Page 66 of The Pact

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My heart pounding through my veins, roaring in my ears.

Mrs. Grant says something, but I can’t understand it. Her mouth moves, but I can’t hear words.

I stare at the floor.

Then at the tiny scuff on the toes of my sneaker.

“Saint,” Mr. Grant says softly.

I put my head in my hands, elbows leaning on my knees.

I press my palms hard against my eyes until colors spark behind my lids.

No.

I can’t breathe.

Too fast.

Too shallow.

Not enough air.

I faintly hear the door open.

“What’s going on?”

Presley.

Her voice is nervous and sharp at the edges.

She knows something is wrong.

But I can’t lift my head.

I can’t look at her.

“Dad,” she asks.

Footsteps. Fast ones.

Then she’s in front of me, kneeling.

She places her hands on my arms. “Saint?”

Her fingers tighten. “Saint, look at me.”

I can’t because if I look at her, this would all be real.

If I saw her face change with understanding, then my sister would be gone in a way I can’t undo.

“Presley,” her father says quietly.

“Dad, what the hell happened?” She turns her head, but her hands stay on me.

“Savannah and Chris were killed in an accident,” Mr. Grant says.

Presley sucks in a breath, hands frozen on my arms.

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