Page 98 of Repairing the Wreckage

And whether she knows it or not, that someone’s going to be me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Griff

If I’m going to continue this new habit of following my girlfriend around, I really need to invest in a more stalker-friendly vehicle. The distinctive throaty rumble of the Chevelle forces me to keep too much distance between Molly’s car and mine. Thankfully, I know where Hayden’s house is and which roads they’ll take to the Old Miller Farm where the carnival’s being held.

Remy’s Ghostface mask sits on the seat beside me. Can’t have Molly see me following her around like a guard dog. Or worse, have anyone recognize me from the show.

The girls take two cars. Hayden’s BMW follows behind Molly’s little Bronco, and I try to stay a few cars behind them which isn’t easy on the narrow town roads. Once we get on the highway that leads to the farm, I’m able to stay back. Traffic gets heavier closer to the farm. This carnival has to be the most exciting thing that’s happened in Johnsonville in years.

I make the turn for the bumpy dirt road. Two cars ahead, Hayden slows to a crawl. The guy in the car in front of me lays on his horn.

Hayden’s middle finger appears out of the driver-side window. I huff a laugh at Hayden’s brazenness and reach behind my seat, quickly curling my fingers around my baseball bat in case the impatient asshole ahead of me decides to confront the girls.

Several sloppily marked rows have been designated with orange traffic cones and some kind of solar lights. Christ, we do a better job directing traffic and have better equipment out at The Castle. A guy dressed as a bloody gingerbread man waves a light stick and directs Molly to the left. Hayden follows her. The honker gets sent to a middle row. I ignore the gingerbread man and take the farthest lane.

The bumps and uneven ground rattle my teeth. Rocks ping and scrape the undercarriage. I reach forward and pat the dashboard. “Sorry, Black Beauty. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

I park in the first space I find, grab the mask, and slip it on. A quick glance in the rearview confirms I look just as stupid as I feel.

“Fuck it.” I step out and slam the door, then throw my hood over my head, check I’ve got my wallet and keys, then weave through the parked cars, headed in the direction Molly went.

I find the girls close to the entrance to the carnival. They’re clustered around Hayden’s car, talking and fixing their makeup, I guess. Hayden’s dress is similar to Molly’s, except it’s a baby pink with white and black trim. Kyla’s in a long, red gown with a wide black belt. Darcy’s in a black see-through dress with crazy straps wrapping around her torso and feathers on her shoulders. I can’t even guess what any of the other girls are supposed to be.

Maybe it’s because I’m so fucking obsessed, but Molly stands out like she has a ray of light beaming down on her.

Why am I torturing myself like this?

Like a proper stalker, I keep my distance behind Molly and her friends as they go through the ticket booth and pay their entrance fee. I’m sweating inside the mask but keep it in place.

Without taking my eyes off of the girls, I hand over my twenty and have an orange bracelet clamped around my wrist.

“Have a ghoulishly good time!” the attendant shouts.

I roll my eyes and walk through the makeshift gate. For a traveling carnival, it’s rather elaborate. Much larger than I expected. People are hidden by masks of every horror movie character from the last forty years. Sinister-looking clowns mix with Jasons, Freddies, and Michael Myerses. I pass at least seven different Ghostfaces before I hit the midway.

At least I blend in with all the other basic bros who found a mask and called it good.

I pass by a few couples that went all-out planning their matching costumes. A Barbie and Ken. Kermit and Miss Piggy.

Not one costume is as adorable or clever as Molly’s.

The girls are to my left, buying funnel cakes, corn dogs, fried Oreos and other fair-style food. Molly wanders over to a different booth and buys something that looks like a waffle cone. When I pass the booth a few minutes later, the sign says Fried Mac-n-Cheese. My stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since the morning and the mask isn’t food friendly.

Suck it up.

I spot Molly ahead of me.

Her short skirt and all the layers under it swish from side to side with every step she takes. She keeps slowing down to take bites of her cheesy waffle cone, forcing her friends to drag her along.

They finally duck into a tent set up with picnic benches to eat their treats. I keep walking and pretend I haven’t been following them for the last half hour.

No sign of Torch anywhere. What’d he do? Stand her up? What a dick. I should kick his ass for hurting her feelings.

Pick a lane Royal. You can’t be pissed she’s “dating” him and mad that he stood her up at the same time.

I just hate it when she’s unhappy.

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