Page 13

Chapter Ten

T he arrow slices through the air, landing in the center of the target with a satisfying hit.

I lower the bow slowly, exhale, and shake out my arms. My muscles ache from repetition, but I welcome the burn.

The range is nearly empty this morning with just a few early risers, but something feels off. I look around, hoping to shake the uneasy feeling inside me. That feeling like someone is watching. Lately, it's always there and I fucking hate it.

When I don't see anything out of the ordinary, I nock another arrow and pull the string taut against my cheek. But before I release, a shiver runs down my spine.

I drop the bow to my side and do one more sweep of the range, still seeing nothing. It's just paranoia and it's completely normal given my situation.

I shake out my arms again and force my gaze back to the next arrow, but my fingers fumble at the nock. Sweat prickles along my spine as the wind kicks up, rustling the leaves near the tree line.

Totally normal—totally harmless. So why does it sound like footsteps?

I swallow hard and scan the woods again, but it's empty, just like every time before.

Jesus, Avery. Get a grip.

But I can't, because what if it’s not nothing? What if it’s me? What if I’m spiraling? Like her.

I press my fingers to my temple, hard, willing the intrusive thoughts to fade. You're not your mom. You’re not hallucinating.

But she didn’t think she was either. She doesn't realize what she hears and sees isn't real.

One day she was fine, and the next she wasn't.

My stomach flips. I bend down like I’m adjusting my stance, just to breathe. Just to remind myself the ground is still solid.

But whispers creep in my mind.

What if none of this is real?

What if I’ve made it all up? What if this isn’t some game or warning or threat? What if this is the start of my own collapse?

My chest feels heavy, like the trees are closing in and suffocating me.

I drop my bow to the ground and grab my phone out of my bag, hands shaking so hard I nearly drop it twice.

The screen blurs, tears I didn’t even know I was crying making it hard to see.

I don’t even hesitate when I tap Sebastian’s name.

It rings once before he picks up.

"Sebastian," I gasp the second he answers. "I…I didn’t know who else to call."

There’s a pause, like I caught him off guard. "Avery?"

"I’m at practice. At the range," I say, breaths coming fast and shallow. "I know you probably think I’m insane, but I think I might be going crazy. I feel like someone’s watching me again, and I keep hearing things that don’t exist and I can’t…I can’t breathe."

Another beat of silence.

"I just needed to talk to someone who actually knows what’s been going on," I whisper, voice breaking. "Because I can’t talk to anyone else about masked stalkers and notes buried in the woods. You’re the only person who knows this world."

He exhales slowly, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. "I’m coming."

"You don’t have to?—"

"I’m already on my way. Just stay put."

The line goes dead, and I just stand there, clutching the phone to my chest like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. Like Sebastian fucking Banks is the only one who can pull me back and that thought terrifies me almost as much as everything else.

I'm not sure when he gets here. One second I'm curled on the ground, knees tucked to my chest, the next I feel his hand on my back.

"Hey," he says softly. "You're safe. I'm here."

I lift my head and see him crouched beside me, dressed in a cut-off sleeveless shirt and black gym shorts, sweat glistening along his temple and down his throat like he came straight from the gym.

The look in his eyes surprises me. He’s not smirking, or taunting, he's just watching me with genuine concern.

"There was someone out there," I tell him, voice cracked and breathless. "At least, I think someone was. I was practicing, and suddenly I had this sick feeling, like something was off. Like there were eyes on me from the woods."

He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks past me, scanning the woods. "There’s no one there now," he says finally.

That’s what breaks me.

"I know," I whisper. "That’s what scares me the most. I couldn't see them."

I look at him, and it all rushes in—the guilt, the fear, the exhaustion. The pressure I’ve been keeping bottled under my skin like a bomb.

"What if I’m making this up?" My voice shakes. "What if I’m turning into her? What if I’m already halfway gone and I don’t even know it?"

"You’re not your mom," he says quietly. "You’re not losing it."

"You don’t know that," I say, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "It could be buried in my blood, waiting to pull me under like it did her."

Sebastian’s jaw ticks, but his voice stays calm. "You’re not making this up. Someone is out there. We’ve seen the signs. Me, you, Aidric, even Callan. You’re not alone in this. I saw the masked man, we have a video of him. He is real."

My throat tightens, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m collapsing into the sweat-slick warmth of his chest. He freezes, but then his arms are wrapping around me, holding me tight.

I don’t mean to and I don’t know why I stay, but right now, it feels safe and I don’t want to let that go.

After a moment, Sebastian's voice cuts through the silence. "We’re putting together a benefit at the rink next weekend. A masked skating event in Callan’s honor."

I pull back slightly, wiping my face. "A masked event?"

"Yeah. A public fundraiser with some local press. Coach is on board and the whole team’s in."

"I want to help," I say instantly, something like purpose flaring through the numbness.

He nods. "We could use it."

I manage a weak smile. "That’s really nice of you guys. I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to Callan."

His eyes hold mine for a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to read between the lines of what I’m really saying.

A few minutes pass in silence before I finally pull myself together. My limbs ache, and my skin feels tight from crying, but I stand, a little steadier than before.

Sebastian straightens his back and watches me like if he blinks too long, I’ll shatter.

I swipe under my eyes and look out at the range, where my arrows are still sticking in the target. "I should probably drop out of the competition," I tell him. "With everything going on...it’s too much. I can’t focus."

Sebastian steps closer. "No, you shouldn’t."

I glance at him, brows furrowed.

"Compete," he says firmly. "Compete and win. That’s what Callan would want."

Just like that, everything stills. The air, the sounds, even my heartbeat.

Callan. His name alone sends an ache through my chest.

"I’m sorry," I say suddenly, voice cracking.

Sebastian straightens, confused. "For what?"

I swallow hard. "For the woods and what happened between us."

He stares at me, jaw clenched, but he says nothing.

"Callan is a good guy," I continue, lip quivering. "He doesn’t deserve that kind of betrayal. And when he remembers, because he will, I’m going to tell him everything. I have to."

Sebastian looks away, draws his fingers across his mouth, slow and tense. "That’s your call."

"If I don’t tell him, someone else will."

Hesitantly, I reach into my pocket and unlock my phone, pulling up the text, along with the image. My thumb hovers for half a second before I turn the screen toward him.

I wasn't going to mention it, but it feels like the right thing to do. As much as part of me can't stand Sebastian, he deserves to know. Besides, that part of me is shrinking the more and more I see him. The more he's there for me, the less I want to fight him.

His eyes darken and he takes the phone, his fist tightening until I hear the faintest crack of his knuckles.

"Motherfucker," he growls, barely audible.

I watch him pace a slow circle, thumb against his temple. "I’m going to find whoever did this," he says, jaw tight. "And I’m going to break them in half for the hell they're putting us through."

He turns back to me, his expression calmer but still carved from steel. "I’ve gotta get back to campus. I cut out of my kinesiology class early and can’t miss my next class. Professor’s a real dick and already hates me."

He pauses, gaze searching. "Let me drive you home. Leave your car and I’ll bring it by later."

"I’m fine," I say, even though my pulse still hasn't settled. "Really."

He hesitates, like he doesn’t quite believe me. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," I tell him.

He lingers for another moment, then nods once. "I'm only a call away if you need anything."

"Thank you," I tell him sincerely, before throwing in a little bit of our typical banter. "Just so we're clear, I still hate you."

His mouth curls up in a grin. "Hate you more, Little Lamb."

I watch as he walks away, feeling a smile of my own creep up.

After dropping my gear off in the clubhouse locker, I head toward the parking lot alone, my boots crunching the gravel. I reach my car and dig for my keys then pause when I see drops of red on the ground.

My pulse stutters and against better judgment, I follow them, each step heavier than the last. When I reach the trees and the drops end, I spot something lying on top of a pile of brush.

My stomach sinks. No!

I crouch, my hands trembling, and carefully pick up the picture of my mom and me. The one that was in my music box, the same box I buried and someone dug up and left on my bed.

My fingers curl around the edges of the picture as if I can will it to make sense. But nothing about this does.

I stand tall, still gripping the photo as I force myself to look around the area, scanning the shadows, daring them to move.

This time, I want to see someone. I want them to step out so I can scream in their face, or better yet, drive my car right over them.

"You’re a coward!" I shout, voice ripping through the trees. "You hear me? A fucking coward!"

The echo dies and leaves rustle, then from the edge of the lot, a figure steps into view. I spin, blood pumping hot, until I see who it is.

"Benson," I gasp, clutching my chest. "It's just you."

He steps into view from the gravel path, hands tucked into the front of his hoodie, a gentle smile tugging at his mouth. "Easy, slayer," he says. "It's just me."

I force a breath out, pulse still wild. "Sorry," I say quickly, shoving the photo into the side pocket of my bag before he can notice. "Just…some asshole driving too fast down the road."

He lifts a brow but doesn’t push. "Sounded like you were ready to wage war."

I fake a half-laugh. "Yeah, well it's been a long week."

"Yeah," he pauses, features softening as he steps closer. "I heard about Callan. I’m really sorry. That’s rough. If you need anything at all, just say the word."

"Thanks, Benson. That means a lot."

"Of course," he says. "Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself too, alright?"

I shrug. "I’m trying."

He gives me a small smile, then steps back. "Alright. I’ll let you get out of here. I need to head out and sharpen my skills before the big competition this weekend."

I force a smile and offer a slight wave.

The last thing on my mind right now is the competition, when it should be the only thing on my mind.

A few weeks ago, I was revved up for this, ready to go and take first place.

Now, I don't even care. I just want Callan to be better and for everything else to even itself out.

Benson heads back through the parking lot, stopping for a moment as he shoots a glance over his shoulder. "And Avery?"

"Yeah?"

"If it ever feels like too much, don’t try to carry it alone."

His words linger long after he disappears. I exhale slowly, glancing back toward the woods one more time. No one is there, but there's this quiet ache of unease inside me I can’t seem to shake.