"I am not ready to raise a kid."
"No one's signing you up for a Father of the Year award."
The universe is made of stories. And Maeve Fluer-Reyes had her own.
With pictured misfits in her life, the twelve-year-old was up for anything as long as she...
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MAEVE FLUER-REYES
When I stepped in, the water was burning hot.
Scalding. My skin should have been red by now, but I still felt cold. Not the kind that goes away with the warmth, but the kind that made my insides twist.
I wanted to throw up.
Showering wasn't working. Becoming clean wasn't working. I could still smell it. Gunpower. Blood. So much blood. Like it had soaked into my skin, my hair, my lungs. I scrubbed at my arms, harder, until they burned just as much as the rest of me. But it was still there. It wouldn't leave.
Neither would the images.
Every time I blinked, I saw it again: Mr. Reyes, the way he slipped into command. Firing like he had done it a hundred times before. And Emmett—Emmett just fell right in line, as if he already knew exactly what to do. All while Caleb and I were pinned behind cover. Stuck. Useless.
Caleb.
God. I didn't even know if he made it home by now. If he was okay. If he was as messed up over this as I was. He seemed like he knew what was happening. Like this wasn't as much of a shock to him. I don't know. Maybe I was just imagining it.
But whatever it was, he was there. And he was stuck because of me.
Why were those men even looking for me?
What did they want?
I kept going over it, again and again, trying to piece it together, but nothing made sense. I didn't know them. I didn't recognize them. But they knew me. They came for me. Why?
Was it because of my mom? Something she did? Something I did? No, that didn't make sense. I haven't done anything. I didn't even matter like that. Were they the same people who took Deeda?
The thought sent a sharp, awful chill through me, worse than any cold ever could.
I pressed my forehead harder against the tile, squeezing my eyes shut until stars burst behind my eyes. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking, Mae. It won't change anything.
But my brain wouldn't listen.
It just kept going.
And no amount of water could wash it away.
C O N S T A N T
I pulled on the first clothes I could find—sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, sleeves too long. My hair was still wet, dripping down, soaking into the fabric. I didn't care.
Kai had called earlier.
I picked up.
I shouldn't have.
He asked if was okay. If I'd eaten. If I needed anything. But I didn't know what to say. If I started talking, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop. And if I stopped, I wasn't sure I'd be able to start again. So, I told him I was tired and hung up before he could say anything else.
