Page 22 of Finders Reapers

My boyfriend of two years.

My soul ached in a way that felt like a physical blow. I stumbled back, away from the road, and Fletcher turned to me in question. I clutched the fabric of my shirt over where my heart was. My cheeks flamed even though my blood had gone cold.

“Cody,” I whispered, my voice clogged with tears.

“You know that guy?” Fletcher nudged me.

“He’s my boyfriend.” The words snagged on my throat as they pushed past my lips.

Fletcher let out a whistle. “You were way out of his league.”

I shot him a glare. “That’s Cody Masterson,” I said meaningfully.

Fletcher shrugged.

“He has fifty million followers on YouTube,” I exclaimed. “He literally built the app. He was one of the first gaming channels.”

“He’s like thirty?” Fletcher eyed me. “How old were you when you met?”

Eighteen, but I didn’t answer his question.

“I don’t watch YouTube.” Fletcher went on to say.

“But you knew who I was,” I crossed my arms over my chest. The light changed to red, and the crowd at the crosswalk began to move. Fletcher and I weaved around the tourists that had stopped to umm and ahh over the fountain.

Fletcher reached into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone. I practically salivated with the need to grab it out of his hand and check my socials, but I held myself back.

He swiped to his newsfeed, and there it was, in digital print—my profile picture and the photo of me with all of my friends when we arrived at the Paris, Las Vegas. Smiling bright, with no idea what was about to happen.

“You wanna watch the video?” He asked.

“My death video?”

“The event was live-streamed by Elite Energy, that weird energy drink that apparently has gold in it.” Fletcher flicked his hair out of his eyes, but it just fell back in place.

My eyes widened. “You said I shouldn’t watch it.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “I’m not the therapist on the payroll.”

“There’s a therapist?” I perked up.

“Maddox.” His lips twitched and grew into a full-blown grin at my visible deflation.

Maddox looked like he could crush a man’s skull between his fingers and then eat an entire prime rib like a cartoon caveman.

Not to mention the scowl that had seemed permanent.

“Cody’s heading this way.” Fletcher craned his neck as he pocketed his phone. “You cool?”

“No,” I admitted, shaking my head as I began to panic. “I’m not cool. I’m hot. I’m a furnace. I’m a fire. I’m burning, Fletcher!”

“Are you always this dramatic?” He snickered.

I replied by repeating his question in a squeaky voice.

I stepped back until my butt hit the fence surrounding the fountain, earning a few curses thrown my way for pushing people out of the way.

It happened in slow motion.

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