Chapter 25 #2
I glance sideways at him. How extensive was his research?
“Them too. My parents made sure I exhausted every option.” Ahead of us, Aspen’s laughing at something, but the sound barely computes.
“At one point, my nightly routine was about fifteen steps long. It got draining fast. Probably did more harm than good.”
His hand lingers just long enough for the squeeze to register before it slides away. “That’s shit, Brielle.” There’s no pity in it, only truth.
I shrug, because that’s what I do. “It is what it is.” I’ve made my peace with it. Or at least, I thought I had. But his gaze lingers on my profile, and I realise… I’ve forgotten what this feels like. Someone caring, not because they have to, but simply because they want to.
We pass a live band, and normally the melody would pull me right in, but tonight something else has its grip over me.
So lost in my head, I don’t notice Carson slowing until the brush of his hand pulls me back. I stop beside him as Aspen spins around, all bright-eyed excitement.
“This one should be fun.”
“Fun,” Reese repeats, unconvinced. “Only if someone full-sprints into their own reflection.”
What?
Laughter fades beneath the hum of the fair. All I see is the sign up ahead, glowing blood-red.
HOUSE OF MIRRORS.
My chest tightens. My stomach knots. Whatever progress I’ve made in the last day is nothing in the face of this. One mirror alone is a challenge. But dozens? I can’t explain it, but it’s like invisible hands squeeze my lungs.
On reflex, I seek out Carson. Maybe because he‘s already watching me, or maybe because I’m starting to rely on him, but he always sees too much.
The question sits in his eyes.
I answer it with a head tilt toward the entrance and the subtle shake of my head.
That’s all it takes.
“Actually, you guys go ahead. I wanna check something out with Brielle.” Everyone turns a curious look on him but he’s already grabbing my elbow. “We’ll catch up in a bit.”
I give a quick wave as he leads me away, my voice brighter than I feel. “Have fun on my behalf!” It’s only once we’re halfway to the concession stands that I let it slip. “Thanks.”
He stops walking. Turns to face me fully, expression unreadable. “What, exactly, are you thanking me for?”
I can’t answer that.
His jaw works, one sharp twitch, then his hand clamps around mine, veering us off the main path.
“What are you doing?” No answer. “Carson—”
“Stop, Brielle.” It snaps through all noise. “Just stop. You don’t need more time to think. You’ve done enough, and it hasn’t gotten you anywhere. What you need is to move. To do something.”
The crowd dulls as he leads us into a clearing littered with trampled popcorn and lost ticket stubs. Ahead, a High Striker looms, its steel tower glinting under strings of cheap bulbs.
I stare at it, a little breathless. “Seriously?”
“It’s better than the alternative.” His lips twitch, but there’s only shadows in it.
“You can’t sit with whatever it is you’re feeling forever.
Eventually it’s gonna leak out in ways you don’t want to.
I’ve seen people explode, Brielle, and they didn’t even see it coming. So give this a shot, yeah?”
The question’s right there—Who?—but I can’t make myself ask it.
So I nod. Whisper, “Okay.” And take the hammer.
It’s heavy, but no more than weight I already carry, and as I lift it, I take his advice. Let some, not all, of the emotions rise to the surface. The dark, ugly ones. Anger, resentment, guilt.
He’s right. It takes the edge off. Not a lot, not by a long shot, but as I swing and swing and swing, it’s like a release valve turning.
But no matter how hard, no bell.
“Better?”
I nod, adrenaline closing off my throat. I shake out my arms and Carson follows the action.
“Your technique is a little off.” I know. But I can’t speak, everything too close to the surface. “May I?”
Oh. I turn, and he’s right there, so close I can feel every rise and fall of his chest. His hands slide over mine, adjusting my grip. “Widen your stance.” I obey. “Good. Now, when you swing, it’s in your core. Not your arms. Understand?”
I nod again.
“Understand?” This time it’s deliberate.
“Yes,” I manage.
“Good girl.”
My heart stumbles. We lift the hammer together, his grip anchoring mine as we bring it down. The puck flies, kissing the edge of the bell before falling.
“Close.” His breath lingers on my neck, half a heartbeat too long, and then he’s gone, air rushing back in. “Try again. Just you.”
I swing. Miss.
“You’re not anchoring your weight.”
I don’t know why, but my shoulders lock hearing that. I try again, but it’s only worse. Worse. After that it’s a string of corrections: You’re carrying it wrong. You’re too stiff.
The stall attendant huffs, muttering under his breath, “Sounds like you just want an excuse to get hands-on again.”
The comment hits like a pin to a balloon and all unease dissipates on a laugh.
Carson angles his head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrow on my grin, but he lets it go. “Back straight. Good. Now center your weight. Let it move through you.”
This time I do. I swing, and when I hear that sweet, sweet ding I’m jumping on my heels like I’ve just snagged a Nobel instead of conquering a carnival game.
But I don’t care. I did it. Even the stall guy looks pleased, though that might just be relief.
I’m still clapping when I turn to Carson…
and he’s smiling. Not a fully-fledged one, but it’s as real as ever.
“What prize would you like?” the vendor asks.
I scan the display. Amongst all the forgettable fluff one stands out. A bubblegum-pink giraffe with a crooked crown. Too much, too gaudy—perfect. New addition in hand I turn to Carson, but it’s only when I hold it out for him that he reacts.
“For Hannah.” I tap the little crown. “Another one to add to the collection.”
Something in him stills. When he does take it, his fingers are careful on the plush fabric. “She’ll love it.” He swallows once before he adds, quieter, “Last year she made me win her half the boardwalk. Year before too.”
“But not this year?”
“Not this year.”
The edge in it makes me lay a hand on his arm. He stares at it so long I almost snatch it back—until his eyes rise and lock on mine.
“Just tell me one thing,” he murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“Is it a guy?”
It takes me a second to process it. Then it clicks. House of mirrors. Probably every messy moment he’s seen before that.
I nearly laugh, nearly, but it dies because, suddenly, I remember. That was Bryce. She was the one with guys. Bryce. My face falls, and Carson must see it. Must take it for an answer, because he just nods.
I glance down at my shoes. I should explain. Clarify. But I don’t.
His sigh lands heavy before his arm pulls away. “Come on. Let’s go back to the others.”