Page 23 of Broken Pact

I unbuckle my seatbelt and try the oldest—and maybe silliest-looking—trick in the no-service book: I stretch out as far as I can, holding my screen in various places around the car to see if I get lucky and get a spot of service. It only takes a few moments for me to realize that this isn’t working.

With a huff, I shuffle out of my car and continue the same thing, moving around the car, onto the sidewalk—even in the middle of the street. Nothing is helping. I’m walking down the yellow dotted line that separates the two lanes, arm extended and face turned toward the screen when I hear footsteps and the low murmur of conversation.

I pivot on the ball of my foot, my boots squeaking against the ground in protest. Any vestiges of hope plummet to the Earth in a fiery crash when instead of a nice old lady it’s a group of people. They look like every cliche villain in an ’80s or ’90s movie. A handful of hulking figures—most likely men—cast long shadows as they amble down the sidewalk. Though I admit I can’t see them too well. The moon is a waning crescent, so she doesn’t provide enough light. And while I parked my car under a street lamp—the next one isn’t for another hundred feet.

And I’m standing exactly in the center, shrouded in shadows.

“Fuck,” I whisper. I clutch my phone in my hand and balance my weight better. I’m trying to remember everything my older brother taught me about self-defense. But it’s like every thought has emptied from my brain right now. All I can think of is how he hammered in the number one thing I should do if I’m in an unwinnable situation: run.

But the problem is that I don't have anywhere to run. I’m essentially trapped by the time. I could hide . . . except that I’m in a part of Avalon Falls that doesn’t have a whole lot of greenery. For a town that’s named after their waterfall and known for their lush parks, most of the town is rather . . . dry. Maples with skinny-trunks dot the sidewalk sporadically—definitely not wide enough to hide behind. No bushes or shrubbery. If I was closer to the venue, I might be okay. But that’s five blocks away.

“You lost, girlie?” a male voice shouts.

“Goddamnit,” I hush out under my breath. Maybe if I don’t answer they’ll just move along.

Maybe they’re harmless. Just a group of kind, do-gooder men who are out for drinks and decided to walk home because it’s such a nice night. I nod my head, like I’m agreeing with my own hopeful assessment.

“Yo, you hard of hearin’ or somethin’?” another voice yells, this one deeper.

My body breaks out into a cold sweat, dampening the back of my neck and blooming underneath my armpits. I shake out my arms a little, wiggling my fingers as best I can while still clutching my phone.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine,” I whisper to myself. It started out as a silly joke I said with Evangeline, but over the years, it’s turned into a sort of mantra. Sometimes it’s ironic and every once in a while, it feels a little bit like a prayer. Like right now.

Except I’m not fine, because they finally noticed me. And there’s no way in hell that I’ll make it back to my car before they reach me. But it’s the only play I have.

I exhale and start power-walking toward my car, keeping my focus on it like my life depended on it. I know my family teases me for being a little dramatic sometimes, but right now, it really does feel like my life depends on me reaching my car in time.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears, a quick, thumping beat in time with the way my boots hit the pavement. I keep my pace brisk, but I don’t run. Because someone once told me that it’s natural to chase things when they run, and I am not trying to be chased today.

I’m halfway there when hope blossoms under my breastbone like a tiny, fragile flower. I’m going to make it.

Ten feet away when the group of men head in my direction like a pack of wild animals. They’re laughing and bumping into each other. One guy even shoves another off the sidewalk and into the street.

Five feet away when one guy peels away from the rest. He jogs toward me, and that hope curdles, curling into itself and plummeting into my gut like a stone.

He steps into my path, and I rock back on my heels. My head snaps back and I glare at my ex-boyfriend for the second time tonight.

13

CORALINE

“That concert blow your eardrums or what, Coraline? I’ve been calling your name for five minutes,” Grant drawls. There’s a lilt to his voice, a lazy sort of cadence that clues me into his intoxication. “What are you doing out this late?” He pauses. “All alone too,” he muses.

So my earlier assessment of them was partially right. They were out for drinks.

I glance at him briefly but keep my gaze on his shoulder as his friends hover behind him like flies at a picnic. They’re buzzing and moving around, like bugs that can’t sit still.

I bite my tongue, metaphorically speaking. I make it a general rule not to back down from a bully, but I’m also smart enough to realize that I’m wildly outmatched right now.

Physically. Mentally, I could run laps around the lot of them and still have enough energy to wake up in four hours and bake three dozen vegan cupcakes.

But for tonight, I’m choosing the smarter path. Even if it means making it seem like I’m bending to this asshole’s demands.

I clear my throat and mimic my best neutral tone. Not too argumentative but not too demure. “Excuse me, Grant.”

He leans down, putting his face closer to mine. “Mm, such manners. Say please.”

Whiskey permeates from him, and it takes everything inside of me not to recoil. I look up at him from underneath my lashes and grit my teeth. “Please move.”

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