Page 168 of Fake Game

“Good.”

She turns the doorknob, and that hive of bees makes its way into my lungs, filling them with their hurried agitation.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t do this.

I start to pull out of her grip, but then the door tugs open and the crisp air whisps around me, sending my pink hair in a flutter. On instinct, I inhale. Cool, clean air fills my lungs, and suddenly that sparkle that’s still buried deep within me begins to flash brighter.

“Just one step.” She runs her thumb over my knuckles.

I take another breath. A little bit of salt from the bay carries on the wind, and I use it to ground myself.

One step.

I move forward to the threshold, my toes curling around the edge.

One step.

But even though I keep telling myself that, my legs don’t seem to move.

I gaze out into the lush fields, tracing the dips of the hills in the distance before searching higher into the sky dotted with clouds. Searching for something to get me to take that one step.

Distantly, the piano music filters back into my consciousness, and it chimes like a bell in my mind. My brows pull together as I focus on the sound, trying to figure out what about it is niggling at me.

A chord of notes plays out, and that sparkle briefly shimmers again.

It’s the same song I heard Angela play at her recital.

Memories of that day come trickling in.

How I held his hand for the first time. His smile teasing me as I wove the delicate tale of our secret romance. The way his fingers traced reassuring patterns on my thigh as we banded together—partners.

“Oh, Deir.” Mam hugs me. “I’m so proud.”

I shift in her hold, feeling something soft under my feet.

Grass.

My toes scrunch against the blades, curling them against my skin as I blink the world back into focus. She lets go and smiles—she smiles because I am smiling.

And then, I take another step.

FORTY-EIGHT

JACKSON

My knee taps up and down as I try to focus on the game at hand. I’m driving in fourth place with Aleksander somehow making a rogue comeback in fifth, tailing my ass like a dog sniffing out a bone.

But my attention keeps slipping because Paige’s phone rang twenty minutes ago and she flew out onto the rooftop patio like her house was on fire. She said they were closing in, that there had been some developments overnight, but that we still shouldn’t get our hopes up too high.

“You did not just banana peel me.” Phoebe glares at her younger brother, who just laughs maniacally.

“Tough luck, sis.”

The patio door slams open, and we all turn around to stare as Paige runs inside.

“We got him.”

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