Page 109 of Grace

“I don’t have to tuck my hair under it, do I?”

He looks at me for a long moment, like he’s staring straight into my soul.

“What is it? Is there something on my face?”

He shakes his head slightly. “You’re beautiful.”

I blush and bite my lip, thrilled.

“Let’s go.”

The cashier puts on our bracelets and opens the gate. We get swept up in the noisy crowd. People bump into me and step on my toes more than once, but I don’t care—I feel like a kid in a candy shop.

“What would you like to try?”

The colorful lights halo his silhouette—he looks like the darkly handsome, sly villain in my life. The kind of villain most girls secretly root for.

“Everything. But I don’t even know where to start.”

A bright, honest smile lights up his face, making my heart skip a beat. I’m completely blown away—the buzz and cheerful voices of the amusement park hit me right in the chest. I watch jugglers weaving through the crowd alongside stilt-walkers. Amusement parks are timeless—every generation can find something for them.

Neon lights flash everywhere. The Ferris wheel at the center of the park is drenched in color. Red-and-white striped tents host live shows. We get lost in the mix of lights, smells, and noise—in the simple joys I’ve been craving for so long. The different machines jingle and make mechanical sounds, while the roller coasters and merry-go-rounds rattle, the sound settling low in my stomach.

I lose myself on a merry-go-round with horses for seats, which is as lovely as a singing jewel box. As soon as the boys and girls have chosen a horse, the mechanism lurches to life and a sweet melody starts to play. I see smiling faces, crying faces, grumpy ones… For a second, I drift into my thoughts, and a sad smile tugs at my mouth.

Now I understand why Mom and Dad used to fight over who would sit with us on the Ferris wheel, the roller coaster, or that spinning, star-shaped ride. I feel nauseous just looking at all those green faces.

Chase buys me white cotton candy and a can of Coca-Cola, then we take a long walk around the park, which is ringed by an unbroken wall of stalls. Groups of teenagers are having fun—shouting, laughing, fighting, kissing… The girls walking behind us giggle and whisper to each other. “He’s so hot!” “He smells like sex!”

I cough on my Coke. I glance at Chase, who doesn’t look surprised by the horny remarks. He was gorgeous even at twenty. And that bad-boy edge of his works on everyone—every girl would be thrilled to be Chase Baker’s partner. But who would understand his twisted mind? Who would want him, knowing what he is? How many would despise him for being a rapist, a murderer—someone who tortures people and animals alike?

A feeling—an unanswered question—hits me as I eat my sticky dessert.

What was Chase like as a boy? Naughty? Annoying? Insolent? The kind of kid who got into fights and got on his parents’ nerves? Or was he a sweet little boy who stroked his mom’s face, who told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world when she felt down?

My chest tightens, and my breath catches. Tears roll down my heat-flushed face. The pain of losing my parents—a pain unlike any other—fills me. The memories sweep me away with elemental force, shattering my heart into jagged pieces. No matter how many beautiful, happy moments I have, they can’t fill the vast void their death left behind.

Mom and Dad.

A little kid barrels into us. Pain and adrenaline flood me, making me shudder and drop the Coke and the cotton candy. Chase watches the kid go with such a hard, stern look it twists my stomach into an icy knot… because I remember Jason.

“You must’ve been a mean kid, too,” I tell him, trembling. I bend down and pick up the cotton candy and the Coke can, then toss them into a trash bin.

I wipe my palm—and the tears from my eyes. I get lost in his dull, deep-brown eyes. My heart lurches as I picture Chase as a little boy, running around with a huge smile on his face, wearing a white-and-green striped T-shirt and suspenders over jeans.

“Well?”

“Let’s check out the Ferris wheel,” I reply without hesitation, then catch my lower lip between my teeth. He chuckles behind his hand.

“What is it?” I ask, smiling.

“Did you figure out what I must’ve been like as a kid? Did you imagine me?”

“I think the boy I see is probably a romanticized, idealized fiction. But your aura is pure darkness. I can’t make the two fit,” I say, shaking my head, playful. A tight, arrogant smile flashes across his face. He crosses the distance between us in one long stride. Our eyes are level. My heart climbs into my throat, and my mouth goes dry. His mouth hovers in front of mine, his lips barely brushing mine. His breath is fire against my skin.

“That’s why you pictured me as a good kid.”

“That’s what you were, weren’t you?”