Page 250 of Out of Bounds

"Good," I snapped and took a deep breath. The deep breath wouldn’t come. I tried again. "Good."

Shirts, pants, jackets, scarves, shorts, Marrs socks, all the Marrs socks. I kept down the handle with my elbow and threw everything in. If I went as fast as I could, I could outpace that burning sensation that started somewhere at the bottom of my throat. I just had to keep going.

The burning sensation latched on, and I struggled to breathe, throwing things into the metal hatch.

There were only a handful of items left. I was almost done.

"Good." I tried to say with a clear voice, but my throat ached. "Fantastic."

Small items slipped between my fingers, and I watched everything from the last couple of months tumble away. The whole thing Cleo had orchestrated, I still remembered our first meeting in the training center. It was supposed to be so simple. It wasn't supposed to rip my heart out and smash it to pieces.

"Serves you right," I snapped. "Serves you—serves you—" I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my lips together, trying to keep the swell of tears away.

Only one thing remained, and the metal creaked as I held it above the jaws of death.

I let the Bullshit Box slam shut. Why didn’t I throw it away first?

The number ‘four’ practically shined back at me, and there it was, Cross, all in capitals. Hisjersey, the one I’d taken fromhislocker.

His damn jersey.

That’s what was left. An overpriced, marked-up piece of cloth that I’d worn to every game, every practice. It should’ve been the first thing I tossed.

But for some damn reason, I couldn’t unclench my fingers.

Once I threw it away, that was it.

"Okay." I swallowed and balled up the jersey tight. "I can do this. I—I can do this."

Nothing happened.

"I can do this." With a shallow breath, I dug my fingernails into the fabric and slammed open the metal door and held the jersey overhead. "I can do this. Just do it. Justdo it."

The empty silver gleam winked back at me and I hesitated.

Tears stung.

I can’t do it.

It was a harsh realization.

There wasn’t a long-term plan. I wouldn’t drop it in a ravine or something. But staring down at the metal in horror, I swallowed twice. Everything else could go, but the jersey still smelled likehim. I couldn’t abandon it yet.

I just couldn’t cast it aside. Not yet.

"Ma’am—"

I whipped over, the sound bringing me from my trance, definitely looking like the residential basement dweller. Tears streamed down my face and I was bent across the Bullshit Box, like I could’ve prevented anybody from seeing what I was up to.

"Ma’am, do you need me to call somebody?" The receptionist frowned, peering into the hallway. "Because I’m trying to read a book and you’ve been crying for twenty minutes…."

"No, I’m—I’m fine—" It took me a moment to look at my hand, completely empty. "Oh no."

"Okay, because if you want a tissue…or…akeyback to yourroom, I can—"

My mouth fell open. "I dropped it in."

"Dropped—?"

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