I am Johnathan Jakobs, twenty-four. My best friend, Jillian Smith, quit her job as an FBI agent to search for a twenty-nine year old man that had disappeared years ago. I told her it was a stupid idea, that it was meaningless to search for someone that didn't want to be found. "The Missing One," they called him. He left with no trace—no phone records, no credit card spends, no bank statements. He just...disappeared. Most thought he was dead, maybe took his life from the pain that accident caused. I did too.

That was, until a stranger walked into my bar. Dark hair tied back in a ponytail. A limp. Unique clothes for the area, all baggy tank tops, band tees, and ripped skinny jeans. You never see new people much, or for long out here. In (City), Montana, everybody knows everybody. Only a few hundred people, I know everyone by name. Everyone except this man. It wouldn't have been so strange if a few things hadn't happened. I'll lay it out for you—people greet him as a close friend, he hasn't just come and gone like he were passing through, he talks like the locals as if he's been here a while. And the strangest fact: he knows my name. My full name. Nobody calls me anything except "JJ."

I don't know what happened to him. Nobody really knows. The only thing I know is that he's hurting, and not just physically. He shuts down, locks himself away. He's an asshole, honestly. I shouldn't like him.

But, curse me, why is he so attractive?

The stars flicker overhead as I walk down the dirt path. I remember seeing him walking down this trail with his dog. A German shepherd, I think. Or a malanois. The rocks crunch under my boots, the trees casting eery shadows from the moonlight. Coyotes cackle off in the distance, the rustle of critters in the brush quiet.

"Come on, I know you're out here," I mutter to myself.

A twig snaps. I snap my head towards the sound. A dog, eyes glowing in the moonlight, stands at attention. I shift my gaze, my eyes finding another pair standing by a tree.

{User}...