Page 86 of Striking Range

“Hey,” I prompt, happy to be at a distance that prohibits him from seeing all the emotion in my eyes. “Have you ever thought about leaving here?”

“Like, moving from Sinclair?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Hm. Not a whole lot, but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Why?”

So there’s a chance; there is a likelihood that I could convince him to run with me. If we could do that much, then nothing else would truly matter, would it?

I only have to entertain Ash for a little under three months, and I think I know exactly how I can swing that.

“No reason.” I stand from the couch, making my way to where Skylar is cooking. “I want another kiss now.”

He laughs, his hands extended from his body to avoid touching me with his sticky fingers as he turns to face me.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” he teases.

But he doesn’t fight me, letting my hands grip at his hips and pull his body to mine.

“So you keep saying,” I mutter.

And I kiss him again. I kiss him because here, in the little space we’ve cultivated, I can have Skylar and not feel ashamed for it.

Here, with him, I am safe.

The sun has set, the sheets have been changed, and as I listen to the running water of Skylar’s shower, I pull out my phone.

The start of my master plan to keep my best friend begins with a single text.

Everett

Hey, Ashley. Are you free tomorrow?

Act Two

The falling Apart

(have we said goodbye to forever?)

Chapter Seventeen

Skylar Parish

There is a soft orange coating the evening sky; streaks of pink and blue tangle together behind the scattered clouds as the weeds sway gently.

It is the perfect weather to usher in Halloween.

Little bugs are singing in the distance as I lie in the empty field behind Henry’s apartment complex. From somewhere to my right, far away, a child is laughing. The sound soaks into my skin.

Everything is so simple in this one moment. The air is easy to pull into my lungs, time is crawling by in a sluggish rhythm, and my heart is beating steadily.

Thump, thump, thump—and each beat is for him.

Somewhere inside of that apartment on the first floor, he is cracking jokes with our friends or attempting, and failing, to assist in the cooking. I can see it now, from my spot on the grass, and it plays before my eyes.

He’s so handsome. He’s so kind. He is everything he always has been from the moment we met, and yet somehow so much more.

All of the bright things I saw in him all those years ago somehow burn brighter. Now, when I look at him, it feels as if all of those bright, beautiful things have been created just for me.