Page 3 of Stop and Seek (Our Childish Games #1)

Theo couldn’t find the energy to get up for work.

Every time he threw his legs over the side of the bed, they… hung there. Limp. Dead weight. Like they knew better than him.

The idea of people—of smiling faces and Mrs. Rosario’s sweet, soft caring—made his stomach knot.

No.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The screen glow felt accusatory—it couldn’t have known he’d been staring at the ceiling for two hours already.

7:44a.m.

If he didn’t get up now— right fucking now —he’d be late.

But he couldn’t figure out how to start. His brain was buffering. Body offline. Executive function curled up in a ditch somewhere, sobbing faintly.

Grimacing, he tapped on Mrs. Rosario’s contact and cleared his throat as it rang.

“Yeah, just a bug,” he muttered when she picked up, tacking on a cough that sounded pathetic. “I should be fine Monday, ma’am. ”

She said something about soup and rest and not pushing himself. Her voice was maternal and concerned, and he hated that it made his throat ache.

He hung up feeling like a liar, even though technically he wasn’t.

He hadn’t slept. Not with the apartment turning into a microwave around 3:00 a.m. when his sad, wheezing AC gave its final rattle. The single fan he owned sounded like it was being fucking tortured.

Swimming through wet cement would’ve been easier than dragging his body out of bed. He shuffled to the bathroom, flinching as the cold tile hit the soles of his feet.

The shower helped. A little. Even if his body wash was nearing empty. And the water pressure barely qualified as a rinse. But it scrubbed some of the film from his eyes, and when he stepped out, he felt… adjacent to human.

It wasn’t even noon yet.

Maybe he could still make it in.

When he got outside, Theo eyed the car like it might bite him. Hell, it could. He didn’t know. The sun bounced off the hood, too bright, too loud, slicing into his skull.

He slid into the seat anyway, turned the key.

The car responded with a noise that sounded like it was actively trying to die. A half-splutter, half-cough, followed by a puff of black smoke rising from under the hood.

Theo shut it off in a panic.

Nope.

Absolutely the fuck not .

If this car wanted to self-immolate, it could do it on its own time.

He wasn’t about to make the six o’clock news as the guy who accidentally blew up The Eaves apartment complex.

Okay.

Alright.

That was it.

Going to work was officially off the table.

He’d give it a few hours, wait for the engine to stop plotting murder, then limp it over to Ethan’s.

Ethan would give him that disappointed-ass look, the one that said you’re too smart to keep doing this , but he’d fix it. He always did.

And Theo would pretend it didn’t land like a knife under the ribs.

Ethan’s shop was a glorified gas station shack, a relic from way back when Grandpa Everett owned it. The oversized garage door didn’t close all the way—hadn’t in years—so dead leaves drifted in and out like they paid rent.

Ethan refused to fix it. Called it ventilation.

Still, the place was busy. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker was always playing a rotation of classic rock that made Theo want to rip his ears off .

It could’ve been a decent side job. If he could stand the smell of gasoline curling into his brain. After ten minutes, his head was swimming like he’d done Whippets under the bleachers.

“Why is there no oil? Better yet, how is there no oil?” Ethan wiped his hands on a rag that had seen better days, leaning against the hood of Theo’s car. “You’ve gotta take better care of her.”

Theo kicked the clunker. It shuddered in protest before settling onto four half-inflated wheels.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You’ve been saying that for months. One of these days, you’re going to be stranded, and I won’t be there to tow your sorry ass.”

“Maybe I’ll just start walking everywhere. Join a gym.”

Theo crouched down. Sifted through the array of tools in the blue box. Pliers, a collection of sockets, more than three different types of wrenches—who needed this much shit?

“You okay?” Ethan asked.

Theo didn’t look up. “Just tired. Work’s been… work.”

His eyes drifted to the cracked side-view mirror. Something dark smudged on his cheek—maybe ash, maybe dirt. He swiped at it without thinking and promptly dragged a streak of grease across his face.

Perfect.

His whole life was unraveling in pieces: his job, his car, his brain .

Telling Ethan that?

Hard pass .

Ethan had Carrie. A house. Basil and thyme growing in his goddamn window sill. He didn’t need Theo dumping a truckload of emotional sludge on top of his perfect-shaped life.

Instead, Theo grabbed the ugliest tool in the box—some warped metal contraption with teeth—and held it up. “Who are you torturing with this?”

“It’s a spark plug gapper. You need one?”

So much for explanations he could understand. Mechanically inclined people were fascinating.

Theo dropped it back into the box.

“Well, you know I’m here if you ever want to vent,” Ethan said, softer this time. “So’s Carrie. She’ll probably make you lasagna again if you ask.”

That sounded nice. Laughter, company— good company—that he could remember the next morning.

Something solid and concrete. Something to hold onto.

But it also felt a little like something Theo didn’t know what to do with anymore.

“Yeah.” His voice cracked around it, but he played it off like a joke. “Tell her I’m starving .”

Straightening, Theo wiped black grease onto his jeans. Laundry was less chore and more severe emergency now.

“I swear, she’ll keep feeding you if you let her.” Ethan slammed the hood down, cleaning his hands on the filthy rag. “You wanna grab a drink later?”

“I’ve got stuff I need to do at home.”

“Bull. This dumbass reunion is tonight, and I’m picking you up at seven.”

Theo blinked, his mind crawling to catch up .

Reunion?

Oh.

Right.

Alyssa had told him about it.

The idea slithered under his skin, left a prickle at the back of his neck. Fire ants crawling along his spine, biting down every time he remembered another rumor.

And yet, Ethan wasn’t buying his excuses, and Theo wasn’t quick enough to come up with more.

“I’d rather gouge my eyes out,” Theo finally said.

“You wanna borrow a screwdriver? I heard it’s easier than a rusty spoon.”

Ethan’s grin was fucking contagious, spreading over Theo’s face in tandem before he could help himself.

“I’ll wrap you up some of last night’s leftovers,” Ethan said, already halfway to his next plan. “We hit the bar, get plastered right before… and then laugh and point at the assholes there.”

“The food better be good.”

He leaned inside the driver’s window and turned the key.

No black smoke. No weird smell.

Success.

Ethan coughed out a laugh. “Uh-huh. If you ghost me, I’ll bring the spoon and scoop out your eyes myself.”

By the time seven rolled around, the idea of disappointing Ethan outweighed the urge to hide.

Theo had showered again. This time to scrub off grease and any second thoughts before they grew arms and dragged him back to bed.

The bar smelled like day-old fryer grease, the kind of scent that clung to the sticky bar top and flickering Open All Night sign no matter how many pounds of air freshener the owners used to try and cover it up.

Corpses of cicadas littered the floor, their high-pitched whine and click outside blending into one sound. A summer war cry.

Ohio’s version of the Philharmonic.

Was this where Theo wanted to be?

Fuck no.

Was it where he was anyway?

A resounding, wholly unfortunate yes.

Stabbing the fork into the room-temperature pasta, Theo listened Ethan ramble beside him—louder now, beer already loosening the volume knob.

“You smelled like death,” Ethan laughed, one of those tittering sounds that made other people turn to look.

“And?” Theo deadpanned, pasta mid-twirl. “We should’ve been dissecting frogs. It wasn’t fair they skipped our class. ”

“Stuffing them into your backpack is still one of the funniest ideas you ever had.”

Theo snorted. “And I would’ve gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for English Lit. You didn’t have to go down with me.”

“What are friends for?” Ethan’s empty bottle hit the bar next to his. “Detention could’ve been worse than scrubbing the science lab.”

Theo shrugged, chewing another bite of the rubbery noodles. Salt. Cream and basil.

A touch of microwave burnt .

At least it was something to do with his hands.

Ethan, now on a full-blown nostalgia trip from hell, flagged down the bartender again. Ordered two more beers. “What’s the one thing that sticks out the most to you?”

“From high school?” Theo squinted, dredging the memory swamp for something not soaked in regret. “Reversing your truck into the drive-thru.”

“No! No . That shit wasn’t funny , man. We got banned . I’ve never seen a grown man so close to breaking my face. I was grounded for a solid month .”

“I hated high school,” was the least lame thing Theo could come up with on the spot.

This wasn’t his jam.

Never had been.

And Ethan, for all his stupid jokes, hadn’t brought the screwdriver or rusty spoon like he’d promised.

“Yeah well, you survived it. So did I. And look at us now, living the dream.” Ethan flexed his grease-stained arms, grinning like an idiot .

“You’re not a millionaire.”

“Leave my bank account out of this.”

Theo chuckled despite himself. He lifted the fresh beer, clinked it against Ethan’s. “Here’s to doing… whatever the fuck we’re doing.”

Surviving wasn’t the word to use.

No.

Surviving meant having the will to do something other than move through the day like a goddamn mechanical doll.

A mechanical doll with a full-ass bladder.

“I’ll be back, I gotta take a piss.”

Ethan waved him off. “No one’s gonna take your seat, man. I’ll keep it nice and toasty.”

Theo groaned, pushing himself up from the barstool, his joints crackling in a way he really fucking hated. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to pee so badly. His entire body was in the first stages of a violent coup.