Page 50 of The Crafting Con

This is fine.

Everything is going to be just fine.

I change into my running clothes, jamming a pair of AirPods into my ears.

Everything is fine, I just need to move.

I press play on the first running playlist I find, yank the laces of my sneakers tight.

If I can just block it all out, stop thinking for like two seconds, it’ll all feel so much better.

My feet hit the sidewalk at a jog. I pass Declan’s house, his open garage door. I don’t stop. I need to outrun this creeping dread clawing its way up my back. Legs pumping, I veer off the sidewalk onto an intersecting bike trail. Someone passes me on the left, wheels flying by in a blur. I shift farther to the right, keep running.

Faster.

Harder.

Lungs on fire.

Can’t stop. Can’t let the fear catch up.

I can’t…

My lungs seize, and I stumble off to the side, knees sinking into the grass beside the trail. My stomach churns, threatening to spill its contents. The world spins around me, and all I can see is Mom lying in bed. Bottles strewn about the floor. An empty fridge.

Deep, bone-crushing silence.

The air is too thick, I need to breathe. I need…

My hand shakes when I reach for my phone. It takes three tries to punch in the passcode correctly. Several more to open Declan’s and my messages.

Me: Need you

I pause, struggling to suck oxygen into my increasingly constricted chest. The screen is little more than a blur of lights and letters.

Me: Larken Trail

My thumb slides over the send tab just before the phone slips from my fingers into the grass. I tuck my head between my knees and hope to God he sees it.

CHAPTER 20

DECLAN

Four days until OA Con

I’m already checking my phone when Ava’s text pops onto the screen. The surge of adrenaline that follows threatens to overcome all logical thought. Larken Trail. She must have been out for a run? Maybe she tripped, twisted her ankle? I make a mad dash for the bathroom, tapping out a hasty text before digging under the sink for the first aid kit.

Me: On my way

I jam the plastic box into my book bag and sprint back to the garage, shoving on my helmet and pulling my bike from its wall mount. It seems like my best bet for reaching her quickly, seeing as I can’t exactly take my truck down a pedestrian trail. I’m halfway down the driveway when an alternative scenario strikes, gutting me with fear: Ava alone on the trail with some creeper. It’s still daylight, but it isn’t used all that much during the week. Not like some of the more popular trails.

I’ve never pedaled so hard in my life.

The farther down the trail I go, the greater the worry grows.

Then I see her, and I almost fall off my seat from relief.

“Ava!” I swing from my bike, letting it drop to the ground as I kneel beside her. Her shoulders are hunched, and there’s a sheen of sweat on the back of her neck. I do a quick scan of her body for obvious injuries, but nothing jumps out at me. “What happened? Are you hurt?”