Page 44 of Run to Me

Since the start of summer break, we’ve spent most days at the middle school football field, playing tag football and flirting with girls. Logan would spend his nights sleeping on the field if he could. He’s obsessed with the sport.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” he says.

“To keep her from bugging us,” I lie, testing the knots to confirm they’re secure.

Whenever Maisy asks for a swing set or something to play on outdoors, Vera says no without giving a reason. All kids deserve to play in the sun, especially Maisy, and this crappy tree swing is the best I can do with no money and limited handyman skills.

“Good point,” Logan says.

Maisy annoys him, which I’ve never understood because she doesn’t bother us. She stays in her bedroom or plays with her dolls in the corner of the living room. Alone.

When I glance down the road to check on her again, a car careens around the corner with music blaring from inside. Everything happens in slow motion. The car jerks to avoid her bicycle but clips the front wheel. My feet are moving before I even realize I’m pounding pavement, running to her like my life depends on it. She flies off the bike and lands in someone’s yard. I’m on her in seconds.

“Birdie,” I choke out, scooping her into my arms. An unbearable pain rips through my chest, like an invisible weight crushing me, and my frantic voice doesn’t sound like my own. “Are you hurt? Tell me where you’re hurt. I can fix it.”

Wide eyes stare at me, the shock of what happened holding them captive. “I-I think I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” I set her on the grass and run my shaky hands all over her arms and legs, searching for injuries.

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Jesus.” I fall on my butt and scrub my hands along my face. My heart’s beating all out of whack, and I can’t slow it down. “You scared me.”

A small hand grips my arm. An even smaller, trembling voice says, “I’m sorry, J.”

Before I can say she has nothing to apologize for, the driver asks, “Is she good?”

I glare at the teenager who doesn’t have the decency to get out of his car and check on her. Asshole. Hopping to my feet, I rush up to his window and wave my arms in fury. “Slow the fuck down through here. You could’ve killed her!”

“Chill, man.” He peers around me. “She looks fine. Are you okay, girl?” he asks Maisy.

“Don’t talk to her,” I hiss, stepping to the side to block his view. He swallows hard because, yeah, I’m thirteen, but I’m as big as him and way more pissed off.

“Sorry.” He rolls up the window and speeds away like a maniac despite hitting a kid on a bike minutes ago. I memorize his license plate in case I need it in the future. Then I hang my head and inhale calming breaths like my dad taught me to do when my feelings get too big. Especially the ones I have trouble processing, like worry, fear, frustration, and anger. He says I care too much, and sometimes that makes me care too hard.

“Jensen.” Maisy’s whimper snaps my attention back to her.

When I spin around, expecting to find her in pain from a hidden injury I overlooked, I’m met with concern in her eyes. She’s worried for me when she was the one almost killed.

“I’m okay,” she reminds me with a watery smile. She hugs the doll that flew off the bike along with her.

Blowing out a harsh breath, I let go of my hair. My scalp tingles from the release, and I nod. “Okay. I’m okay too.” Am I?

As I carry her damaged bike toward her house, she walks alongside me, not a scratch on her. She may be physically unharmed after the incident, but her little heart will break if her mom refuses to repair or replace the bike. I examine the bent wheel. Maybe I can fix it somehow.

“Are we gonna finish this?” Logan yells from down the street, waving the board in the air. My too-big feelings of frustration and anger simmer because he didn’t come check on his sister.

When I look at Maisy to gauge her reaction to his negligence, her smile has morphed into a giant grin. I’ve never seen her smile so big.

“He’s making me a swing?” She squeals with joy, and the hope and happiness gleaming in her pretty eyes knocks me back a step.

A shift occurs deep inside me. A forceful movement that awakens a strange feeling. In this moment, I realize I’ll do anything in my power to keep her safe. To make her happy. To see her face overcome with joy simply because it makes me happy. Perhaps that’s always been the case. Maybe the soft spot I have for Maisy is something a little more solid. Something with chambers and vessels and a rhythmic flow. Something that beats with purpose when she’s around. And I think Maisy Donovan snatched that something right out of my chest.

Despite the fear gripping my gut from this terrifying and confusing discovery, I offer her an easy smile of my own along with a lie to keep hers in place. “Yeah. He’s making you a swing.”

She squeezes her doll and runs ahead of me. Heart racing and stomach twisting, my gaze remains fixed on her back as she flies into her undeserving brother’s arms.

Prepared for the worst, I lean over Maisy so I can get a look at her eyes, which proves difficult with her nose inches from the wall. Bracing myself on one hand, I sweep aside the hair covering her face.