Page 63 of Love Me Fearless

Beth pulls to a stop on the opposite side of the driveway as Hutch opens my door. As I settle behind the wheel, I catch the wounded look on Beth’s face, caught in the glow coming from the porch, before she turns away.

It’s a harsh but very real reminder that Hutch and I are playing with fire.

Chapter Sixteen

I watchAva back up and turn her car down the driveway, my chest tightening the further away she gets. Why does she keep running away from me? And that reaction of hers that stirred up the break-in, what was that all about? What happened that night?

Beth slips between the cars and clambers onto the porch.

“You’re late,” I call out, checking my watch. 12:07.

“Close enough,” she says over her shoulder. “Looks like you were busy anyways.”

I scowl at her back. “I’m the adult here.”

She turns back from the door to stare me down. “You sure are making some dumb choices.”

I try to catch up but she’s inside before I can climb onto the porch. From the kitchen, Thea and Beth scream and jump around hugging, then start talking over each other the way they always have. Sisters.

Ava’s text lights up my phone as I’m locking up the house.

I’m home

Thank you. Sleep tight

You too

But when I crawl into bed, though I should be exhausted, there’s a restless energy thrumming through me I can’t turn off. Ava’s hiding something from me about that break-in, and I don’t like it. She knows she can trust me, so why won’t she share?

A series of giggles and sighs followed by the soft thumping of Thea’s bed against the wall has me stuffing my pillow over my head to drown them out. If she and her hockey stud stay more than a few days, I might have to start sleeping in the barn.

I wish Ava was here. At least I’d have someone to laugh about it with. But she’s not, and the memories of the day and the worries about Mom don’t waste any time finding me as I wrestle with the sheets for comfort.

But wrestling makes me think of Ava and how we spent most of the evening. By four-fifteen, I’m hard as a rock and wide awake, so I do the only thing that might help—jump into the shower, jerk off to thoughts of Ava’s thighs wrapped tight around me, then suit up for a run to the high school where I can get in a series of stadium sprints before the students arrive.

It’s still pitch dark as I take off down the driveway, the air fresh and cool. Above me, the bright stars look so crowded in the black sky, like an explosion of shattered glass. It makes me miss my crew and the thrill of jumping into the cold abyss at twenty thousand feet with the stars glittering above us.

Fuck, I miss it. I miss my crew. I even miss training, and that’s saying a lot.

The reality that Mom is still a long way from being back on her feet gets heavier with every footfall. Ava’sit doesn’t work like thatroams through my thoughts. Should we get a second opinion? Evergreen Hospital is a top-rated facility thanks to our generous community,but could a bigger hospital offer better care? I hate the idea of moving her, but what if it’s the only way she’ll get better?

Once at the high school, I head for the bleachers and start my first set. My legs practically come alive beneath me as I pump my way to the top row. It’s a sign I’m overdue for a challenging workout. I push myself hard, timing each set so I don’t slack, and by the time I finish, my quads are singing and my lungs are on fire.

After a cool-down lap around the track, I slip through the gate and head for home by way of the park so I can get in a few sets of pull-ups on the monkey bars. But when I turn into the playground, I’m not alone. There’s someone riding the merry-go-round. He’s lying on his back, splayed like a starfish as the metal base slowly spins, making an eerie creak in the dawn stillness.

The rising sun is a pink blush in the eastern sky, washing the green grass and brightly colored playground equipment with a soft glow. I glance around but don’t see anyone else, or a car parked nearby.

As the merry-go-round slows, the kid rolls to his feet and jumps off, then grabs the metal railing and pushes the merry-go-round while running alongside it, faster and faster, his jeans swishing and his footfalls tapping the rubber padding underneath. I catch a glimpse of his face as he leaps on and goes limp in the center of the floor, breathing fast.

“Troy?” I call out.

I walk closer. “Hey, you okay?”

He spins and spins, the creak of the bearings the only sound.

“Troy.” I step onto the rubber mat platform.

Finally, he glances at me, but the rotating floor forces us to break contact. I reach out and apply a bit of resistance to the metal railing as it passes, slowing the merry-go-round gently.

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