Broken Beautiful Hearts(106)

My hands are shaking so hard I can barely open the door.

I can do this.

My dad didn’t have anyone to swoop in and rescue him, but I might be able to save Owen. I can’t let fear stop me. But this isn’t a normal fear. I’m dealing with a panic attack–inducing phobia. I’m trapped in the quicksand again, and it’s rising fast. Instead of imagining the tunnel I’m about to enter, I picture Owen in the locker room the day I found him after the semifinals, pale and gasping for air. He could be on the other side somewhere right now, in even worse shape.

I can do this.

I look up at the sky, and for the first time since my father died, I talk to him. To the sky and the darkness and the heavens and the constellations—all the places I can imagine his spirit roaming free.

“Help me, Dad,” I whisper. “Please.” I touch the dog tags around my neck. Mom’s right. He is still with us. I can hear his voice as clearly as if he were standing in front of me.

Aim, kick, release.

I can’t remember how old I was the first time he said it, but I remember the hundreds and hundreds of times he said it after that first day. Aim, kick, release. For every shot, those were the steps, and we practiced them over and over, passing the ball back and forth in the backyard.

“You can’t focus on winning the game or scoring goals,” he’d said. “You have to focus on that one kick in front of you. Whether it’s a pass or you’re taking a shot, that one kick has to be the most important one you make, and you do it every time. That’s how you win.”

I. Can. Do. This.

I clutch the dog tags in my sweaty palm. I swallow, but my mouth is so dry it feels like swallowing sand.

Aim. Kick. Release.

Focus on the next kick. That’s all. I just have to focus on taking one step, and then another. And I have to keep taking them until I make it to the end.

I cross the threshold, and the walls tilt. The concrete floor seems to shift, like I’m walking on a rope ladder. I close my eyes and extend my arms for balance.

Aim. Kick. Release.

The first step feels impossible. My leg’s too heavy, and I can’t raise it.

What if Owen’s heart stops and no one’s there?

I lift my foot and take the first step. My body sways until I touch the ground again. I hear Dad’s voice in my head repeating the same thing over and over like a mantra: Aim. Kick. Release. Aim. Kick. Release.

As I move my foot, I deconstruct my movements. I bring my knee up, put my foot down, and then switch legs and do the same thing. Knee up, foot down, then switch sides.

Up. Down. Switch.

I keep my arms extended. I can’t reach the walls, which is probably a good thing. It makes the space seem larger.

It’s more like a room than a tunnel.

I’m playing mind games with myself. My knees start to shake, and I close my eyes. It’s too hard to look. I know how far I’ve gone, and that if I look back, I won’t be able to see the entrance anymore.

Up. Down. Switch. Up. Down. Switch.

The mantra becomes automatic, and I start counting my footsteps.

Seven. Ten. Fourteen.

My knees shake and knock against each other, and the urge to puke my guts out hits. I take deep breaths through my nose, trying to settle my stomach.

Twenty-eight. Thirty-five. Forty-one.

The only light comes from Tucker’s flashlight pen, but my eyes are closed anyway. Until the pounding starts. Not just pounding … footsteps. Coming fast.

Maybe it’s Owen.

The footsteps echo louder, reminding me that I’m still in a tunnel.

Where are they coming from?

My heart beats wildly as the sounds grow louder. A beam of light bounces off the tunnel walls, getting closer and closer. I can make out a silhouette, but not much more. Broad shoulders and a muscular body race toward me.

The floor still feels like it’s shifting beneath my feet, and another wave of nausea hits. I gag and cover my mouth.

The person running toward me isn’t Owen.

It’s Reed.





CHAPTER 42

Losing Faith

REED AND I see each other at the same time and he stops.

“Peyton? What are you doing down here?” His voice sounds strange, like I’m underwater. “Worried about your new boyfriend?” He drops his gym bag at his feet.

“Is—is he okay?” I stammer.

Reed holds the flashlight between us, and the light casts an eerie glow on his face. “I don’t know. The little bitch didn’t show.”

“Owen isn’t here?”

“I figured he was with you. But I’m glad you’re here. I wanted a chance to talk to you alone.”

I’d rather eat nails.

Reed seems oblivious to the fact that I can’t stand him.

“If you want to talk, let’s do it outside.” I start to turn around, but Reed blocks my path.

“No, we should talk now, while we’re alone. I think that’s part of the problem. We had a misunderstanding and other people kept getting involved. That’s when everything got out of hand.” His demeanor has completely changed, and he’s playing the apologetic ex.

“Other people ‘getting involved’ wasn’t what caused the problem. What you’re doing to yourself is the problem.”