Page 34 of The Games We Play
“I asked you if everything is okay. You look like shit. Beneath your eyes is almost translucent blue. You’re squinting. You let some douche canoe in a tie carry your shit to your car, when I would have done it for you in a heartbeat if you’d let me.”
“You’re jealous,” I say, and it’s clearly the wrong thing.
“No. I’m not fucking jealous. I’m mad you fucking lied, Iris. You’re not okay. You’re clearly ill or some shit, and you’d rather tell me everything is good than rely on me or let me help you.”
I juggle my books into one hand, wanting desperately to touch his cheek, but I steel myself. He’s the most loyal non-boyfriend I’ve ever had, but I doubt he’d appreciate me telling him that.
My head throbs and I struggle to find the right words to express my feelings. “Why couldn’t you work in accounting or a tattoo studio or something?”
“Fuck,” he mutters, and I realize I said it out loud. “I need to stop doing this. Get in your car. I’ll watch you get home. Goodbye, Iris.”
I do as he says, even as I want to wrap my arms around him.
I mean it.
If he were anything other than from the world I don’t want to be a part of, it would be so easy to finally allow myself to fall into someone. I could trust him to look out for me and not hurt me.
I want to call him back to me, even if it suits Cillian’s goals.
Instead, I start the car, tug on my seat belt, and pull away. Spark follows me as I approach the intersection.
Why is it so impossible? I can’t do what Cillian asks. I can’t use Spark to protect Michael. Perhaps the distance Spark wants to put between us is the right thing. I can’t betray him when he clearly cares about me in his own way.
As I pull up to the main road, I briefly glance behind me. Man, does he look powerful on the back of that bike. So in control of who he is. So measured.
And I—
The world is suddenly in motion as my car spins out of control. There is a truck rammed up against my window. I scream and close my eyes, even as I try and fail to press the brakes and steer into the swerve. The steering wheel whips away from me, and my wrist feels like it’s been snapped in two.
My car and the truck creak and groan as metal crunches against metal. The glass of my window shatters into a million pieces. I can smell gasoline. And then we stop.
Finally.
I don’t even know which way I’m facing as my whole body shakes.
I’m alive.
And my wrist and shoulder really hurt.
Warm tears bubble through as I start to put the pieces together.
And while I’m trying to figure out which way I’m facing, the truck reverses out, then screams away without a glance back.
11
SPARK
They say when you face death, your life flashes before you. But the moment I see Iris’s little car spun by that fucking truck, the only thing that flashes before me is the life we aren’t ever going to have. Me and her. Her on my bike. In my cut. Living together.
With every groan of twisting metal, my stomach gets churned up a little more.
For the first time ever, I forget about my bike and let it fall to the ground as I run to the car.
People get there before me, but I shove them out of the way.
“Iris,” I yell.
If she’s hurt, I’m gonna kill someone. Slowly.
