Page 112 of Things We Hide from the Light
My heart tripped again and then again. My vision went spotty for the moment it took to resume a normal beat.
No more caffeine. Or red meat. Or man-induced stress, I promised myself. I’d open my meditation app and do yoga after every run. I would practice breathing exercises every hour on the hour and take nature walks. I would get the hell out of Knockemout and never look back.
I didn’t trust myself to say a more official goodbye, so I just started walking toward the parking lot.
“Lina,” Nash called after me. Not Angelina. Not Angel. Now it was just Lina.
I ignored him. The sooner I forgot Nash Morgan existed, the better.
I increased my speed and cut across a now empty soccer field. I didn’t quite make it to half field before a hand closed around my elbow.
“Lina, stop,” Nash ordered.
I jerked free. “We have nothing left to say to each other and we have no reason left to concern ourselves with each other.”
“Your heart—”
“Isnoneof your damn business,” I hissed.
A series of flutters had my vision going dark around the edges and I willed myself not to let it show.
“Okay. I’m inserting myself in here with great reluctance,” Nolan said, jogging up.
“Butt out, Graham,” Nash snapped.
Nolan took off his sunglasses. “My job is to protect you, dumbass. And you are one point five seconds away from having your face punched in by a very angry woman.”
“I’m not letting you get behind the wheel if you’re not okay,” Nash said to me, ignoring the U.S. marshal standing between us.
“I’ve never been better,” I lied.
He tried to take another step toward me, but Nolan put a hand to his chest.
I turned and headed for the parking lot. I was halfway to my car when I felt attention on me. I spotted a guy with a mustache and a KPD ball cap leaning against a set of bleachers, arms crossed, mean in his eyes.
TWENTY-THREE
TEAM LINA
Lina
Iwas trying to stuff the last sweater into my overflowing suitcase when there was a knock at my door. I would have ignored it as I had all the other knocks on my door since yesterday’s soccer game truth bomb if it hadn’t also been accompanied by a barrage of text messages.
Sloane: It’s us. Let us in.
Naomi: We come in peace.
Sloane: Hurry up before we make enough noise to alert your grumpy neighbor.
I was not up for company, emotional blackmail, or another round of apologizing.
Naomi: I should add that Knox gave me the master key so we’re coming in no matter what. You might as well make it your choice.
Damn it.
I threw the sweater on the bed and headed for the door.
“Hi,” they said cheerfully when I opened it.
