Chapter 2

His voice carries. Sophie jogs over, playing peacemaker.

"Guys, don't fight. It's just dog poop. I'll do it."

She says it, then waits. On purpose.

When I don't budge, she finally goes to pick it up.

Ryan shoots me a look—like I'm the problem here—and hurries after her.

Sophie's never done this before. She wraps her hand in layer after layer of plastic bags like she's defusing a bomb.

"Ugh, it reeks."

She ties the bag off in a giant knot, and Ryan hands her a whole bottle of water to rinse her hand.

Something inside me clenches.

I've been cleaning up after Bowie for days. Ryan's never once asked if my hands were dirty.

One bottle empties. Ryan cracks open a second.

I can't watch it anymore.

"There's no store for miles. Go easy on the water."

He gets snappy.

"Why are you being so difficult today? Her hand stinks—she's just supposed to deal with it?"

"Washing your hands doesn't take two liters, Ryan."

The second I say it, Bowie starts growling at me. Low. Warning. Like he's telling me not to raise my voice at Sophie.

The absurdity of it hits me—the dog I raised for five years is growling at me for someone else.

My mood spirals. I turn, get in the car, and pull up the route on my phone.

Sophie slides into the back and pats my shoulder.

"Come on, road trips are all about compromise. You didn't wanna pick up after Bowie, so I did it. I just wanted to wash my hands. Don't be so uptight."

I open my mouth to explain—she's already onto the next topic.

"I sent you the dinner spot. Drive us there next."

I glance at the screen and frown.

"It's a seafood place. I don't eat seafood."

Ryan slides in and catches the end of it. His face darkens.

"Sophie spent all afternoon picking that spot. Do you have to be the one ruining every plan?"

Sophie tugs Ryan's hand from the back seat, looking embarrassed on my behalf.

"You should've said something sooner, Mia. We already booked."

They decided when I wasn't even there.

They cut me out. Again.

I keep my voice steady.

"I'm severely allergic to shellfish. Did you both forget I went into anaphylactic shock last time?"

Ryan pauses. He and Sophie exchange a look.

The last time I went into anaphylactic shock, it was because of them.

It was my birthday. They knew about the allergy—and still ordered a giant seafood platter. Called it a surprise.

I refused. They coaxed me.

"Just one bite. A little won't hurt."

I ate one shrimp. Within ten minutes my throat closed like someone's hand was around it, and my lips swelled shut.

They thought I was acting. They were laughing.

"She's really committing."

By the time I collapsed and turned purple, they finally panicked and called 911.

The ER doctor said another few minutes and I'd have been dead.

I woke up and didn't blame them. I just never touched shellfish again.

Ryan's still talking.

"Babe, of course I remember. But we came all this way, and this place is famous for its seafood. You've gotta try at least one bite."

"Don't worry, I'll tell the waiter—no shrimp or crab on your plate."

"Stop being so uptight. You're a grown woman. Being scared of everything ruins the whole vibe."

I'm done with Ryan.

Just then, my phone buzzes.

Flash flood warning. Mudslides. The road out is closed—two more days before it clears.

I make my decision.

The moment it reopens, I'm gone.

A boyfriend who couldn't care less about my health.

I don't want him anymore.