"Remember. No jumping. No running unless it's on the track or treadmill. Any pain or discomfort, and we -" I start, going down the list of things the doctor warned me about.

Petr pretends to listen. I have a feeling his attention is on his friends, who he hasn't seen since he came home.

Captain Mathis parks, and we all exit his monster truck. He goes to greet those he knows, while I wait with Petr. My attention shifts briefly to the flags flying above us. The US flag is at the top of the pole. Beneath it flies one with Mikael's picture, like he's looking out for us. It's a nice thought, one I hope is true.

My foolish brother, Petr, is already lugging around packs as big as I am. He hauls it out of the truck bed with no apparent strain.

"Do you want help?" I ask, itching to assist.

"No, sis." He grunts and slings it over his back. "You didn't bring a sleeping bag?"

"Why would I?" I reply.

"Um, if you're a counselor, don't you sleep here overnight?" He gazes down at me, amused, his blue eyes sparkling.

Shit. I glance at the forest. I love it during the day. At night, when there are bugs and spiders and it's cold, I'm not as much of a fan.

But if Petr's staying, so am I. "I guess." Sometimes I worry too much about him and end up messing up my own circumstances.

"Have Zach bring you some stuff," he recommends.

Zach is one of our father's assistants. Nodding, I pull out my cell and type him a note.

Petr goes to the others. Their loud greetings and bear hugs draw my gaze. I smile, thrilled to see the huge grin on his face. Captain Mathis is the only one in uniform, which doesn't surprise me. He strikes me as the kind of guy who is never really off the clock.

"Not your usual ride," Harris says, approaching. Handsome and lean, he's got a trust fund the size of mine and aspirations of following his father into the family business one day. He's smiling, but there is never warmth in his eyes. It's one of the reasons that I sometimes don't like being around him. He can be moodier than me, too, which I have no patience for.

"No," I say. "Good to see you, Harris." I give him a quick hug.

"Always happy to help your family, Kat," he responds. "None of us knew how to show our support, so we jumped at the chance when Zach called."

Then he says something sweet like this, and I tell the little voice inside me that thinks he's creepy to shut up. With a father who doesn't trust anyone and brothers convinced terrorists live in our basement, it's sometimes hard for me to forget that normal people don't suspect everyone around them of being up to no good.




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