Page 89 of Wanna Play A Game?
“Do you?” she shoots back angrily. “Do you, or are you just saying that?”
Fuck. She’s shaking. I slowly reach out to her.
“Don’t touch me!” she cries.
I close the distance between her and wrap her in my arms. She fights for a second. I just hold her tighter. I wish I could get rid of all of this for her. I just don’t know how.
The tension leaves Cali’s body, and she breaks into sobs. “I want to go home. I want to go home, and I want my life to go back to normal. I want my cat. I want my bed and my food and my drinks. Please, Miles.”
I stroke her hair down over the braid I gave her earlier. My heart breaks.
“Please.” Cali continues to cry.
Part of me wants to give in to her. I hate seeing her so broken. But I know that old life can never be a reality for her anymore. She can’t leave us. She can’t be allowed to run around knowing who we are and what we do.
A voice in me screams that she won’t say anything.
But I don’t want her to go.
I won’t let her go.
“Ben,” she whispers.
“What?” I lean down.
She hiccups. “It was Ben who hit me.”
Chapter 42
Ryder
I’m sitting at the dining room table with my family. Dad sits down heavily at the head of the table, making the silverware rattle. He’s in a bad mood tonight.
“Ryder, say grace,” he demands.
I swallow but bow my head. Maybe if I do this right, he’ll be happier. There’s a different prayer for every day of the week, and it’s so hard to remember them. I start softly, “Dear God, forgive—“
A fork clinks and I jump. Dad is glaring at me from his bowed head. What part did I say wrong?
I start over. “Dear God, give us the forgiveness that we need and don’t deserve. We are wretched sinners…” I say the prayer to the end, squeezing my eyes shut.
When I’m done, there’s silence. I peek up.
Dad raises an eyebrow. I swallow.
“That’s the wrong prayer, son.”
Dread hits my stomach. Dad says if I don’t say it right, God won’t hear it, and the food won’t be blessed. That we’ll get sick if the food isn’t blessed.
I start over.
“Ryder, you forgot ‘in your mercy save my soul.’”
My stomach growls. “Can you remind me?”
Dad’s voice is angry. “Do you even try? Do you want to get sick? It would be a horrible death to die at the hands of an angry god.”
I say the correct prayer again.
