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Coach Granger watches me carefully, as he always does, as I continue racing through my runner’s high. But he’s been strangely quiet ever since his and my conveniently-timed, simultaneous disappearances.
Coach Granger has always been my glimmer of hope in this hellhole. He’s always told me that I could come to him for anything, and I could always count on him for the warmth that everyone else lacked. Which is crazy because he is not what you would call a warm person. He is serious and stern, his eyes always wide and intensely focused, like his head is always in the sport, pushing through another mile.
We’d both subtly hinted at our suspicions about his family troubles happening right around the same time I was kidnapped, as if someone was trying to get him out of the picture so he wouldn’t be able to help or protect me in any way. But ever since then, he has been strangely quiet towards me.
He studies me with a distant look in his eye, as if he’s still trying to figure everything out before we talk about it more. I can only guess at what is going through his mind, as I still have no idea exactly what tore him away for those couple of weeks.
The unspoken words that still seem to hang between us only make me run harder. I need the release. Each sharp breath through my pounding feet and burning muscles seems to push everything a million miles away.
I am dreading the return of my anxiety once practice is over. I rush into the locker room and go through the motions, hoping to get changed quickly and then breeze through homework and dinner at home before crashing into bed. I’ve learned the key to outrunning my worries about everything that’s been happening is to stay busy.
I step behind the curtain into the shower and turn on the water, which sends billows of steam up into the air to join what’s rising from the other showers. I try to ignore the gross clump of stringy hair floating on top of the drain at my feet. I can remember when my own hair was coming out in handfuls like this in the shower from all the stress Emmett and the Elites had me under.
I want to think we’ve come so far since then. That everything is so different between Emmett and me now. But there is a daunting sense that the worst isn’t over yet. I quickly remember these are exactly the kinds of thoughts I was hoping to avoid for the rest of the day and turn the water off, sending th
e returning cold shivering across my skin.
After patting myself down with a couple of towels and slipping into my clean, post-run sweats, I am out the door and back to thinking about normal things, like wondering what my mom is making for dinner. When I returned home after that short absence, she finally noticed just how much weight I had lost since starting WJ Prep and quickly took it on as her personal mission to fatten me up.
As a runner, I can’t afford to be running on empty, and my figure is finally rounding back out to normal as she stuffs me full of her best dishes every night. Even on nights when she works late, she has made a habit of taking long lunches to come home and cook dinner. Of course, Brendan helps when he can. I have told them not to worry and that I’m more than happy to cook for myself, but they insist that it makes them feel good to take care of me in that way.
I keep a steady pace towards my car as I imagine what she must have baking this evening, but I quickly realize nothing will be as easy as I hoped when I get closer. Emmett is leaning against the driver’s side door waiting for me. The closer I get, the more I can see the furious look on his face.
“Hey,” I call casually once I’m close enough, hoping to gauge his mood before we’re face to face. He says nothing but his eyes keep burning into me, making me slow down from caution. “Something wrong?”
With sullen eyes, I can see a suppressed growl roll through his throat. “Have you been avoiding me?” he asks, doing a terrible job at releasing his clenched teeth as he talks.
“No, I thought you were mad at me.” I move past him to throw my bag into the backseat, wishing he’d move so I could get in and drive away. I want to see him, but not when he’s angry like this.
“Is that why you were talking to Malcolm?” he fumes, clicking everything into place in my mind.
“You jealous?” I ask lightly, hoping to pass everything off as no big deal.
“Should I be?” he barks back. He sharply blows a string of hair from his eyes and crosses his arms. “Is that why you were with him? To make me jealous?” A gentle booming roar rises within every word. I can tell his rage is bubbling up, but he’s trying his best to keep it contained.
My heart swells with shame as I think of what really happened with Malcolm. I didn’t just flirt with him and think about what things could be like with him. I compared him to Emmett, and that feels like the biggest betrayal of all. He’s already paranoid enough that he’s not what I deserve, and I used his biggest insecurities to compare him to Malcolm.
Who’s to say Malcolm wouldn’t be just as fucked up behind closed doors? I know that’s not true. Emmett is not my first boyfriend. I know not all guys are like this. There are plenty of them who don’t get physically violent. Plenty who aren’t as fucked up as Emmett. But I feel awful for even thinking about that. And now I am standing here swearing there is nothing going on, when I knew I was flirting with disaster the whole time.
“I was just having lunch with a friend, Emmett,” I explain sternly. “I’m allowed to do that.”
“So, you consider Malcolm to be a friend?” He looms over me, pushing his palm against the car on the other side of me, boxing me in with his arms and shoulders.
“What’s your fucking problem?” I snap finally. “You’re creeping me out. You were the one who got all pissed at me because I expected you to stand up for me against your psychotic ex-girlfriend. Forgive me for wanting a break from all of your mood swings.”
His nostrils flare as he takes it all in. “A break,” he scoffs. I immediately know I’ve crossed some sort of invisible line. He snaps suddenly, grabbing me by the arm and forcing me away towards his car that’s parked a few spaces down.
“What the fuck, Emmett!?” I shriek, looking around to see if anyone is nearby to witness this. With no one in sight, he shuffles me to his car and pushes me inside. Instinctively, I look to the backseat expecting to see all the things that tell me I’m in trouble. The same kinds of things that made me try to get away from him when he lured me into his car once before. Rope and gloves. But thankfully it appears to be clear.
“You’re coming with me,” he demands as he slides into the driver’s seat. “We need to talk.”
“Going with you where!?” I yell out in shock. “Why can’t we just talk here!? I don’t want to go right you right now, Emmett! I want to go home!”
“No,” he roars back, continuing to drive despite my obvious fear. “I’m taking you to my hotel room.”
“What hotel room!?” I shout, feeling completely confused.
“Things were getting too intense at home with Bernadette being missing. Mom’s been acting weird. I rented a room to get away from it all, and it makes me feel safer,” he explains with a strange calmness, which is somewhat comforting. At least he’s not seeing red to the point of wordlessly forcing me to go along with him whether I like it or not, except he is still forcing me along despite my refusal.
