her knees up, arms hugging her shins, and recoiledwhen she spied the napkin. White linen, ruined by spots of bloodso red it looked fake.She touched her face. Smelled the sweet thickness of maplesyrup in the grooves of her fingertips. Her stomach turned, andshe covered her mouth with her palm, afraid she’d be sick.A loud ringing in her ears and her mother’s voice in the cottoninside her head, muted but firm.Run.But Vega couldn’t move, scrambling to find sense in what hadhappened.She’d made breakfast for him. Gotten up early to do it, despitethe hours she’d been awake with Riley, trying to calm hisagonized cries, soothe him back to sleep. She’d kept the door tothe baby’s room closed; Zach had to be at the store early thatmorning. He needed his sleep. The more Riley had cried, themore she’d felt the gulf inside her widening. She was a terriblemother. Couldn’t help her own baby. Her C-section scar hadhealed, but it remained a constant reminder of the life she’dbrought into the world, and the epic failure she was at caring forthat soul.If only her mother were alive.Her thoughts walked drunken lines in her head, unorganized,scattered by the shock that turned her skin to ice.She’d put the bacon in the oven instead of frying it on thestove because she’d had Riley strapped to her chest, calmed atlast and asleep, with his body pressed against hers. She didn’twant the splatters of hot fat to scald his tender flesh.She’d made french toast with fresh blueberries, had beenheating the syrup and forgotten about the bacon. It was fine—charred a bit. She’d set a place on the island for Zach: clothnapkin, matte-gold fork and knife, a small spoon with the sharptines on the end for the half grapefruit he liked every morning.Steaming cup of coffee and fresh-squeezed orange juice perchedon the edge of the place mat. Newspaper folded open to thebusiness section.It was how he liked it and how she liked it too. Having lived onthe road with her mother for her entire life, it still felt like she wasplaying house. And a little like she’d betrayed her mother. But itwas exactly what she’d wanted: a home, a family, a place to lether roots grow deep.Zach said that while they both might have come from nothing,they didn’t have to live that way. Said it mattered how she kepthouse—the dishes they ate off, the meals they cooked, the linensthey slept on. Their home was modest, tiny but neat, in an oldneighborhood at the base of the foothills. The kind with maturetrees, not the new developments with cookie-cutter lots and tinyshrubs. Vega loved it.But Zach wanted more. One day, he dreamed, they’d have amountain home made with cool metals and warm woods, marblecountertops, and a fireplace in the master. A home with gates anda quiet Tesla to drive, one for each of them. But I don’t need allthat, she’d laughed, snuggling into the curve of his arm, legsentwined. I like my old van. She hardly drove it anymore. It wasthe one she’d grown up in with her mother—an old conversionkind made into a camper—and it held all her memories, the goodand the ones laced with her discontent. Her desire to stay put thathad breached some kind of unspoken agreement between herand her mother. Still, it was the only thing she had left of Renee,and she’d never get rid of it.Zach had kissed her neck. That eyesore won’t be allowed inour new neighborhood. Too ugly. He’d tickled her and she’dbrushed it aside, thinking he was kidding. Assuming it had been ajoke.Blood on the napkin ignited flashbulbs of memory. His angerover the bacon. She’d laughed because it was a ridiculous thing tobe angry about. But something had awakened in his eyes. A slughiding in the dirt. One she couldn’t see until she’d swept away alayer of soil to expose it. Like the time he came home drunk andpinned her up against a wall. She’d pushed him away; he’dstumbled, hit the back of his knee on the coffee table, and fallen tothe floor. Shook his head, stared at his hands, and disappearedinside their bedroom. She’d slept on the couch.Don’t laugh at me.She’d laughed again, not heeding the slug. It’s bacon. Don’t besuch a snob. And turned away from him to pick up Riley, who’dstarted crying again. Before she could, he’d grabbed her hand andyanked her back, twisting her around until she faced him with herarm pinned behind her, his hand squeezing the bones of her wrist,a painful popping in her shoulder. His eyes were hard and serious.She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t move. Loathed thethought that she’d ignored the warning signs, had allowed herselfto believe that Zach was different.Don’t talk to me like that.It had shocked her, and she’d almost laughed again. Of allpeople, Vega should never have found herself in this situation. Notafter the life she’d shared with her mother. One spent openingback doors to show women and children and others a way out.The two of them female vigilantes in a world of abusive men. Vegahad grown up seeing the truth of what happened behind closeddoors. But in her mission to save victims of domestic violence, hermother had insulated Vega from experiencing anything for herself.She’d kept them forever moving, never staying anywhere longenough to make friends.Vega stared at Riley; her body shook. How had she let herselfignore the doubt that had haunted her quiet moments? The tootight grip on her arm when she’d giggled at Zach’s attempt tobutton Riley’s jammies. The press of his lips when he saw her“like” a photo of his high school friend at a Rockies game onInstagram. Her chest heaved. How had she let herself stay with aman like Zach?Run.It’s exactly what her mother would tell any woman in thissituation.In the pack ’n play, Riley squirmed, brought his legs in and out,restless, uncomfortable for some reason that Vega didn’tunderstand. She had no experience with babies, and her mom,who knew everything, was gone. Her face was dry, but her eyesburned.A wisp of Vega’s mother in the space beside her, and her voiceslid into Vega’s ears.There are some men you run from.It ignited something inside her, and Vega pushed to her feet,yelping from the sharp pain that spidered through her shoulderand arm, cradling it to her stomach while she threw clothes into abag. Her breath came in rapid huffs that made her feel dizzy.A dog barked from down the street, another from next door.Sentries warning her of something coming. She slung her bagover her injured arm, picked up Riley with the other, and ran to thevan. Rain and snow turned her lips cold, her teeth chattering. Herhands fumbled to clip in the car seat. She slid Riley into the seat,kissed the tip of his nose, and stared into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” Shewiped tears from his face, the same from hers, and slid the vandoor shut; it was loud in the quiet morning. Warm yellow glows litthe windows of her neighbors’ homes. Her heart thumped againsther chest. Zach’s parents’ house was only three doors down. Itwas still dark.She scrambled into the driver’s seat and turned the key,pressing her foot on the gas. It revved, and she waited for the oldengine to warm, whispering, “Come on, come on.” Craned herneck to look around, jumped at a figure walking toward her. Shegripped the steering wheel, thought of the loaded gun her motherhad always kept in the glove compartment but never used. Thesame one Vega had asked Zach to hide in the attic the momentshe’d brought Riley home, having nightmares of her baby findingit. The figure came closer. Her skin prickled. A man in a hoodedraincoat, dog on a leash. He gave her van a quick glance beforehurrying past.

Vega slumped over the wheel, pressed her forehead into theplastic, and told herself to breathe past the pain in her stomachand the disbelief that tightened her throat.Zach had been different when they first met. Quick to anger,sure—she’d seen it once when his bike chain popped off during aparticularly steep ascent. He’d thrown the bike down the trail. Butthat had been about a bike, she’d thought. Not a person.If she was being honest with herself, there’d been a time whenshe thought the spark between them had waned. She didn’t know;she’d never had a boyfriend and was reminded of thisinexperience by the self-doubt that pecked at her confidence. Butthen she’d gotten pregnant, and everything seemed better.Happier. Hopeful. And when something did happen—Zachscreaming at her because she’d smiled at the guy delivering pho,pinching the tender flesh of her side because she’d forgotten touse the good silverware when his parents came over for dinner—he was sorry. He was always so sorry.The windshield wipers swished thick slush off the glass. Thesky hung low over everything, matching the heaviness across hershoulders.A car drove slowly down their street, headlights bright in thedim morning. She squinted, adrenaline racing into her fingertips.She tapped the wheel. Was that Zach’s car? From the bench seat,Riley cried.Again, her mother’s voice, insistent, panicked. Vega, go!She released the emergency brake and pressed the gas, thevan sliding on the slushy pavement, then catching and fishtailingforward.