But still…
“We all try to woo her, and she decides in the end?” Nash furrows his brows again, and his fiddling from foot to foot tells me he’s not into that idea at all.
“What? Afraid you’ll lose? I thought you didn’t want to have anything serious with her anyway?” North mocks him.
“Do you?” Nash shoots right back.
“So, it’s decided. She chooses, and until she does, all is fair game. As soon as she decides, the rest step back and keep their hands off without being butthurt,” North announces, holding out his fist.
You idiots are not fucking serious right now?
Not only is this basically making her a trophy, but she wants them all, and they want her to choose?
Idiots. I can’t believe I’m related to these fucking idiots.
“Hunter, you know better, man. This is only going to hurt her,” I tell him, but like always, nobody can hear me.
I would give them all a piece of my mind if I could right now, but I can’t.
Because I’m not truly here.
Hunter holds out his fist, making me question his place as my favorite brother before he and North look at Nash. Nash grumbles, but in the end, he gives in, holding out his fist.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
FORTY-SIX
The poundingof my heart syncs with the rhythmic thud of my sneakers against the pavement. The finish line is in sight, just a few feet away. I push myself, drawing on every last ounce of energy, and sprint toward it.
The weight of the past few months—the stress, the sorrow, the countless doctor’s visits with Nan—propels me forward. Running became my escape, my therapy. And today, crossing this finish line for the cancer charity run is more than just a race. It’s a tribute to her strength and resilience.
A wave of exhaustion washes over me as I cross the finish line, but it’s paired with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.
I did it.
For her.
The crowd is cheering us on, and I see Mayor Thomson standing there, congratulating every runner as they finish. He turns to me, and I stand a little straighter.
“Good work,” he says, clapping my shoulder lightly.
I force a smile, still panting. “Thank you.”
I’m not the biggest fan of our mayor, but he seems to make an effort, based on him being here and what do I know about politics.
Nothing.
But, as I’m about to move on, something—or rather, someone—behind Thomson catches my eye. A short, round man, glaring intently at the mayor.
Our eyes lock, and a chill runs down my spine.
Fuck.
He raises an eyebrow as if challenging me and yells, “Hey!”
I turn quickly, hoping to melt into the crowd and avoid any interaction. The last thing I need right now is to get involved with a disgruntled ghost, especially in such a public setting. But he’s following me.
“Leave me alone,” I whisper under my breath, hoping he’ll get the hint.
