He sighed. “I should’ve stopped you from taking Alex to the concert. It seemed like such a small risk.”
“Don’t blame yourself. It was my call. I didn’t think there was any chance that a Loco would spot us with thousands of people there. I hadn’t counted on Alex being on the Jumbotron.”
But that, according to the Loco snitch, was how we’d been spotted. Animale and his friends had been at the concert and had seen Alex on the screens. Animale had texted other Locos, bragging that he was finally going to get his revenge. Someone must have followed us from the box to the backstage area, then gone to get the others as we’d waited for Pitbull. It all went wrong for us—except one thing.
“You got there in time,” I said, squeezing his hand. “That’s all that matters.”
“I was already in my car heading to the concert when the snitch called me. From the second I dropped you off, it didn’t feel right.” He looked grim. “I regret letting you guys go to the concert. But I don’t regret that Animale is dead.”
It couldn’t be easy, knowing he’d been responsible for another person’s death. But Animale had intended to kill Alex. For most of the Locos, dealing with Alex was a matter of gang business. For Animale, it was personal. I’d seen the evil in his eyes. Alex would never have been safe with Animale looking for him.
When Alex returned from the bathroom, we went back to looking at the news headlines.
Shouting erupted near the entrance of the police station, and we all looked up. Pitbull and his security team were striding through the automatic doors. Paparazzi swarmed but couldn’t set foot in the police station.
Pitbull wore a white pinstripe shirt, open at the collar in a V, and a loose tie. He caught sight of us and did a double take. “You two okay?”
We nodded.
“Good. Some crazy shit back there, huh?” Pitbull and his crew followed an officer down a hall.
Mateo’s arm tightened around me. I snuggled into him.
A while later, Mateo’s blue-eyed friend showed up—he’d been disappearing and reappearing all night. He was the Destino named X that Mateo had told me about.
“Pitbull and his bodyguards backed you up,” X said, sitting down next to us. “It’s all good.”
Mateo looked relieved. The pieces were falling into place. The cops knew he’d caused the crash to save Alex.
But there was something else too.
Mateo was a Destino—or had been until recently. I bet the word of a Destino meant something to the cops. I didn’t quite understand it, but it seemed the Destinos and the cops had . . . not a partnership, but an understanding.
“The Locos who attacked you will be facing multiple charges, maybe even conspiracy to murder,” X said to Alex. “Hope you’ll be ready to testify.”
Alex nodded. “I want to see them put away.”
“Good,” X said with a faint smile.
A while later, one of Pitbull’s security guys came up to us. “This is yours, right?” He held out my phone. “Pitbull wanted you to have it back.”
The glass face was broken, but I was glad to have it. “Please tell him thanks.”
Looking down at the phone, I pressed the button to see if it still worked—and it turned on, thankfully. On the screen, there was a new background photo. It was a picture of Pitbull. He’d taken a selfie, doing a peace sign.
Mateo looked at me. “What is it?”
I handed him the phone, dissolving in laughter.
THE WEDDING
(Four months later)
FALL IN ATLANTA WAS BREATHTAKING. Red and gold leaves covered the grounds of the golf course. As we made our way up the sidewalk toward Dad and Carol Ann’s wedding reception, my eyes drank in the scenery—and Mateo. He looked incredible in the charcoal suit he’d borrowed from a friend.
“You clean up nice, Lopez,” I said.
“Thanks.” He shrugged. “The arms of this suit are a little short, but it’s good enough.”
“This is such a pretty place, isn’t it?”
He stopped walking and admired the scenery, inhaling the fresh air. “Pretty, yeah.” He turned to me, eyes warm. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
I hugged him. “I’m so glad you could be here.”
“I told you I would be. Did you doubt me?”
“No.” But I knew it was no small feat for a rookie paramedic to get out of working a holiday weekend. “What’d you promise Devin to take your shifts?”
“Cash.”
“You paid him?”
He nodded, smiling down at me. “It was worth it.”
Yes, it was. This was a big day for my family—and he was part of us now. He had to be here.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, and he asked, “Nervous?”
“A little. I hope they like my poem.”
“They’ll love it.”
“I hope I don’t start to cry when I’m delivering it.”
“Cry if you want. Isn’t that what people do at weddings?”
“Good point.” I bit my lip. “I’m not sure I’m any good at writing love poetry, though. I’m better at the dark, angsty stuff.”
He laughed down at me. “You’ll have to get used to the happy stuff.”
We headed inside. My eyes swept the room, and I knew Carol Ann would be pleased. The dining room was lit with candle sconces, throwing amber light across the tables. I caught the scent of flowers and forest. Touches of Carol Ann’s crafts were everywhere—in the autumn-inspired centerpieces, in the painted name blocks on each table with words like LOVE, FOREVER, and BELIEVE.
Mateo and I sat down at table one, next to the head table at the front of the room. Alex was already there. His head was bent as he texted someone.
“Let me guess—Britney?” I asked.
“Yeah. So?”
“Who’s Britney?” Mateo asked.
“Alex’s girlfriend.”
“She’s just a friend,” Alex said. A sly grin came to his lips. “For now, anyway.”
“Nice,” Mateo said.
“Want to send her a pic of you looking all dapper?” I asked.
“Good idea.” Alex handed me his phone and posed, looking ultracool.
He approved the photo and sent it. A moment later he said, “She says I look so cute. Cute?”
“It’s girl-speak for hot, trust me,” I said, patting his hand.
Alex’s world was pretty damned good these days. He’d enrolled in the neighborhood high school and had already found a group of friends. His marks were higher than I’d ever seen them, thanks to Carol Ann’s help. I could never thank her enough for everything she’d done for him.
A lot had changed in the last few months. Within days of putting our house up for sale, it had sold. We’d scrambled to pack things up before the closing date. I’d moved into off-campus housing with two girls in my program, and we got along great, although I didn’t know them well yet. Between school, work, and spending time with Mateo, I wasn’t home very much.
A brunette in a blue satin dress went up to the podium. “Good evening, everyone! I’m Carol Ann’s friend Julie, and I’ll be your emcee tonight. Now, why don’t we extend a warm welcome to the wedding party?”
The song “Celebrate!” blared from the speakers and we all stood up as Fay and Don, Carol Ann’s sister and her husband, entered the dining room. Everybody cheered as they went up to the head table. They were the ones who’d set Dad and Carol Ann up in the first place.
Our cheers reached a crescendo as the newlyweds came in. They looked so bouncy and excited, I had to laugh. Dad even pumped his fist as they jogged across the room, hand in hand, and plunked down at the head table, breathless.
Behind the podium, Julie turned to me. “And now Marc’s daughter, Grace, has a poem for us.”
Smoothing my red strapless dress, I walked up to the mike.
I looked out at the expectant faces, then at my dad. He was bright-eyed and smiling. It hit me that I hadn’t seen him happy in so long that I’d forgotten what it looked like. I
realized that I wasn’t just happy for him and for Carol Ann, but for Mom. She’d be glad he’d found someone to share his life with.
Tears came to my eyes, clouding my vision. I blinked them back, took a deep breath, and leaned toward the mike.
Their love
Was a brilliant beacon
That carried them to shore
Their words
A gentle promise
Binding them forevermore
Their vow
As he held her hand
Was a pledge for all their days
Their future
Spread out before them
Full of love, now and always.
Everybody clapped. Dad and Carol Ann got up and hugged me. I hugged them back, because I’d meant every word.
Once the dinner and speeches were over, the bride and groom danced to “I’m into Something Good” by Herman’s Hermits. Then the DJ pumped up the party. The dance floor filled up fast. When Pitbull came on, I looked at Alex. He raised a brow, as if to say, Should we show them how it’s done?
We hit the dance floor, and did just that.
When the DJ put on a slow song, Mateo joined me on the dance floor. We swayed together, looking into each other’s eyes. I had a flash of the future—a gut feeling that one day we’d be dancing at our own wedding.
“What’s got you smiling?” he asked.
“You.”
“Me?”
“Well, actually you and me.”
He said into my ear, “You and me right now? Or last night?”
I thought about last night, about those hungry hours together, and my whole body heated up. “Neither. I was thinking of you and me . . . in the future.”
He drew back, and his face was serious. “I think about that too.”
We had a moment. There was nothing like having a moment with Mateo, when the love passed between us, when words weren’t necessary.
We pulled each other close, and I leaned my head against his chest as we moved to the music. This, right here, was bliss.
When the song ended, the dancing fired up again. We went outside for a break and a breath of air. The sun had set and the stars had come out. It was so rare that I was far enough away from a city to see the stars.
“I took your suggestion,” he said into the darkness.
“Which one?”
“I finally wrote Mig.”
That was good news, but it must have been tough for him to reach out to his brother. “Tell me about it.”
“I told him about my daily life, just like he does in his letters. I told him some of the crazy stuff I deal with at work. About you. I wanted him to know things are going good for me, but not rub it in his face.”
“Did he write back yet?”
“Yeah. At the start of the letter he went off on me for not writing sooner, but then he said he wanted to hear more paramedic stories. He read some of them to his cellmates. And he said he was so bored that he decided to do his GED. Maybe even take some college courses after that.”
“Really? He used to hate school.”
“Yeah, and get this—he’s been taking yoga every week. It’s part of some new program to teach the inmates mindfulness.”
“Wow.” I tried to see the expression on his shadowed face. “I’m glad you wrote to him.”
“Me too.” He put his arms around me. “I thought maybe if I act like I forgive him, it’ll sink in somehow. He’s my brother—I have to try. And my mom was really happy about it.”
“I admire you, Mateo.” He was choosing to be there for his brother regardless of whether or not Mig deserved it. I remembered my mom’s words, Love’s never wasted. A sense of comfort washed over me. Love wasn’t just a feeling, it was a choice. Mom had figured that out long ago. Mateo had too.
“Your necklace is sparkling,” he said.
Finally. “I was wondering if you’d ever notice.” I lifted up the little ring dangling from the silver chain. “Recognize it?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied it. “No way. Is that the promise ring I gave you?”
I nodded.
“I can’t believe you kept it.”
My fingers caressed the smooth silver ring. “I won’t lie—I wanted to throw it away many times. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to keep it just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case you decided to keep your promise to be with me forever.”
He looked down at me, and I saw the love glittering in his eyes. “I’m keeping that promise.”
“Good.” I slid my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me. “I’m holding you to it.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALAN DEAN PHOTOGRAPHY
ALLISON VAN DIEPEN is the author of Street Pharm, Snitch, Takedown, On the Edge, Light of Day, and other novels for teens. Her books have been named ALA Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers and NYPL Books for the Teen Age. She lives with her family in Ottawa, Canada, where she also teaches high school. Visit her at www.allisonvandiepen.com.
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BOOKS BY ALLISON VAN DIEPEN
Street Pharm
Snitch
Takedown
On the Edge
Light of Day
Run the Risk
CREDITS
COVER PHOTOGRAPH © 2017 BY MICHAEL FROST
COVER DESIGN BY MICHELLE TAORMINA
COPYRIGHT
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
RUN THE RISK. Copyright © 2017 by Allison van Diepen. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2016958061
ISBN 978-0-06-243335-0
EPub Edition © March 2017 ISBN 9780062433374
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