“Meaning perhaps the risk isn’t what you think it is.” He stands, brushing invisible dust from his coat. “Candace plays chess while the rest of us plays checkers. By the time we understand her move, she’s already three turns ahead.”
Logan and I exchange a dark look. Because that’s the most terrifying part—we have no idea what game she’s actually playing.
The cemetery suddenly feels colder, and it has nothing to do with the fog.
“I see you’ve traded one love triangle for another.” A voice cuts through our conversation like a blade, and my heart stops as Gage materializes from the fog near a cluster of headstones. He nods my way. “But then,” Gage continues, his voice carrying that particular brand of hurt that’s trying very hard to sound indifferent, “you were never in love with me to begin with.”
“That’s not true!” The words explode out of me before I can stop them, desperate and raw and completely inadequate to challenge the teenage angst Gage Oliver just lobbed my way. “We’re just—having a quick little meeting.”
He offers a meager smile. “My mistake.” He nods to Logan and Marshall. “Enjoy whatever it is that’s going on here.”
“Gage, wait—” I start, half-rising from the bench.
But he’s already turning away, disappearing back into the fog as quickly as he appeared, leaving me with my hand stretched out toward the empty night air.
The silence that follows makes my heartbeat drum in my ears. Both Marshall and Logan stare at me like I might shatter, which honestly isn’t far from the truth.
“Well,” Marshall says eventually, “looks as if someone’s jockstrap is in a twist. Perhaps he needs some personal attention to work out the tension. I could spare a few girls if need be.”
“Don’t you dare,” I tell him. “Besides, he’s got Chloe in his pocket, and probably in his jockstrap by now.” I sag just thinking about it. “Everything is a mess,” I say as tears fill my eyes. “Everything. If we don’t get out of here soon, it will be a miracle if Gage and I ever have a family.”
The words hang in the air like a confession, and I realize I’ve just voiced my deepest fear. Not just that we’re trapped in the past, but that every day we stay here pushes Gage farther away from the future where we’re supposed to be together—where we make three beautiful babiestogether.
Marshall watches me with an expression I can’t quite read. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Believe what?” I ask, wiping my eyes.
“That your future with Gage is in jeopardy.”
“Isn’t it?” I gesture helplessly in the direction Gage disappeared. “Look at him. Look atus.”
Marshall takes a step away. “Perhaps the question isn’t how to fix your relationship with Jock Strap, but how to escape the situation that’s destroying it. Unless, of course, that’s been the point all along.”
“Please, my mother has been playing that game since the first time around,” I point out.
“Indeed,” Marshall agrees, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “And I suspect that game is far more dangerous than any of us realize.”
Some graveyards bury more than bodies—they bury hope, love, and the future you thought was written in stone.
31
Skyla
The rest of the week rolls by, and by some miracle, I’ve ambled my way to Friday afternoon.
The woods behind West Paragon High smell like pine needles and dirty teenage secrets, along with damp earth and that unmistakable scent of hidden drama and whispered confessions.
The towering evergreens create a natural barrier between the school and the wilderness, their branches swaying in the afternoon breeze while pencil-gray clouds filter what little light this gloomy day has to offer.
Marshall leans against one of the massive tree trunks, looking vexingly sexy and far too comfortable while I pace back and forth on the soft bed of fallen needles, my mind racing through every possible legal loophole in celestial law.
“There has to be some kind of recourse for her actions,” I say, probably for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. “I need to see the Justice Alliance. I need to take my mother to celestial court.”
Marshall looks patiently amused, as if he’s been waiting for meto work through this particular, and rather futile, fantasy. “That won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because she is the celestial judge and jury as far as faction matters are concerned.”
