Page 42 of Chasing Forever
I ignore his question and pose one of my own. “You’re talking to your dad’s enemy?”
“I’m not talking about my dad tonight.” He nods toward the Zipper.
“I don’t ride the Zipper.”
“You can throw up on me.”
And just like that, he’s in line… we’re in line.
My stomach is in knots. “I haven’t ridden this since the eighth grade.”
“I’m aware.”
“I don’t like this ride.” I bite my lip and stare at the cages whipping and flipping over.
Three boys turn around in front of us. They’re maybe twelve or thirteen years old, all long limbs, bony elbows, and false bravado. The tall and wiry redhead appears to be the ringleader. His grin is so smug I loathe him before he even says anything.
“You’re a chicken?” he asks, loud enough for everyone in line to hear.
“No,” I answer evenly, standing taller.
“Then why not ride the best ride here?” His tone is taunting, as though he’s on the verge of clucking at me.
My eyes narrow. “I don’t have a death wish.”
The blond kid with braces who is clearly just trying to be like the redhead, snickers behind the redhead’s shoulder. The third boy with darker hair and a freckled face lingers just away from his friends. His gaze shifts from me to Brooks, then down to the ground. Definitely the smart one who doesn’t want to get involved in stupid antics like his friends.
They all laugh, but it’s the redhead who keeps going. He elbows Braces and says, way too loudly, “Guess the sheriff’s dating a wimp.”
“We’re not dating,” I snap before I mentally reprimand myself for engaging this kid.
The redhead smirks, completely unfazed. “Probably regrets wasting his ticket on you.”
The brown-haired one diverts his attention. Braces just stares then laughs, a second behind on the insult.
Brooks steps forward, his voice low and stern, instantly commanding. “Watch it. I bite back harder than she does.”
The boys straighten. Even the redhead blinks at Brooks’s sheriff voice.
And, okay… yeah, that voice does something to me that I don’t have time to unpack.
The kids shuffle toward the front of the line, but just before they hand over their tickets, the redhead twists around, eyes gleaming. “Come on, scaredy-cat!” he yells before running into the caged ride.
My whole body flinches.
I see the Ferris wheel in my head again, the sunset, the calm. The version of me from the past who didn’t let fear decide everything. Without another word, I hand my ticket to the guy at the gate.
I climb beside Brooks, heart hammering. The guy slams the cage door shut and slides the lock over. Is this what people feel like when they’re put in jail?
Panic claws at my chest, a beast demanding escape.
I want to scream. I want to bang on the bars. I want to beg to be let off.
Instead, I stand there frozen, swallowing down my fear.
“You don’t have to prove anything to those boys,” Brooks whispers, his arm brushing mine, our pinkies so close on the bar, we could link them.
I want to reach for him. I want to curl into the safety he’s offering. But I don’t.
