Broken Beautiful Hearts(108)

I’m playing a dangerous game. And the huge smile on his face tells me that if I lose, I’ll lose big.

“I’ve really missed you, Peyton. Things haven’t been the same. Even winning doesn’t feel the same without you. I think that’s why I’ve been so stressed out.”

Stressed out? Is that what he’s calling it?

The sound of muffled voices drifts into the tunnel from somewhere inside the building.

Reed doesn’t seem to notice. He’s busy planning our future. “We could get an apartment together in the fall. We’d save a lot of money, and I could still help my mom.”

He seems to have forgotten that I’m going to college. But I’m not about to remind him—not when the improvement in his mood is buying me time.

Suddenly, the air in the tunnel feels heavier and it’s hard to swallow.

What if I don’t make it out of here?

My chest squeezes tighter and tighter.

I hear Dad’s voice in the back of my head. It’s now or never, kiddo.

I doubt this is the scenario Dad envisioned when he said it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I’m running out of time.

It’s getting harder to breathe. Any minute, I’m going to have a panic attack and start hyperventilating. Or Reed is going to want some kind of confirmation that I’m giving him another chance—like a kiss.

My throat spasms.

Shit.

Thinking fast, I fake-cough into my elbow to hide my real reaction.

“You okay?”

I’m not confident enough to attempt a heel strike on Reed. I’d rather rely on human nature. I slide my phone out of my back pocket without Reed noticing. When he turns around, I toss it up in the air. Reed looks up, just like Owen said people do if you throw something above their heads.

I bring my knee up as hard as I can, and it lands squarely between Reed’s legs. He doubles over.

I take off running. It’s the first time I’ve tried to run since the surgery, and it feels awkward. I’m off-balance and not moving at top speed, but I’m running.

“Peytonnnn!” Reed shouts.

So much for incapacitating him. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I see the door.

It’s not much farther.

The voices behind me get louder, but I can’t turn around. Losing one second might be the difference between making it out of here or Reed catching up to me.

The door is so close, and a pale light glows on the other side. Maybe the cops found the side entrance.

I’m going to make it.

I cross the threshold at the same time my knee gives out, and my body crashes against the stone. People shout my name.

In a blur of movement, a figure rushes past me.

It’s Owen.

Why didn’t he stop?

When I look back at the tunnel, I understand.

Reed is only a few feet away.

Owen throws an elbow and catches Reed in the jaw. I hear the sick crack of Reed’s skull as it hits the tunnel wall. But it doesn’t take him down.

Reed pivots and tries to sweep Owen’s legs out from under him, but Owen catches him in a headlock. Two cops come barreling down the tunnel, from inside the building.

The voices I heard must have been theirs.

Reed must’ve done a shitty job of hiding the tunnel entrance.

One cop grabs Owen and throws him against the wall, and the other officer grabs Reed.

I point at Owen. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He was trying to help me.”

The cops don’t respond. Either they can’t hear me over Reed’s nonstop string of profanity, or they’re not interested in my opinion.

Owen cooperates while the cop pats him down and cuffs him.

“Someone told me there was a party here tonight,” Reed yells at the officer who is stuck dealing with him. “I don’t know anything about fighting and gambling. Do I sound like I’m from around here?”

A third officer emerges from the tunnel carrying Reed’s gym bag. “I found this in there.”

“That’s his bag.” I point at Reed. “And it has drugs inside.”

“That’s not mine,” Reed says. “It was on the floor of the tunnel when I got there.”

“He’s lying.”

The older cop nods at the bag. “Let me take a look inside.”

The officer unzips it and fishes around. He takes out the same black box I found the night Reed pushed me. He opens it and tilts the box so the older cop can see the contents.

“That’s not my bag!” Reed shouts.

“I can prove it’s his. There’s a gym membership card in one of the inside pockets. It has his picture on it.”

“You bitch!” Reed turns and tries to charge in my direction.

The cop holding his arm jerks Reed back. “Let’s go check out the back of the squad car.” He flips over Reed’s gym ID and adds, “Mr. Michaels.”

I didn’t single-handedly take Reed down with a palm strike, but I got away from him.

And I went into the tunnel—and not just for five minutes.

I was in there for a long time, and I held it together well enough to deal with Reed. No one talked me through it, except Dad. I faced my demons and I kicked one of them in the balls.

All around, tonight feels like a win.