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I tossed a shell at his shoulder, and the door to the concession building opened, my father standing in its frame.

I gulped. “Oh—”

“Shit,” Reed said.

“Eliza?” Dad raised a hand above his eyebrows and squinted under the bright light above the back door. “You still out there?”

“Quick! Get in!” I shoved Reed’s head down near the roll bar. Had TJ not taken out the back seats last year, there was no way Reed’s tall frame would’ve fit inside.

Without a word to Dad, I jumped into the driver’s seat, started the engine and gunned it out of the parking lot. Reed’s head popped up behind me, and I smacked it. “Get back down until we’re in the clear,” I yelled over the wind whipping around us. My mind raced a mile a minute.

Reed Fulton was in my Jeep.

I helped Reed Fulton escape from my father, and he was now in my Jeep.

With me.

In the dark.

Alone.

What the hell are you doing, Eliza?

By some miracle, I made it down Main Street without having to stop at any traffic light and without seeing anyone I knew on the road or on the sidewalks. Only when I passed the faded green sign that said “Leaving Fairfield: Come Again Soon!” did I ease up.

Reed’s head slowly came into focus in my rearview mirror. Hat off, his wavy hair fluttered in the wind. “Is it okay to sit up now?”

I nodded.

“Can I come up to the front seat?” he asked.

“No. Not after the last time and that stupid bet—”

“What bet?”

Sure, pretend like you don’t remember.

I must’ve inhaled some gas while manning the hot dog grill—the only explanation for my brief trip down Lunacy Lane.

“Where are we going, Crowley?”

“No idea.” I just had to keep driving. Maybe the longer I drove, the more this insane idea would start to make sense?

A THUMP sounded from the back, followed by a loud flapping noise.

Oh no. No, no, no…

Reed leaned out of the back on the passenger side. “I think you’ve got a flat.”

“Of course I do.” God had a seriously twisted sense of humor.

“Bet this wouldn’t have happened if you had just driven your shiny Beemer.”

“I told you already: I hate that car.”

Reed mumbled something close to “Must be nice to have a choice,” but I ignored it.

Yes, I knew I was lucky to have a choice with a lot of things in my life, but I never asked for it. I didn’t want it. Maybe if he had been around over the last few years, he would’ve seen the charity events I helped with for our local scouts, or how I had convinced Dad to do a couple of benefit games for the Clairview Women’s Shelter the last two spring seasons.