God, I missed her. Missed her hugs and her laugh and just . . . everything.
Maybe running away wasn't the answer. Maybe it just caused more pain, more problems.
As I hold onto my mom, I can't help but think about Zach.
He’s not going to let this go.
I just hope I live long enough to make him regret finding me.
Chapter 7
Zach
The team bus sways in rhythm with the potholes, every jolt a dull thud in my head, which is pressed against the cool glass. Outside, the New York winter sprawls endless and gray, the skeletal trees illuminated by the streetlights whip past like they’re mocking me.
The guys around me are loud, as usual. Jackson’s laughing at something Connor said, his voice sharp against the low hum of the bus. Five hours on this goddamn bus and my nerves are frayed to hell.
Jackson leans into my space as he stretches his legs into the aisle like he owns it. “So, what’s the plan for your brother?”
I turn my head to look at him, jaw clenched. "Not my brother."
"Fine. Stepbrother. Whatever." He rolls his eyes. "What are you going to do with him?"
"Laced coke. It'll be believable enough. Novotny’s guy said Merci’s done lines before."
It’s a simple plan. Clean. Effective.
Jackson whistles faintly. “Brutal.”
I don't respond, just stare straight ahead. Viktor’s sitting with Coach Harper up front, their heads close together. My pulse rate escalates, a telltale sign of some emotional response, so I turn away and stare out the window, not in the mood to try to figure out what it means.
I wish I were normal, wish I could be like everyone else.
But I’m not.
Opening my phone, I send a quick message to the drug dealer supplying the coke, updating him on my ETA. Then I open the last video update Viktor sent me before we left Pennsylvania. Checking the feed would be impossible with him sitting next to Harper. The last thing I need is for that asshole to find out what we’re doing.
The bus finally lurches to a stop, and I’m the first one up, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I make my way off the bus, Connor and Jackson close on my heels. The cold air bites at my skin through the material of my hoodie.
My SUV’s parked just a few feet away, lined up neatly with the others in our team’s unofficial row. Jackson’s red X7, Connor’s Maserati Grecale Folgore, Viktor’s blue Range Rover—because that fuck has everything in blue—and my blacked-out Land Rover.
Can’t wait until winter’s gone and we can get back to using our normal cars.
I’m halfway to my driver’s side door when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, already annoyed by the interruption, then glare at the text message on the screen.
Father: Come home immediately after you get back.
I swipe to unlock, then tap the app open and respond.
Me: I have plans.
Father: Cancel them. This is not a request.
Me: What’s this about?
Father: You’ll find out when you get here.
Fuck.
