Page 74 of Crash into me

I white knuckle the door handle. “What happened?”

A side smirk lays on his face. “We forgot about Sophie.”

“Oh shit!” I laugh. “I’m so glad you remembered!”

* * *

We tip-toeinto the quiet house. Adeline is asleep in her room. Foster guides me to the kitchen counter, then pulls out a piece of paper from the drawer. “You write it. She’ll realize it’s my handwriting if I do.”

“What do I put?”

“Just like …” He laughs, and it’s a carefree and beautiful sound. We’re taking a speck of our lives back, and doing this for Sophie is so beautifully normal that it fills my heart with joy. “One voucher for Sophie Jennings for a fun day,” he whispers.

“Okay, done!”

We creep into Sophie’s bedroom, trying our hardest to not wake her up. But as you know, when you’re trying to be quiet, every creak in the floor sounds like a bomb, and every snicker turns into uncontrollable, belly hurting laughter.

Foster mimics a tickling motion. “Don’t look at me.” I hold my lips tight, trying to whisper and not snort.

Foster hands cover my mouth. “Don’t you dare.” There’s a laugh in his whispering tone. But as we get closer to the bed, we both take our task more seriously.

We have a fool proof plan. I’ll lift the pillow; Foster will retrieve the tooth and replace it with the voucher, and then we’ll make a break for it.

“We’ve got this,” I playfully encourage Foster, ballet coming in handy for me as we tip-toe to her bed.

It’s so dark in her room that Foster nearly trips over her stuffed animals.

I lift the pillow. Foster retrieves the bag and note. He holds it up to the moonlight to read what it says. A guttural sound escapes his chest as his shaking fingers hold the paper.

As I slip my hand underneath his to angle whatever he’s holding, a bolder gets lodged in my throat.

A wave of thunder crashes against the house, shaking the foundation as we silently stare at the message:

‘No one is out of my reach, Foster Jennings.’ – TK

My quivering lips part. “The Keeper,” I mouth.

I turn to Foster’s pale face, his skin resembling that of a Ghost. “Grandma,” he whispers, bolting from the room to check on her. When he doesn’t return, I search for him.

He’s in the kitchen, his hands curled around the countertop. He’s staring at the note, searing. “Is Adeline okay?”

He simply nods, pulling a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. He turns it back, taking a long swig. “This shit ends tonight,” he growls, never taking his eyes off the paper. “He was in my fucking house,” he sneers, not bothering to keep his voice low.

I don’t want him to make any rash decisions. I scoop under his arms, blocking his view from the threat that was below his little sister’s head. “How about we sleep on this?” I nudge my head to the clock on the microwave. “It’s three in the morning.”

But he doesn’t look like he wants to sleep; he looks like he wants to wreak havoc.

An idea pops into my head. “Should we call the cops?”

Foster looks down to me, his midnight eyes burning. “Do you really think the cops give a fuck what happens to me or anyone in this neighborhood, Sky?” he barks, stepping away from me.

“I’m not the one who did this!” I slam my palm on the counter. “You’re not going to self-destruct, not tonight.”

He runs an inked hand over his face. “The crew’s on the way, and Wes.”

“Why Wes?”

He shrugs. “I’m in over my head,” he admits, his shoulders slumped. “I need help.”

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