Page 49 of No Shot (The Toronto Tundra #2)

Bri

I told Penn that I was feeling tired and wanted to get a good night ’ s sleep in my own bed.

So, while I left his apartment at eight to ‘ go to bed ’ , I spent the next five hours wired, watching New Girl reruns.

Sometimes my nerves come on suddenly. I don ’ t feel the slow build-up, but instead, all of a sudden, something inside me snaps, and I come crumbling down along with it.

This time, though, it ’ s been a constant.

A dull ache brewing in my gut, growing stronger every day for the past week.

It ’ s leading up to tomorrow, well, today now, I guess. I know it. It means I just need to ride this wave out for a few more hours, and then all will go back to normal. I will go back to normal.

If it ’ s good news.

The presentation Clark and I gave is worth fifty percent of our final grade. The whole point of the project was to combine what we ’ ve learned across all of our required classes. Every single one of our professors took notes, and they score us on our ability to apply the course material.

Make or break. If I didn ’ t do well, if I couldn ’ t prove my knowledge, then I fail my entire semester. I have no fallback. There is no fallback. Everything is riding on that one-hour-long presentation, and I ’ ll get my results at eleven am.

My stomach lurches, and I dry heave into the plastic bag I have draped beside my bed. I haven ’ t eaten since this morning, so I don ’ t understand how my stomach can be turning so much. It ’ s like an aquarium down there, and the thought makes me even more queasy.

I manage to lift myself back up, resting against my headboard. I strain to focus my stinging eyes on the show. It ’ s supposed to distract me, but even in my sleep-deprived state, it ’ s not doing the trick. If I could just sleep, then I ’ d be that much closer to the email that reveals my fate.

***

My eyes fly open in a panic, heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. I gasp, trying to suck oxygen into my lungs, my whole body on high alert.

I stare down at my phone. 3:28 AM. Shit .

It ’ s only been two hours? The anxious energy pulsing through me feels like an adrenaline kick, and I doubt I ’ ll be able to get back to sleep.

Instead, I walk over to my bathroom, pee, and look at myself in the mirror.

My hair isn ’ t brushed, my eyes look drained of life, and splotches of red paint my chest like they always do when I ’ m extra nervous. I don ’ t recognize myself like this. I try to rinse my wrists under cool water like I saw on Web MD a few years back, but all it does is wake me further.

I ’ m up for the day, I guess. I just need to wait it out. I try to take a deep breath to calm myself, but it comes out as rapid, shallow bursts, and my tears start to fall.

Get it together, seriously.

After another few hours of staring helplessly at my ceiling and my second breakdown of the night, I managed to get another thirty minutes of sleep. Unfortunately, my alarm rang out, waking me from my few moments of reprieve.

The second my eyes open, the pain in my gut returns, gnawing at me.

I have to get up. I have to get to work.

I can ’ t.

But I have to.

Panic starts to rise in my chest again. The thought of having to put myself together and get dressed, leave my apartment, and talk to customers for the duration of my four-hour shift—

No.

I can ’ t do this.

I can ’ t.

I—

My shaky hands just barely manage to dial Java.

Claudia, my manager, picks up, and I pretty much black out.

I think I mentioned something about being sick and not being able to make it to my shift, but the second I press the end button on my phone, I collapse back onto my bed.

That took all my energy, and I sink into the fog that ’ s been trying to overtake me, letting the tears flow again.

I ’ m weak.

***

“ Bri, hey! I ’ ve been trying you all morning.”

I look down at the phone I don ’ t even remember answering, rubbing my eyes. “ Sorry, Cami. Overslept I guess.”

“ Bridgette Campbell overslept? What is that? Like the first time in the history of the universe?”

“ It may be,” is all I can manage to reply. I ’ m already exhausted again and trying to think of ways to end the call.

“ I want to show you something! Let ’ s go to video.” No.

“ Oh, I don ’ t—”

“ I ’ ll be fast, B. Then I promise you can go back to sleep.” Ugh, this is my only out. I run a finger through my hair, praying the lighting in my room hides how awful I must look.

I press accept on her video request, and her chipper face fills the screen. She ’ s holding up a pink, knit sweater with the words Big Sister in white lettering. “ I just finished. What do you think?”

“ It ’ s beautiful,” my voice trails off, and I try to clear my throat. Cami ’ s smile slowly fades, her eyes narrowing like she ’ s trying to get a good look at my face.

“ Hey, what ’ s wrong?”

“ Nothing,” I supply quickly.

“ Your face is all red.” Shit .

“ Oh, I um, just got out of the shower.” I hate lying. I ’ m terrible at it too. But the truth is so much worse. She doesn ’ t look even slightly convinced.

“ Do you want to come over for brunch? I just got Kaia down for a nap, otherwise I ’ d come over, but we can hang here?”

“ No, no. I ’ m fine. Just a little tired. I ’ m going to try to sleep, actually. Rain-check?”

Her face grows more concerned. “ Are you sure?”

“ Mmhmm,” is the only sound I can make. I feel another breakdown coming on. I ’ ve got to get off this phone.

“ Okay, call me later.”

I give my best smile and press the end button before she can notice how half-assed it looked.