Page 13 of Running Risk

RYLEE: THEN

Sitting on my bed, I flip the page of the first book in the Twilight series, reading the same scene for what I think is the fifth time. I’ve lost track. I can never get enough, and I’ve switched back and forth between Team Edward and Team Jacob.

“Rylee. There’s mail for you,” my mom calls from downstairs.

My ears perk. I’ve been waiting to get college acceptance letters, and there’s one I’ve been dying to open.

The University of Georgia is the school I have my heart set on.

It’s also perfect for Clayton, and I want nothing more than to study design while Clayton figures out what he’s going to study.

He still doesn’t know. I bound down the stairs and see mom holding a large envelope with a big smile across her face.

I grasp the envelope in my hand and see that it’s from the University of Georgia.

I gasp. “It’s a big envelope!” I screech.

My mom has tears in her eyes as she nods in agreement. “I knew you’d get in. ”

I twirl holding the mail against my chest, rip it open, and scream as I read my acceptance. “I need to tell Clay.”

My mom’s laughter fills my ears as she nods, and I give her the papers before taking off through the door.

I don’t even put on my shoes. I’m too excited to tell him.

I wonder if he got his letter today too.

I breathe harder with every push of my legs, wincing as my feet land on rocks and sticks, but it doesn’t slow me down.

Climbing the fence into his family’s property, I jump down and keep running.

I skip up the front steps but come to a halt on his front porch when I hear yelling from inside the house.

It’s Mr. and Mrs. Daniels. I can’t make out what they are saying, but my stomach turns with every sob coming from Mrs. Daniels.

I slowly peer into the window, but I don’t see anyone.

Is Clayton in there? I scan the yard to see if he’s running the trails, but I don’t see him and wouldn’t be able to if he’s in the woods.

His truck is in the driveway, so he has to be close by.

I go down the front steps and around the side of the house to where Clayton’s window is.

I can’t leave without knowing if he’s okay.

I pick up a few pebbles and throw one against his window.

Waiting a few seconds, I throw another. The yelling gets louder, and with each nasty comment Mr. Daniels makes, more tears roll down my cheeks.

I’ve known Clayton’s parents for almost half of my life.

They’re family. It breaks my heart to hear them yell.

But more than that, it shatters my soul knowing Clayton is hearing it.

I throw three pebbles at once and finally, the curtains pull to the side, and Clayton stands there, peering down at me with a hard look on his face.

His eyes are red-rimmed like he just wiped away tears, and I can’t help but cry harder. He stands there, then disappears.

A sob escapes my throat, and I kneel down in the grass.

There’s no way for me to get to him except through the front door.

There’s no tree for me to climb. No pergola for me to scale.

My shoulders shake as I cry into my hands.

A loud noise comes from the house, jerking my head toward it.

Clayton storms toward me, a hoodie in his hand and his shoes pulled onto his feet but not laced.

His gray T-shirt and jeans are wrinkled like he pulled them both from a pile on the floor or from the laundry basket.

His short hair stands in all different directions like he’s been raking his fingers through it.

My shoulders slump as I watch him get closer.

I get to my feet, run toward him, and jump into his waiting arms. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he holds me close.

His face presses into my neck, and I hold him tighter.

He’s always been my safety net, but I know I’m also his.

He pulls away, looking at me then down to my bare feet.

He sighs and grabs my hand, pulling me toward his truck.

We get in and drive, not saying a word. I take his phone from the cup holder and text my mom, letting her know that we are driving around and will probably go to the school so he can run.

She doesn’t question it since it’s a regular thing for us to do.

Clayton pulls into the school and parks under a tree, rolling down the windows.

He doesn’t get out. We sit and look out the windshield, and no one says anything.

I know he doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t move, not even to run.

His fists contract, but that’s no surprise.

However, it’s the first time he doesn’t run to help calm his anxiety.

I reach and grab his hand, holding it in mine, intertwining our fingers.

His fingers are stiff, but I push them down to lie on the back of my hand.

He immediately squeezes my hand, and we sit in the quiet for an hour.

The entire time, I’m dying to know what the fight was about, but I know he will talk when he’s ready.

I also know there is a good chance he may never be ready.

I’ve never seen him this broken. I want to protect him and never have him go back, but that’s not our reality, and at some point, he’ll have to go home.

A shiver rushes through my body, and it snaps his attention to me.

He hands me his hoodie, and I pull it on and immediately grab his hand in mine once I’m warm in his jacket.

It smells like him. I can almost imagine being in the woods at his house just by his scent alone, and I relax further into my seat.

The sun starts to set, and he squeezes my hand one last time before letting go. The sudden movement jerks me out of my thoughts, and I glance at him.

“I’ll take you home,” he says hoarsely.

Hearing his raw voice puts the final cut into my heart.

I immediately want to cry all over again, but I hold it in.

It’s not what he needs right now. I nod, and he drives me home.

When he puts the truck in park, he doesn’t turn off the engine.

I face him, but he’s looking everywhere but at me, like he’s embarrassed.

I grab his arm. “Come have dinner with us.”

He shakes his head.

“Please, Clay?” My voice shakes.

His eyes meet mine, and he searches my face like he’s looking to see if I have any tears. He finally nods and kills the engine. I exhale a sigh. I know my parents won’t mind. They love having him, but I hope they don’t expect him to be chatty, though he never is.

We walk inside, and the smell of marinara sauce and melted cheese hits my nose. My mom’s a phenomenal cook, and I always love when she cooks Italian. I already know without checking that she has a homemade sourdough loaf. It’s one of the best things to eat with marinara sauce.

“Sweetie. There you are. I was about to text Clayton to see if you would be home soon.” Her smile lights up when she sees Clayton walk in behind me. “Oh, will you be joining us?”

He looks at me, then back at her.

“Yes. That’s okay, right?” I ask.

“Of course. You know that.” She looks at him, and I don’t miss the glimpse of worry in her eyes.

My breath catches in my throat, afraid she’ll say something that’ll make him cry again. I know the sight would break her heart.

But she places a smile on her face and says, “Will you two set the table? Your dad will be home any minute.”

“Sure.” I go to the cabinet and grab the plates. Clayton comes up behind me, lifts them from my hands, and walks into the dining room.

My mom walks slowly toward me and leans over. With her mouth next to my ear, she whispers, “Is everything okay?

I shake my head. Her expression saddens, but she doesn’t push for more information. I count out the silverware and napkins we need before walking in and setting them by the plates Clay laid around the table.