He smacks the hell out of the ball. Next pitch, same thing. I straighten, watching with a bit of awe as he handles every pitch as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Next to me, Jason knocks his knee into mine.
“Haven’t you seen him play before?” he asks, noticing my reaction.
I probably should have known how great he is, so I smile and say, “Yeah, but he still amazes me every time.”
Jason tilts his head, studying my face for a moment. He looks thoughtful, and turns back to Isaac. “I’m glad he loves you,” he says quietly. “You’re good for him.”
My breath is tight in my chest, and I’m so grateful for this day. I’m so glad I ignored Marie’s advice, because now this is mine. This memory. Maybe even this life. He loves you. I turn to watch Isaac once again, trying to memorize his every movement.
“Not to mention,” Jason continues, “that I’m way better than you at baseball. So you’re good for me, too.” We both snort a laugh.
Isaac finishes, clearly proud of his ass-kickery, and comes back over to the table. He reaches out to take the hat from my head and puts it back on his. “Well, I’m starving,” he says, looking between me and Jason.
“I’ll get us some hot dogs,” Jason says, climbing down from the table.
“I’ll come with,” Isaac adds. He puts his hand on the table and leans in to kiss my cheek. “You want one?” he asks. I nod, enjoying the closeness. He puts his other hand on the other side of me, boxing me in. He leans in and kisses my lips. And then again. “Be right back,” he whispers, and then jogs to catch up with Jason, who is already on his way to a little store on the other side of the cages.
I watch them, feeling content in a way I haven’t in a while. I lean back on my arms, my legs stretched in front of me. My phone buzzes in my pocket and my posture stiffens. I don’t want to talk to you, Aaron, I think, ignoring the call. Just leave us alone.
“Quinn?” There’s a sharp pain in my heart, and I spin around and find Deacon just inside the fence, not far from where we’ve been sitting. He lowers the phone from his ear, devastation painting his features. He looks toward Isaac and Jason, who are thankfully out of earshot, and then back at me. I know he’s seen everything.
“Deacon,” I say, climbing down from the picnic table. He can’t be here; he can’t let Isaac see him. How would I explain? I’d have to break character in front of Jason. That would ruin everything. “I can’t talk right now,” I say, shooting a look over in time to see Isaac and Jason disappear inside the store.
I cross the pavement to where Deacon stands and put my hands on his chest, walking him back a few steps and out of direct view. He doesn’t fight me; he only stares in disbelief. His fingers close around my wrists, holding me to him.
“What are you doing?” he asks pleadingly. “What have you done?”
His pain rolls over me, and I want to apologize—but doing that would be admitting I did something wrong. And frankly, this isn’t any of his business.
“I’m on assignment,” I say, pulling my arms from his grip. “I’m working, Deacon. You can’t be here.”
“You’re living. You’re not working.”
“I’m helping him,” I say.
“You’re helping yourself.”
My soft spot hardens and I cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Me?” he says. “You’ve dodged Aaron for three days. Marie’s grown concerned. Hell, we’re all concerned, Quinn. She sent me to check on you so it’d be off the books—that should tell you something.”
The mention of Marie irks me, and I sneer. “What should it tell me?” I ask him. “That they want more control over how I provide closure? That they think you can manipulate me better than Aaron? I’m doing my job, Deacon. Tell them that.”
Deacon’s face contorts, tightens as if he’s in pain. “I saw you,” he says miserably. “I saw you kiss him.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I do my best to keep up my facade. “I’ve already told you that I’m helping him,” I whisper harshly. “There are only a few days left. I think the department can live without me until then.” I take a breath, trying to calm my appearance, and start back toward the table.
“And what about me?” Deacon calls. “What if I can’t live without you?”
It’s a punch to my gut. I turn back fiercely. “Don’t,” I say, pointing at him. “Don’t you dare.” Deacon is not allowed to use this against me, to manipulate me with his feelings of hurt and jealousy. He’s already broken my heart twice. I won’t give him the chance to do it again.
Deacon stares, surprised by the ferocity of my response but also devastated by my rejection. He glances at the store and then takes a step toward me. “You’re killing me,” he murmurs.
“Go home, Deacon,” I say, and turn my back on him. I feel sick, but I keep my posture strong as I stride away and return to the table. My hands are shaking, but my face is emotionless. I force myself numb. I won’t let him in. I can’t.
It’s quiet behind me, and when the screen door of the concessions shop opens and Isaac and Jason walk out with trays of food, laughing about something, I finally glance over my shoulder. Deacon is gone.
There’s a quiet loss, and I turn away. I wonder briefly if he’ll report what he saw—me kissing the boyfriend of an assignment. A client, even. But I know he won’t. Deacon would never betray me to the department, even if it’s for my own good.
CHAPTER FOUR
ISAAC HAS A GAME ON Tuesday night, and although I’ve never been to a high school baseball game, I decide to attend. I’m nervous that someone will call me out for being there, but I’ve been living so effortlessly the past few days that the threat seems far away now. I’ll be careful. I’ll wear my hood up, keep my eyes downcast. I’ll sit in the back.
Those people can’t stop me from living. Isaac wants me there, and I want to be with him. It’s simple now—easier than any assignment I’ve ever had. Even at dinner tonight, my parents were all smiles. There was no pain. I’ve taken it all away.
My hood is up as I sit in the top row of the bleachers. Even so, a few people turn occasionally to stare at me, and I shift uncomfortably under their gazes. I pay rapt attention to the score, clapping when Isaac comes up to bat but not whistling or calling out like I want to. I can’t draw that sort of attention to myself. I don’t want to embarrass Isaac.
“It’s pretty weird,” a voice says. I turn to my left as a guy slides onto the empty bleacher to sit next to me. “What you do,” he clarifies. “It’s weird, if you ask me.”
I tighten my jaw and turn to face the field. This is exactly the sort of confrontation I was hoping to avoid. “I didn’t ask you,” I say calmly. I unfold my palms over my knees, wishing the guy would leave.
There’s a cheer from the crowd to my right as the catcher tags someone out at home plate. I’ve lost interest in the game, though, and glance up at the scoreboard to check the inning. Top of the seventh; it’s almost over.
“Name’s Nando,” the guy says when the noise dies down. “Fernando, but everyone calls me Nando.” He pauses. “You used to know that.”
I still don’t turn, afraid I’ll find hatred in his expression. I read about Nando in the diary pages. He was good friends with Isaac and with Kyle. And with me, I guess.
“Anyway,” he continues, sounding self-conscious. “I just . . . I wanted to get a closer look, you know? See if you could actually pass for her.”
I debate for a moment and then turn to him, wondering if his interest comes from curiosity or bitterness. But his expression is open and kind. The tension in my shoulders releases slightly as I examine his dark brown eyes, his round cheeks. From what I can tell, he’s not a threat.
I flip back my hood, and the cool airs rustles my hair. I tame down the wild strands, tucking them behind my ear, and smile—the perfect practiced smile that I know almost as well as my own. Nando takes in a sharp breath; his eyes widen. I watch as he studies my flawless makeup—meant to
accentuate my features in the right ways. He looks over my short hair, my clothes. I am Catalina Barnes.
Nando scrunches up his face. My appearance is unsettling if you know who I’m supposed to be, and I regret showing him. I quickly flip up my hood, embarrassed that I thought I could be so casual with a stranger.
“Wow,” Nando says, swallowing hard. “You look just fucking like her.” It’s not a compliment, but it’s not a slam, either.
There’s another loud cheer, and this time when I look up, the dugout players are flooding the field. Isaac’s team lost. Around me the bleachers are starting to empty, and I turn back to find Nando watching me. He smiles sadly.
“What’s he going to do when you leave?” he asks. He doesn’t have to mention him by name, and the thought of leaving Isaac tugs on my heart. I look at the field and find him talking with some of the other players, laughing despite the team’s loss.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “But the hope is he’ll be able to move on. That he’ll eventually be happy.”
“He’s happy now,” Nando says. “I wasn’t sure he’d make it through this. So thank you.” I turn to him, but he’s staring straight ahead. The bleachers all belong to us now. “But after you’re gone . . .” Nando looks at me. “Isn’t he going to mourn you?”
“No,” I say automatically. But I doubt my own words. In regular role play, families get to say good-bye to their loved ones. They move on without ever seeing me as a person. This assignment has been different. I’m a part of this life now. I can’t even begin to think about saying good-bye to Isaac. Or to my family. I just want to stop thinking.
“His therapy’s going well,” I tell Nando, standing up and slipping my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. Nando rises to his feet next to me.
“I’m glad,” he says, seeming relieved. “And no offense”—he smiles apologetically—“but I can’t wait until you’re gone. You’ve kind of been making everyone around here a little crazy. I just want things to go back to normal.”
I nod like I understand, but his words pierce my armor. Normal. That’s not how they see me—I’m distinctly abnormal to most of them. But not to Isaac. Not anymore. I look at the field just as Isaac disappears into the dugout toward the locker room.
“I have to go,” I tell Nando, moving past him toward the bleacher stairs. I take the steps two at a time, trying to disappear from sight as quickly as possible. When I reach the bottom, Nando calls to me from the top step.
“Catalina,” he says. It startles me, and I turn to look at him. He holds up his hand in a wave. “It was nice meeting you,” he says. His eyes glisten with the start of tears, and I can see his grief. He lost a friend; I’m a reminder of that loss. I’m salt in his wound.
“You too,” I tell him. I turn away and walk swiftly toward the parking lot.
* * *
Isaac has his duffel bag over his shoulder as he approaches his truck. I’m leaning against the passenger door, and he smiles, looking me up and down. “I gave you that shirt,” he says, nodding to it.
“You did?” I ask, glancing down at it. Isaac drops his bag at his feet and scans my face.
“Yeah,” he says with a slight edge. “Don’t you remember?”
“Uh . . .” I can’t recall reading or seeing anything about this shirt. Truth is, I picked it because it was the most comfortable one I could find in the drawer. “Nope. I forgot,” I say sweetly, stepping in to him and draping my arms over his shoulders. His hair is still wet from the showers, and the smell of soap is thick around him. Isaac doesn’t smile, though. Confusion clouds his face.
“We went to that show,” he explains, talking faster. “You wanted that T-shirt, Catalina. That exact one. You pointed it out on another girl and I bought the fucking shirt straight off her body so that you could have it. I can’t believe you could forget about that.”
I lower my arms and take a step back; dread coils in my stomach. I don’t know how I got this shirt because it didn’t happen to me. He knows this. “Isaac,” I say, keeping my tone steady, “I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do!” he shouts, making me jump. A couple of people leaving the game look over at the sound of his raised voice.
“Hey!” I snap at Isaac, startled by his frustration. Heat rushes to my face and tears sting my eyes. I understand the unusual circumstances of our relationship, I really do. But I’m not going to stand here in the school parking lot while he yells at me in front of strangers. I won’t let him shatter this illusion.
“I’m going home,” I say, and round the hood of the truck. My mom dropped me off earlier and now I’ll have to call her back for a ride. I need to get out of here. My mind is racing, flipping between my training and the life I’ve been living. The lines have blurred. I need a moment to think, but my heart aches with jealousy and clouds my judgment. I’m sick of competing with a dead girl.
Isaac runs up, stopping a few steps ahead of me and holding out his hands to slow me down. When I pause, he studies my face for a long moment before reaching out to touch my cheek. The touch, the affection, eases the pain in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says desperately. His eyes have softened, painting his features in misery at the thought of me leaving him. “I’m just a little off today,” he says, his fingers sliding to the back of my neck as he stares down at me adoringly. I exhale as his thumb strokes over my skin. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, stepping closer.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” I tell him. “You can’t just hurt my feelings whenever you want.”
“I don’t want to,” he says immediately. He wraps his arms around me, and I listen to the fast beating of his heart. “I don’t ever want to hurt you,” Isaac murmurs close to my ear. “You’re the love of my life.”
A shiver runs down my body, and I smile. The idea of him loving me, saying that he loves me, is enough to keep me here—in this present—with him. The rest of me falls away—all of my sense, all of my worry—leaving me completely vulnerable.
We stay wrapped up in each other, and Isaac tells me again how much he loves me. I don’t say it back, content enough with hearing it. And after a while Isaac and I go to his truck to continue our night, gluing the pieces of us back together, ignoring the hairline fractures we can’t quite cover.
CHAPTER FIVE
ISAAC SUGGESTS WE GO TO Off Campus to grab a bite to eat. It’s a small café where students go to order fries or smoke cigarettes on the front patio. I spend the drive listening to him recount the game, pitch by pitch, all the way to the final out that snapped their three-game winning streak. When he’s done talking, he intertwines his fingers with mine and pulls my hand to his mouth, where he kisses it sweetly—our earlier fight far from his mind. But not entirely from mine.
A headache has started behind my eyes, a dull thud that keeps me from being completely engaged in our conversation. During dinner, I nod and smile in just the right places, but Isaac’s frustration resonates with me, making the night a bit surreal. I shake it off before we leave, and press my lips into a smile as he puts his arm around me in the parking lot and kisses the top of my head.
On the way home, Isaac gets a call from Jason. I can hear Jason’s booming voice, boisterous and loud, as he asks Isaac to come over for a card game. Isaac hesitates, glancing over at me like he’d rather spend the night just the two of us. I, however, nod emphatically. Hanging out with Jason has been a blast—times that have made me feel completely normal. And I’m craving a moment of that normalcy right now.
Isaac smiles at my excitement and agrees, telling Jason he’s on his way. When he hangs up the phone, I lean in and give Isaac a kiss on the lips, distracting him while he drives. He laughs, trying to keep his eyes on the road as I kiss him again, my hand on his thigh. I’ve missed him, even though he’s been right here.
* * *
There are a few cars in front of Jason’s house, and Isaac parks halfway down the street at the curb. The remainder of the light has faded beneath a
gray cloud-scattered night sky. We’re reminiscing about the batting cages when Isaac and I climb the porch steps.
Isaac knocks on the front door before opening it partly and calling in our arrival. He pokes his head in and says hey, pushing open the door the rest of the way for me. I’m smiling, comforted by a less crowded version of Jason’s house. There is a round table set up in the living room, three guys sitting around. I recognize at least two of them from the party last week.
“Hey,” I call to Jason, holding up my hand in a wave. There’s only one empty chair at the table, and I glance around at the faces of the other guys. It only takes a second for me to register that something’s wrong. Isaac’s already on his way over to them to slap hands, completely oblivious.
My smile fades quickly. A toilet flushes in another room; my heartbeat booms in my ears. Adrenaline begins to rush through my veins.
Jason hasn’t answered my greeting. His lower jaw is jutted out, his eyes narrowed with disgust. The good-natured teddy bear I spent time with is gone. I glance at the others, finding the same reaction to me.
Isaac’s expression falters when no one immediately acknowledges him. And in that moment, I think we both realize the truth. They know. Panic flashes in Isaac’s eyes, and he turns to me just as footsteps echo in the hallway, quickly approaching.
Kyle enters the room and stammers to a stop, stunned that I’m standing in front of her. At first her face flashes an instant of joy at seeing her best friend again. But it twists into grief, and then anger. Hatred.
I turn to Isaac, and he looks up and sees Kyle. He blinks quickly and steps back from the table of guys, shoving his hands nervously in his pockets. “Hey, Kyle,” he says in a quiet, raspy voice.
Kyle stomps past me, banging her shoulder into mine. The force of it knocks me sideways. “Jesus, Isaac,” she says in a worried tone. She goes to pause in front of him, looking him over like she’s trying to determine if he’s been injured. “Are you okay?”
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