Desperate to relax my throat, I cough into my hand. “I was at the animal shelter yesterday,” I say in a hoarse tone. “You know how I walk the dogs on weekends. Well, one of them isn’t used to being leash-walked. He freaked out and dragged me so fast across the pavement that I wiped out and hit my face.”
Mr. Colby’s wise, gray eyes narrow.
He knows I’m lying. I’m a terrible liar, and he’s going to call me on it.
But all he says is, “If you ever want to talk, my door’s always open, Skylar. I hope you know that.”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Colby.”
I turn and practically run out of the room.
When I finally get off school grounds, I collapse on a nearby park bench where I sit on the cold metal until my breathing has normalized and the blood has stopped rushing through my ears.
Mr. Colby isn’t dangerous or scary. But the way he was challenging me was. And sometimes, I confuse vulnerability with actual fear. And that was enough to send me running.
I don’t know exactly when I stopped feeling safe to be alive. But somewhere along the way, the only method I learned to handle my anxiety was to run. Running gives me a sense of control in a world where I have none. And when I feel anxiety sweep through me, I’d rather run than be drowned by it.
“Someday,” I whisper to myself. “This too shall pass.”
Chapter Three
Small Town, Montana
Colton
God, I love Sundays.
Our team crushed Billings on Friday night, and Dylan and I teamed up for two touchdowns. Brayden and Dylan connected on the third, and we won going away.
Saturday, like most fall weekends, I’m sore. But by Sunday, the pro games are on television, and in between, I’m ready to play again.
Dylan and I are young to be on varsity, but we’ve been working toward it our whole lives.
“Colt, let’s go one more time,” Dad says from where he’s standing on Brayden’s family ranch. “And Dylan, that throw was nearly perfect. Just release the ball a half-step earlier, buddy.”
I take off as soon as Brayden snaps the ball to Dylan. I sprint down the line and then cut outside. Dylan throws a laser, and the placement is perfect. I catch it and run to the makeshift end zone.
I could do this forever.
Playing football underneath the Montana sky is the best fucking feeling in the world. Even though it’s late fall, this afternoon is unseasonably warm. The sun beats down on my head, and the breeze is light. I’m with my dad and my cousins, and I love this. I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.
Dylan smirks as I run back to the three of them. His black hair is slick with sweat, and his dark eyes flash with humor.
“You’re breathing awfully hard there, Wild.”
“Hey, you fucking try running full-tilt,” I taunt him. “I think Bray needs a turn. I’ll snap.”
Brayden shakes his head of blond hair that’s the same shade as mine. “I’ve got to get back to the fields. My dad needs help with the cows.”
“Cowboy,” I tease him. “You’re a walking advertisement for Montana.”
“And you two are going to play football until you have nothing else in your lives,” he says, giving it right back. “Isn’t that right, Uncle Kent?”
My dad chuckles and runs a hand through his gray hair. “That’s their dream. It’s good to dream big. Gives you a real chance to get what you want.”
Dylan holds the football up to the sky like he’s making a promise. “We’ll all make the pros someday, Bray. Just watch.”
But Brayden just shrugs. “I don’t know if that’s my thing. You two? Sure. I can see it. But I’d miss Montana if I left.”
