Page 274 of Faking the Goal

She always comes when I call. Even when she's chasing bugs near the fence or hiding beneath the shed, she eventually appears with her tail raised and her bright eyes fixed on me.

This time, the yard remains silent.

I walk farther, gripping the bowl more tightly as I search behind the shed and along the fence. The grass is cold beneath my bare feet, and every step makes the knot in my stomach pull tighter.

Then I see something white near the far end of the yard.

Relief rushes through me. "There you are."

She doesn't lift her head.

I keep walking, but my steps become slower as the white fur begins to turn red. There's blood beneath her, staining the grass and darkening the soft coat I brushed with my fingers only yesterday.

The bowl falls from my hands.

"No."

I drop beside her and gather her into my arms. Her body hangs limply against my chest, cold and terribly still, but I rock her anyway, begging her to wake up while blood coats my fingers and seeps into the front of my nightgown.

"Snowy, please." My voice breaks beneath my sobs. "Please wake up. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good."

The back door creaks open behind me.

"I told you not to tell anybody."

His voice is calm, almost bored.

I turn toward him with Snowy clutched against my chest, and the scream that tears from me seems to split the whole yard apart.

I scream until the house disappears. Until his face dissolves into shadow. Until the only thing left is the blood covering my tiny hands and the sound of my own voice ripping through the darkness.

I bolt upright so violently that pain shoots through my chest, my lungs dragging in air that refuses to feel like enough. Tears soak my face, and for several frantic seconds, I can still feel Snowy's limp body in my arms and the sticky warmth coating my fingers. I stare down at my hands, expecting to see blood, but there is nothing there.

It was a nightmare, I realize.

Except it wasn't.

It was a memory.

It was real. I lived through it. These were memories I had buried a long time ago because I was too young and too traumatized to face them, and forgetting was the only way I knew how to cope.

But now they all come rushing back—broken flashes at first, then faster, one after another, until I can barely breathe beneath the weight of them.

I remember all of it now.

I remember Snowy.

And I remember him. The monster from my past.

CHAPTER 35

KENTARO

I carry the thermos of hot cocoa upstairs with both hands, careful not to spill any as I make my way back to my room. I had it ready before Taylor even woke up because I remembered what she told me once—that hot chocolate has always been the fastest way to calm her nerves, even when nothing else works. It feels useless after what happened downstairs, but right now, I need to do something. Anything.

I can still hear her scream.

It cut through the room so sharply that for one terrible second, I thought someone had hurt her right in front of me. Then she went limp in my arms before I could even ask if she was okay, her face drained of color and her breathing so shallow that panic clawed straight through my chest. I knew she had only fainted. I knew she was still breathing. None of that stopped the fear from sinking its teeth into me while I carried her upstairs.