Page 92 of Home Game

This was not happening.

My worst nightmare from my past had stood at the end of the candy aisle, smiling that sick smile at me.

Terrance Howells.

Foster dad.

Abuser.

Sick fuck.

Maybe it hadn’t been him?Maybe I had just imagined him, because when I looked back, no one had been there. Had this been a figment of my imagination? Why would he even be in this part of town?

I resisted the urge to go back out to the living room and double check that Ryan had set the alarm. He told me he had set it.

If that had been Terrance, wouldn’t he have approached me? Perhaps I was just getting upset about nothing. Still, a sick feeling settled in my stomach. To help calm myself, I packed a plasticshopping bag of essential clothes and hid it under my bed in case I needed to make a fast escape.

Morning light shonethrough my window, but it was my phone buzzing that woke me. I had tossed and turned all night and I felt groggy as I reached to answer.

“Hello?”

Ryan’s voice rumbled in my ear. “You sound like you just woke up.”

I sat up, rubbing my face. “I did. What time is it?”

“Just past 10. You want to give me a hand?”

“With what?”

“I need to buy my mom a birthday gift.”

“Okay."

"I’m about to head into practice. Want to come and meet me at the stadium and we can head out afterward?”

“I can. I think there is a direct bus there.”

“Forget that. Make Bianca drive you.”

My eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Not a good idea.”

“She’s my PA.”

I lowered my voice. “Not happening.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“That is your worst idea yet.”

He laughed. “Come on, don’t be a chicken. Give her the phone.”

With extreme reluctance, I opened my bedroom door. Bianca sat at the kitchen island typing on her laptop.

“Ryan wants to talk to you.” I shoved the phone towards her.

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