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CHAPTER 17

Hunter

I lock the door behind me .

Lean both hands on the edge of the sink.

Exhale slow. Get it together.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

I run cold water over my wrists.

Shake it off. Focus.

Count the seconds. Six doors to the exit.

Five cameras in this place.

One gun on my hip. One girl I shouldn’t want sitting fifteen feet away.

I stare at my reflection a moment longer than I should.

Then I wipe my hands.

Mask back on. And go back to the table.

I slip back into my seat like nothing happened.

Like I didn’t just spend five minutes convincing myself I have no business sitting here.

Michael picks up right where he left off.

Talking guns, golf, stories from when he was younger.

Easy. Proud. No walls.

Alana leans back in her chair, relaxed in a way I don’t see often.

Laughing. Rolling her eyes at her dad’s stories like daughters do.

And I sit there, listening, a shadow pulled up to a table made of light.

And for a moment I let myself want it anyway.

Just a moment of ordinary.