Lily
My feet hurt. I’ve been on them all day, and my last break can’t come soon enough. I alternate picking up each foot and twisting my ankles while biting my lip at Noah’s recent text message.
Why do you have to be so addicting?
It’s been two weeks since the funeral. Since Noah touched me like he couldn’t breathe without it. Like I was the one person keeping him from drowning in grief. I felt it in every rough kiss, every desperate pull of his hands. I still do, the ghost of his grip, the pressure of his fingertips—it’s all I feel.
And yet, he hasn’t said much.
I’ve been giving him space, telling myself it’s what he needs, but I’ve seen him, even when he’s trying to avoid being seen. He sits out in his truck, parked across the street from the diner like he’s just passing through, like he’s not watching me through the windshield and pretending not to.
I keep willing him in. Wishing he’d just walk through the door andseeme. Talk to me. Tell me he doesn’t regret it, even if I’m afraid he does.
“Hey, Lily. It’s your break time, girl. Take your fifteen.” Hannah loads up a serving tray with dinner specials.
“Sounds good. Think I’ll head out to my car.” I grab my bag and walk toward the back exit.
“Don’t be falling asleep or nothin’. We’ve got a crowd tonight.”
I wave her off over my shoulder and plow through the door.
The sun descends toward the horizon, and I kick a pebble, watching it tumble and hit the dumpster. I inhale a lungful of air, grateful the smell of melted cheese and grease no longer assaults my nostrils.
With my bag slung over one shoulder, I reach around, probing for my keys and phone. A few steps from my car, I pause, hand landing on my vape pen. I fiddle with it. It’s been forever since I’ve used the thing, and oddly I want it, but don’t want it. I shake my head. I’m not sure I could ever vape again after knowing Ms. Sullivan. I just can’t.
Ripping it out of my bag, I turn and sling the thing into the dumpster, feeling pretty proud when it lands in there on the first go.
The wind kicks up, and a breeze lifts and teases the strands of hair around my face. They tickle my cheeks, so I tuck them behind my ear then unlock my car. I’m looking forward to sitting with my feet up on the dash for my break.
I barely get my door cracked when a sharp screaming against the pavement strains my ears. It all happens so fast: the tires skidding, rubber burning, the high-pitched wail of an engine.
I jump, spinning to find a black SUV barreling closer, coming in fast and forceful. Eyes wide, I fumble behind me for the door handle, dropping my phone. The doors fly open and all at once, three men leap out of the car, each dressed in black with matching ski masks.
They move fast. Too fast.
Their boots pound on the pavement, reaching me in only a couple of my rapid heartbeats. One lunges first, his hand swipingfor my arm—I jerk, but another is already there, cutting off any escape.
My pulse hammers, panic clawing up my throat as rough hands seize me and fingers dig into my skin.
“Hey! Stop!” I shriek.
With a tug, I lose my grip on the door handle and watch it swing closed. Thrashing, I kick out, my heels scraping against the pavement. As they wrestle me toward their vehicle, my bag drops from my shoulder. They’re unconcerned, and a man even kicks it toward my car as he stumbles to tighten his unyielding grip on my arms.
When they get me to the SUV, they open the trunk, and I twist harder. What is it they say? Don’t let them get you to the second location? Whoevertheyare.
A man holding one of my arms behind my back leans down and whispers hot in my ear. “Don’t make this harder.”
My arms and legs move faster. Like hell.
An arm grazes past my face, and I bite down—hard. He jerks back with a hiss, cursing, and in that moment, I wrench an arm free. I slam an elbow into someone’s ribs and hear a grunt.
The hold on me lessens, and I think I may be able to run, but before I can snatch away, a fist tangles in my hair, yanking me back. Pain, like pins and needles, burns my scalp and I stumble, my vision tilting as they drag me upward, lifting me into the waiting SUV. They nearly get me inside, but I throw my arms out, bracing the edges of the side of the car.
“Get her in! Damn it!” comes from inside the dark interior, but I’m too focused on my struggle to seek out the voice.
They yank my legs, folding me inward. Tears spill down my cheeks, smearing across my lips. The salt tastes like defeat, and I cling tighter, my nails gouging into the frame.
I won’t go in. I won’t?—
