SNAPPED (The Slate Brothers 1)

I squeal my car to a stop outside the practice fields— he must be here, I see his car behind the gate that, of course, I can’t get through. I dash around it instead, looking for a way in, garnering more than a few stern looks from security guards who don’t seem at all concerned that I’ll actually make it onto the field. There’s a tarp running along the fence that keeps me from seeing in, but I hear them. I think they’re dismissing, I hear talking, carousing—yes! I can see shadows coming this way. I’ll grab Sebastian as he’s leaving, wave him down when he gets into the parking lot.

Players begin to file into the lot and to their cars, sweaty and dirty and looking both exhausted and joyous, like they’ve had the most fun of their lives getting knocked around for the last few hours. I wait, wait, wait, but there’s no sign of Sebastian. His car is here, so he must be. I send him a text, but get no response. The security guards are starting to look legitimately concerned for my sanity almost an hour later, when I’m sitting on the hood of my car, unsure if I’m trying not to cry or shout. I’m trying not to do something, is all I know.

A rattle— the gate is opening, someone is coming into the parking deck.

It’s Sebastian.

My heart lifts, I rise, I step forward and wave— there’s no way he can’t see me, given that there’s no one else in sight that isn’t in a Berkfield Security jacket. I smile at him, feel my hands shaking a bit.

Then, behind him, another form. Conor.

They walk toward Sebastian’s car and, necessarily, toward me. It isn’t until they pass under a street lamp, though, that my fears are confirmed. Sebastian’s eyes are narrow, her cheeks hollowed, mouth a thin line. Conor’s features match, but there’s a gleam in his eyes somewhere, an “I told you so” that grates at me. I wince and step forward, unsure how to call out to him. How do you shout when the thing you’ve never had the courage to whisper is hanging in the air?

Sebastian shakes his head, not exactly at me, but toward me, and grabs for the driver’s side door. Conor is at the passenger side, chucking his things in the back, and then they’re in the car, spinning it around. I have to step back for the gate to open, and it’s clear that there’re not going to stop. I’m not going to get to speak to him— I may never get to speak to him again. Why didn’t I tell him about all this earlier? If I’d told him the truth early on, he may not have wanted me, but at least it would have all gone down before he had my heart. Now—

I jump as they zip past me, speeding unnecessarily. I get a glimpse of Sebastian’s eyes as they fly by— they’re locked on the road, his gaze steely, actively avoiding looking at me. I step into the road and watch; the lights in the practice field flick off behind me, leaving me in near darkness, with only the security guard booth to keep the place from going completely desolate. Sebastian’s car slows for a stop light, but I hear him rev the engine angrily, ready to take off as soon as the light changes. It turns green; I brace myself to watch him drive away.

He doesn’t move.

The driver’s side door opens. Sebastian steps out, a silhouette in the dim. He walks toward me, feet pounding at the earth and shoulders pushed forward. I go still, waiting— it almost looks like he plans to walk through me, like I’m nothing more than a ghost of someone he kissed once. I lick my lips as he grows closer, as the desperate want to run forward and throw myself into his arms overwhelms me— or, perhaps it’s not so much the need to do it, but the knowing I can’t. The knowing that the furious lines on his face are because of me.

“Sebastian, I should have told you,” I say when he’s a few yards away. My words are spluttering and shaky.

Sebastian laughs humorlessly, and stops just out of my reach. “I knew you were spying on us for the student advocacy group. I just had no idea you were spying on me for your family.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not—“

“Sure,” Sebastian says, shaking his head. “Why would I believe that? Why would I believe anything you tell me? I haven’t lied to you once. I’ve talked to you about my dad, about my brothers— and now I guess I’ll hear about that in court, huh? Tell me this, Ashlynn— did something I tell you get my father arrested? Is that why we just had to empty our savings account to bail him out? Because I’m replaying every conversation you and I ever had, trying to figure out if this is my fault.”