The headlock heir and his napkin wife

ALK AND THE WORD

ose #474 pressed

first time since the note showed up, I didn't feel like I was watching a storm from a window-I felt like I

rst-place trophy heavy and cold in mine. The parking lot smelled like burnt cheese and smoke and the sharp, sweet tang of fire extinguisher foam, and Asher didn't let go of my wrist once-not when the princi

ld. He leaned back against the hood of his truck, ran a hand through his smoke-sticky curls, and for the first time all day, he looked scared

e distant hum of a generator. "The black SUV. It was parked by the g

"The text said nex

ke if he moved fast enough the words wouldn't catch up. "I was stupid. I thought I could handle it. Thought it was just some l

he cracks in the sidewalk. "You were waiting for th

Next time it could be the school. Next time it could be-" He cut himself off

y to his house-big, white, pillars, the kind of place that looked like it belonged on a postcard, the kind of place that felt like it should be safe. His dad

und tucked in his backpack halfway through the contest that said you think a trophy makes you safe? His dad didn't yell. He didn't pace. He just sat there on the porch step, face like s

we sat on the kitchen floor with Jax and Sloane, passing around a bag of cheese puffs

e're getting security. We're not letting this go on another day. But you two-no more secrets. Not from

odded.

napkin off the kitchen counter-one of the fancy Hale Industries ones with the gold logo in the corner-and a pen

re se

itter diary out of my backpack, tucked the napkin betwee

secrets

hand in the parking lot, something about the way he'd stepped between me and the flames without even thinking. But then

had the napkin.

f cha