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Chapter Twenty-Eight

" I 'm not going," I tell Sebastian with my arms crossed as he drops my boots on the floor in front of me.

He looks up, brows drawn. "You worked your ass off for this. You’ll regret it if you don’t go. Besides, you could use a little normalcy right about now."

"Normalcy?" A hollow laugh escapes me. "Nothing about our lives is normal, Sebastian. A man was just murdered, with what can only be assumed as one of my arrows. And now you think I should step out in front of a crowd of hundreds and show off how good of a shot I am?"

He doesn’t answer right away, just studies me like he’s trying to figure out where my resistance is really coming from.

I exhale hard and sit on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. "I can’t stop thinking about Julian and that video and how easily that could’ve been one of us."

He crouches in front of me, resting his forearms on his knees. "I know. But hiding isn’t going to stop this."

My hands drop into my lap. "If I compete today, will you sit out of the Westgate this Friday?”

His expression flickers. "Avery…"

"I’m serious." My voice cracks. "What if this psycho sees the game as the perfect place for his next move? Or worse, what if he finds a way to hurt you guys on the ice?"

Sebastian runs a hand down his face. "I’ve been playing my whole life. That game out there is the only thing I’ve ever had full control over."

"I get that," I whisper. "But I’m scared, Sebastian. I’m scared something’s going to happen to you next. I can’t…" I swallow hard, eyes stinging. "I can’t lose you, too."

He moves closer, one hand coming up to cup the side of my face. "You’re not gonna lose me."

I nod, but it doesn’t ease the panic clawing at my chest.

"I’m glad Callan’s not here," I admit. "He’s safe in rehab. Far away from all of this. But you’re walking straight into the fire, and I don’t know how to be okay with that."

Sebastian brushes his thumb across my cheek, his touch warm and grounding. "That’s why we’re doing this. So none of us have to keep living like this."

His words are meant to comfort me, but all I feel is dread. Because, deep down, I know he’s not wrong. And I hate that he’s still going to do it anyway.

I stare at my boots for a long minute, thinking about what he said and how playing hockey is the only thing he has full control over. In a way, I can relate. Archery is the only thing in my life I've had full control over. It's the only thing I do for myself.

When I look up at Sebastian, I see him watching me like he's waiting for me to fall apart. But I'm done falling.

I'm Avery fucking Castle.

"No," I say, my voice steadier now. "I’m not going to let this psycho destroy my future, or my life, anymore. And I refuse to let him have any control over the game you love so much."

His eyes search mine. "Does that mean…?"

"I’ll compete." I inhale sharply. "I’ve worked too hard to let fear win."

His mouth curves into a smile. "I’ll be there, watching you and cheering you on the entire time."

My heart twists a little and I nod. "Then I guess I better not choke."

The nerves hit me the second I step onto the range.

I’ve competed before, sure, but never with a target on my back like this. Today isn’t just about a title, it’s about proving to myself that I still own this, even after everything. Even after murder and masked figures and sabotage, I won’t let this psycho take my future from me, too.

For a second, I catch myself scanning the crowd for my dad, but he’s not there. It's possible he’s just lost in the sea of faces, but deep down, I know better.

The sun beams across the rows of archers like a spotlight. My name is called, and I roll my shoulders before stepping into the box.

Steadying myself, I take a deep breath and the first arrow slices clean through the air, sinking into the bullseye. My second and third follow suit, dead center. My breathing is steady as I drown out the crowd noise, focusing on nothing but the sound of my draw and the snap of the string.

When the round ends, my score flashes on the board, and I advance to the next. My palms are sweaty when I walk back up the hill to wait for the reset.

"You fucking did it," Sebastian beams, and I throw my arms around him without thinking.

"Hell yes, I did."

The competition intensifies in round two. Our targets are pushed back and the wind starts to pick up. I plant my feet, exhale slowly, and adjust my aim just a hair lower on the second shot.

The arrow hits dead center, just like I knew it would.

It's the third round and still no sight of my dad. Figures.

I hate that I keep looking for him. Hate that I feel like some kid at a school play searching the crowd for a parent who never shows up.

I’m sure the girl next to me has her whole family here watching. She’s got that polished, private-range-since-birth energy. There's something about the way she flips her braids and crinkles her nose at me that screams spoiled rich girl.

We both hit the center nearly every shot, neck and neck. I beat her by a single point, and when I lower my bow, the edge of her smirk falters.

With a flick of her ponytail, she grumbles, "Nice shooting."

"Thanks," I say sweetly, flashing the most insincere smile I can manage.

They announce a thirty-minute break before the final round, and my stomach growls like it’s ready to compete next for how much food someone can eat in one sitting.

As I’m unstrapping my arm guard, Sebastian shows up holding out a sandwich like some kind of post-apocalyptic knight with deli meat.

"I got you turkey and provolone. If you wanted anything fancier, you're shit outta luck."

I take it and nudge him with my elbow. "This’ll keep me from passing out, so I guess I’ll keep you around."

We go into the clubhouse, taking a corner booth. It's quieter here, and for these few minutes, life feels normal.

"Three rounds in," he says between bites, "you’re killing it."

"I feel good," I admit, unwrapping my sandwich. "My hands haven’t even started shaking yet."

His gaze trails down my arms. "That’s because you’re tough as hell."

"Careful," I tease, "Flattery makes me cocky."

"Yeah, well, you’ve earned it." He smiles and it fills me with so much confidence I want to giggle.

This is exactly why I think I'm falling for this man.

No matter how much life is turning to shit around us, he still finds a way to make me forget.

Not just that, but he makes me laugh, our banter feeling familiar and comfortable.

We talk as we eat, letting the weight of everything fall away while we’re here.

He tells me about a water balloon ambush Aidric orchestrated in high school that left the cafeteria floor soaked.

I tell him about the Fourth of July Brogan and I nearly set ourselves on fire trying to make sparkler art.

We laugh, leaning in a little too close, and the weight lifts a little. The pressure doesn't disappear, but it feels manageable, like maybe we will figure everything out and it will all be okay.

Then my name echoes over the loudspeaker, and the spell breaks.

Time for the final round.

Once I'm back in my box, I square my shoulders like I own the whole competition. It's time to win this damn thing.

I nock my arrow and draw back, steadying my breath as the wind cuts across the field.

Focus and breathe, Avery.

I release, and the moment the arrow flies, I know it's off. It sails so wide, it doesn’t even graze the target. I’ve never missed like that in my life.

Gasps ripple through the crowd, but all I hear is the thundering of my own pulse.

Something’s wrong.

I shoot a frantic look toward Sebastian and he stiffens the moment our eyes lock, already reading the panic in mine. I see him start to move, but I force myself to turn back around. I can’t let this shake me.

I nock another arrow, trying to keep my form steady, but the moment I draw, I feel it. The tension’s off. My bowstring feels loose. I know this setup better than I know myself. There is no way this was an accident, or a coincidence.

Someone tampered with my fucking bow. It had to have been when Sebastian and I were in the clubhouse eating.

I grit my teeth and release again. This one lands closer, but it's still off-center. The placement makes my stomach twist and warrants another ripple of whispers from the crowd.

Don’t let them see you sweat, Avery. Damnit. You can save this.

But I know I can't. What's done is done. Those shots were shit and there is no way I'm winning this.

My hands are clammy, the pressure mounting. I adjust my stance and draw one last time, whispering a silent prayer to whoever’s out there watching.

Please. Please. Please.

This arrow flies cleaner, but it still doesn’t land where it should. A near miss, and I know it's over.

A moment later, the scores confirm it.

Second place. Just like my last competition. Only last time, I wasn't nearly as skilled. This time, I had this in the bag.

I lower my bow slowly, swallowing the scream threatening to claw its way out.

When I turn back toward Sebastian, he's already there scanning my equipment with restrained fury. His hands curl into fists, but when his gaze meets mine, it softens and he shrugs.

By the time I reach him, he's fuming. "You were sabotaged," he says as I peel off my gloves. "But you almost won the whole damn competition and that's something to be proud of."

I shake my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "Second place still means I lost."

The only small mercy in all of this is that my dad isn’t here to see me fail.

"Bullshit. Under any other circumstances, you would’ve taken first. You’re tough as nails, and I’m really fucking proud of you."

I glance over at him, a tired smile tugging at my mouth. "Thank you."

His words mean a lot, but the false peace we found earlier feels tainted now. It's not that I need to be the best in the world at archery, I just want to feel like I can still be good at something .

"Of course. And there's always next time because there will be a next time."

I nod. "Yep. And I plan to take first in the spring competition. Until then, I plan to destroy whoever did this."

Sebastian grins. "There she is."

"I’m in," I say, turning toward him. "R eally in . No more secrets or hesitation. We work together and we bring this asshole down."

"Good," he says. "Because I wasn’t going to do this without you."

We stand in silence for a moment, letting everything settle between us.

The words Brogan told me about him echo in my head. That hockey is his escape and that his dad was cruel. I see him differently now. Strong, yes, but also hardened by survival.

"Do you ever talk about…your family?" I ask gently.

Sebastian's jaw tightens, his eyes locking on something across the field. "No," he says finally. "And I’m not starting today."

I nod once, not pushing, but there’s a heavy ache in my chest for everything Sebastian’s had to carry alone.

Dragging my feet, I make my way to the crowd gathered as the winners are announced for each bracket.

When my name is called, I step onto the podium. The owner of Faraway Archery Range places a second-place medal over my head and it feels cool against my skin. The crowd claps, but the sound is more like an applause at a funeral.

Sebastian waits for me near the clubhouse, leaning casually against the railing. But his eyes track my every move. I approach him with my hand clenched around the medal.

"Let's get you home," he says, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

I don’t say anything because nothing fits. I’m not disappointed in myself—I’m furious I didn’t realize something was off with my bow until it was too late.

As we're driving down the road, I open my phone and see a text from my dad—the icing on the fucking cake today.

Dad: Sorry I couldn’t be there today. Work got out of hand, and I couldn’t step away. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.

Grinding my teeth, I fire off a reply.

Me: Expect a similar excuse from me at Christmas.

There's no point trying anymore when he stopped a long time ago.

We ride back to the house in silence, but my thoughts are anything but quiet. Whoever did this thinks they'll win in the end, but they won't. A match has been lit inside me and I plan to burn brighter than they ever saw coming.

No one fucks with my bow and gets away with it.