Page 65 of Close Your Eyes and Count to 10

The grainy figure in photographs, the stranger hiding in Enchantments, the shadow in the forest. The ominous texts warning her away. Agent Coben with his suspicious gaze. That sense she’s had of always being watched, followed. Miller and all his lies. That figure blocking her path—it was somehow all of those things.

Adele was tired of being afraid and ashamed. She felt it bubbling, that rage. Fear made you small. Rage made you strong.

“What do you want?” she said, this time her voice loud, deeper.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She charged him, roaring as loud as the thunder.

22

MAVERICK

Mav gunned the Rover engine, taking the small winding road too fast. He felt this urgency to get to Angeline.

There was a feeling, something that tingled on his skin, when he knew that a challenge was going to go truly bad. He’d felt it the first time before that BMX jump, his first frightening, real accident. He remembered it, even now years later, standing there at the edge of the ramp, his mom behind her camera—as ever. He looked at that line of junked cars and thought,This is not going to work.There were nine cars. The jump was forty-eight feet; just a few farther than he had jumped before. The wind was high, the white flag flapping wildly.

He tried to tell his mom that he wanted to cancel.

Honey, she said.You can’t.

She swept her arm toward the crowd of people who had gathered for the food-bank fundraiser.These people all bought tickets to see you.

He felt that notch in his throat, that deep desire to make his mom smile and laugh. He glanced at the crowd, looking for his dad.He wasn’t there, had protested the whole thing and didn’t show up on principle. Yeah, his dad had his principles.

He’s not your show pony, Myra. Stop using him.His mom and dad had been divorced since before he could remember; still all they did was fight about him, about everything. He hated listening to them talk on the phone; their relationship was like a spoon in the garbage disposal.

Prior to that BMX, all his falls and skids, helmet knocks, tumbles on the slopes, and wipeouts in the waves had seemed like nothing, really. Get up. Walk it off. Stitch it up, bandage it. Laugh at the cosmic joke of it all when you get body-slammed by the planet and the forces that govern it. Because it’s funny.

He didn’t really remember the accident. But he recalled with clarity that final moment when he was on the top of the ramp with Hector. That feeling. Hector knew conditions weren’t right, kept telling him to bail. But he’d done it before; the wind was at his back. He was going to fly. Sometimes it came back to him in dreams. When he looked at the video, his young face was grim and determined. Hector wore his signature worried frown, was holding on to Mav’s arm as if he was trying to hold him back. That suit his mom got him, lightweight white leather, the striped helmet—dorky AF. But at the time he’d felt boss. Then he was flying. Then he was falling, bike twisting beneath him, ground coming up fast. Then nothing.

He could have been killed, Myra. You’re lucky he’s not in a wheelchair.

They love him. They cheered. He raised more money for the food bank than anyone ever has.

He was laid up for more than a month, playingRed World. His followership quadrupled. He quickly realized that people found it hilarious when you screwed up, or when nature took you down as she could and would so easily. They—the followers, the audience he’d been aware of all his life—liked it better when you failed than when you succeeded, it seemed. Because everyone was wiping out,all the time. Anyone who tried to do anything knew that you’d fail a hundred, a thousand times for the one time you got one thing right, found the one thing that worked. That was what people knew best: failure, disappointment.

It makes you real. It makes you relatable, his mother had told him.If you were a superhero, they’d be looking for a way to take you down. Better to let them see that you’re human.

The long road twisted, went on and on, like someone’s story that didn’t seem to have any end, any conclusion. It was empty of cars, streetlamps, any sign of civilization. The island felt empty, deserted, forgotten. He picked up speed.

He hadn’t realized it at the time, but he’d felt that ugly tingle the night he met Chloe Miranda. Where had they been? Aspen. On the roof deck bar of The Little Nell. He’d been well and truly high, the altitude, the gummies he swallowed, his killer day on the slopes. He had done some amazing snowboarding, got some footage that just slayed. Their followership was at an all-time high. WeWatch was paying Extreme a fucking fortune. More money than he’d ever imagined. At the time it seemed like there was no way he couldeverspend it all.

But he sure liked trying. Everyone, his dad especially, was always going on about money and how it corrupted, how it didn’t mean anything, and how it couldn’t buy happiness. But Mavericklovedbeing rich. Loved what he could do, what he could give, how people treated him because he had it. Did that make him shallow? Yeah. Probably.

When he looked back on that night right before he met Chloe, he wondered, was thatit? He thought about it again now as he barreled down the dark road toward the hotel. Was that the last, best day?

It was something his mom had said to him in her final week.

There’s a day, she’d told him.There’s a last, best day. The day when everything is as good as it’s ever going to be. And if you’re notpaying attention, you might miss it. It’s the day when you’re healthy, and everyone you love is okay, and maybe the sun is shining, and you’re doing something stupid like making a cup of tea or reading a book on the porch. And there’s a whole list of things you want but don’t have, and that might be what you’re thinking about. And not a single one of them matters. Because everything that’s important is right there. And, Mav, it’s so easy to miss it completely.

He hated to admit that he checked out on her a lot during that time. He left her on her own for days. Even when he was there, he’d often smoke a bowl out in his car just to take the edge off. He went to that little room inside himself and worked the Mav puppet from the control panel. He was there, but not there.

It’s okay, Mom, he assured her, not knowing what else to say.You’re okay.

But it wasn’t, and she wasn’t, and they both knew that. But she just smiled and nodded, reached for his hand. Even now he still remembered the milky light in that room and her frail hand, her fading voice.

So maybe that was it. That day in Aspen just before he met Chloe Miranda. He saw her from across the bar. Small, tight, princess pretty with honey hair and almond-shaped eyes. She had that look on her face that the fan girls get, wide-eyed, curious, a big smile like they’re looking at the milky way in wonder of all its vastness.

“Check it,” said Gustavo, who was gazing in her direction. “The hot one. She’s looking at you.”

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