Page 106 of Race to Me

“Foster!” I scream as he runs out of the room.

Leaving me to look at myself in the wall of mirrors wondering why in the fuck I’m so utterly in love with him.

I would say I came here for Sky, but I’d be lying, and I hate myself for that.

skyler pov

God, I hate that Foster’s acting so weird. I hate it. Kate’s going to meet me at the theatre and I’m trying to be careful as I battle the rain to pick up our dresses from Rita’s apartment.

A confusing sigh of relief escapes me when I pass Grace Studios. Foster’s car sits out front, and before my line of sight leaves the parking lot, Brett’s Jeep pulls in behind him. Maybe he wanted to practice?

I knock on Rita’s door with more confidence under my belt and more time to think. Knowing Foster, he was probably just worried about the dance and didn’t want to admit it. Soon, I’ll be dancing in his arms.

Nothing can ruin this night for us.

“Come in!” Mrs. Rita calls. I step inside and see our dresses laid out for us on the dining table.

“They’re perfect!” I squeal.

She smiles as she walks in from the kitchen, “I’m so happy you like them, dear. I’m sorry I had to get them to you last minute. Things have been wild here.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, studying her glossy eyes.

She waves her hand. “It’s okay, Skyler. Nothing for you to worry about.”

I’m so excited about the dance that my brain can barely register the sad look in her eyes. “Do you need anything?” I ask, my voice filling with concern.

“No, dear. Just head out. Enjoy your dance,” A single tear rolls down her cheek.

I step closer to her, capturing her tear-stained face in my hands. “What’s happening?” My first thoughts in times of distress are that my father did something.

The dam breaks, and tears flow down her face. “It’s Sophie,” she cries. “She’s in the hospital.”

A gasp escapes my lips. “What happened?”

“She’s sick, Skyler.”

Maybe the flu? “What can I do?”

“Nothing, sweet girl. Please go to your dance. It’s in God’s hands now.” Rita looks to the ceiling, offering a pained smile. “She needs a heart transplant. We thought we’d have more time.”

“Oh my God.” I breathe. “Poor Sophie,” My voice cracks.

“If you could, please place her box in my car for me while I go freshen up. I’d really appreciate it.” She sniffles.

She dabs her eyes with a tissue, retreating into her room. Poor, sweet Sophie. I glance around the room and find a pink box with her name on in. Carefully, I pull out a small fuzzy brown bear that rests on top. It’s well-loved with flattened fur and tattered fabric.

I hug it to my chest for a brief moment before extending my hand to place it back in the box, but I stop cold as my eyes travel to the bear’s paw.

It can’t be.

I clutch it against me, dropping everything but the matted bear and my keys as I race outside of the apartment.

Forty-four

On a terrifyingly dark evening, the eye of the storm would come crashing down on Miami, forcing the palm trees to sway, already broken hearts to break, and butterflies wings to stop flapping.

The young lover would remember everything from that terribly stormy night.

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