I want to know more. I want to know everything.
But more than that, I want to take the reins of this delicate beginning and charge forward, turning potential into certainty, promise into something real.
For Tag. For Chase.
For me.
I dig a pen out of my purse and reach for his hand, flipping it palm-side up, before scribbling down my phone number. “That’s my cell. Just think about it, okay?”
He angles his hand left and right, studying the inky blue numbers that gleam beneath the starry canvas. “Would you be involved?” he wonders. Then he shakes his head, as if shooing away the question. “Never mind. You said you don’t have the time.”
I falter. “I have my midnights.”
“Those are just fragments. Scattered pieces of a much bigger picture,” he counters, closing his eyes, curling his fingers into his palm. “It’s not enough.”
“I disagree. When you truly want something, you make it enough. Pieces are still pieces. You collect them, maneuver them, and you don’t stop until the puzzle becomes whole.”
I’m finally realizing that.
I’ve been stagnant, stunted, marinating in lost potential and broken dreams. It’s my own fault. I can always do more, be more, try harder. Sometimes all we need is a catalyst.
A spark.
Our gazes cling for another beat before Chase breaks contact and inches back into the parking lot. “Yeah,” he says, pushing his tongue against his cheek. “I’ll think about it.”
He spins around to leave.
I watch as he treks toward his vehicle and slips inside, revving the engine, reversing, then veering out of the parking lot and onto the main road. He drives away, the taillights evaporating. Swallowed by the night.
My feet remain glued to the pavement.
The air has chilled, nipping at my skin, but it’s not enough to snuff out the fire blazing through me. It burns, smolders, turning all remaining doubt into ash.
Stars glimmer from above, milky and glowing, and I glance up, smiling wider than the moon.
Fate isn’t always logical.
But it is, in fact, inevitable.
Chapter 12Chase
“I don’t feel good. I don’t want to go.”
Stella flops back on her bed, curling into the fetal position. Sweat shimmers on her hairline. Groaning with misery, she tugs an ashy blue quilt up to her chin.
Mom sighs with exhaustion, clinging to her last rope, as she yanks the blanket off my sister. “The scouts are going to be there. You don’t have a choice.”
“Mom, please. My head is absolutely killing me.”
“Take some Tylenol. It’s just a headache, Stella.” A firm hand presses to her shoulder, squeezing. “This is your dream, everything you’ve worked so hard for. You’re a Rhodes, honey. We see our dreams through.”
I watch from the hallway, leaning back against the wall, my arms folded. She’s so pale. Trembling, in pain. Her eyes find me through the threshold, begging for me to intervene.
But there’s nothing I can do.
The backdrop shifts into a carousel of noise, color, motion.
Water splashes at my feet.
