I should be heading back to the locker room to listen to Coach, but I’m done falling into line and doing what I’m told. The moment I’m past the fence, I take the right instead of going straight. My cleats click against the blacktop of the running track, but they’re not loud enough to drown out the crowd.

Some people still yell at Coach, some people clap at seeing me fall out of line. As if this moment has anything to do with football and is my protest that I wasn’t put into the game. I reach Violet and she’s tough to read. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she’s watching me like I’m a ticking bomb, but overall she’s as cool as the night air.

“Where are your crutches?” I ask.

“Physical therapist told me to do more walking on my own. So this is me walking on my own.”

“Are you telling your therapist how much it still hurts and how much you’ve been walking on your own?”

“You’re going to get in trouble for being late to the team meeting,” she says, ignoring my question. “Not unless he’s changed his mind after four years of forcing you to be talked to forever while I stand outside the locker room and wait.”

“I’m already being punished for things beyond my control, so might as well do something to earn the benching.” I pause. “You get my text?”

She inhales deeply and a puff of white leaves her mouth as she exhales in the cold night. “Yes. The only reason I’m here is because Eli hasn’t swooped in and chained me to a wall yet. If you had told him what I told you last night, he would have lost his mind.”

Agreed. I’m still not convinced keeping the club out of it is the right call, but... “I want you to trust me.”

“You’re not going to like what I have to say, and if you change your mind after I tell you and you go running to the club, I will never forgive you.”

She means it. Violet doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even shift her footing. Her chin is tipped up, her eyes locked on mine. Violet and I are on the edge of the knife and the wrong move by either of us will slice open an artery.

“I’ve messed up and I’m trying to make it right. I get that this is my last chance.” I hold out my hand. “Come with me. I’ll ditch the pads and we’ll go somewhere and talk. Let me in, Violet, and I swear you won’t regret it.”

She watches me as if she’s the one who can read body language for the lie. Being around me for so many years, she probably can. After what feels like a lifetime of my hand in the air, she accepts it. I twine her fingers with mine, and ignoring the yells from the crowd, from my teammates and Coach and now from Cyrus and my mom, I lead Violet out of the football stadium.

Violet

THE LIGHT FROM the bonfire dances across Chevy’s face and the flames crackle and snap. Chevy’s gone unusually quiet after I told him the truth about what the Riot asked of me and how Detective Barlow offered to help. I’m bundled in a blanket and he sits next to me in his jeans, T-shirt and black leather jacket. It’s freezing at the pond, though the fire’s warm.

The pond is the only place we could think of to go where we might be safe from prying eyes or ears. This place is so secluded we would have known if someone was tailing us, so quiet we’d hear a car or motorcycle within a mile, so remote and thick in forest and overgrowth that it would take someone hours to reach us by foot. We are alone.

Above us are billions of stars and it’s a beautiful sight on the cold fall night, but the pond is a blessing and a curse.

So many wonderful memories live here. It’s full of happiness and laughter and joy and I’ve avoided this place since Dad died. It’s where he taught me how to fish, how to float and how to swim. I spent endless summers here chasing fireflies with Oz, Chevy and Razor. Spent days soaking in the hot sun on the dock. I swung from that rope hanging on the old oak so many times I should have a permanent rope burn on my ankle.

The fire roasts my front, the darkness behind me makes my back cold. It’s a great metaphor for my memories. My past here makes me warm, but step away from it and my reality is harsh and freezing.

“Do you understand why I don’t want the club involved?” I ask. “Either the Riot has someone who can hear and see a lot of what goes on in the heart of Terror territory or there’s a traitor in the Terror. Eli and Cyrus so desperately trust everyone in the club. What if I tell them everything and they tell the wrong person? What if that means I end up in that basement again or, worse, something happens to Mom and Brandon? The Riot don’t make idle threats. We both have personal experience with that. I can’t do that to my family. I can’t do that to me.”

Dread settles in my stomach when Chevy remains a statue. His legs bent, arms lazily wrapped around them with his fingers slightly threaded below his knees. Taking a risk, I nudge him with my foot to stir him to life.

Chevy cracks his neck to the right. Fantastic. He’s annoyed and he’s going to snitch.

“You promised.”

He picks up a twig and throws it into the fire. “It’s not that. I’m pissed at myself. You told me last night you were scared and in danger—that you were being watched and all I could think about was you betraying the Terror. I didn’t listen to you, not about what was important, and I’m angry at myself. I’m sorry, Violet. I’m sorry for letting you down.”

It’s sad how his acknowledgment of letting me down makes me happy. He’s in pain, I feel like smiling. I sigh, wondering if Chevy and I will ever be on the same page.