Page 85 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Jackson made a low satisfied sound against my throat. When he finally pulled back, his thumb brushed the spot his mouth had claimed. There would be a mark, no doubt, and he looked very pleased about it.

He kissed the top of my head. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. Now get out of my starting area.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He squeezed my hip once and left.

Cassidy slid in beside me at the line a minute later, hair pulled back and race number pinned a little off center.

She gave the side of my neck one long look. “He’s got it bad.”

“Mm.”

“Why does he always do that thing with his face? The rubbing against your cheek. It’s... intense. Like he’s trying to leave a mark on you.”

I kept my expression neutral and stretched my calf. “It’s just how he is.”

“It’s like what cats do when they claim something.”

I rolled my eyes and switched legs. “He's weird. I've accepted it.”

The announcer called the field to the line.

Cassidy bumped my shoulder. “You've got this.”

“Good luck,” I said.

She bounced off to her position. I shook out my hands, rolled my shoulders, and let the noise of the crowd fall away.

The starter raised the gun. The world narrowed. The shot cracked and we surged forward in a tight pack, elbows sharp, dirt kicking up into my face, an elbow catching my ribs. I dropped back two strides, found a clear lane, and took it.

By the bend into the woods I had already broken away from the pack, letting them set the early pace before pulling ahead for good at the mile mark. They weren’t my competition. I was.

I didn’t look back. The course flattened through the bottom of the woods before climbing hard again. I let my legs do what they had waited all week to do. Cowbells rang somewhere in the distance, muted by the trees. Breath came in clean and left clean. The burn rose steady in my quads and I leaned into it without slowing, the rhythm settling deeper with every stride.

In the last hundred meters, I sprinted on pure instinct. The finish chute became a blur of noise and color. I crossed the line well ahead. The runner behind me hadn’t even made the final bend yet.

Before I could catch my breath, Jackson was running toward me, face lit like I had hung the moon.

“That’s my girl.” Pride rang clear in his voice as he reached me. He lifted me onto his shoulder and spun me once, my braids whipping sideways. For once I laughed without threatening to hit him.

He set me down, still grinning. I shoved at his chest without any real force. He caught my hand, kissed my knuckles, and let me go.

Team scores went up and we had taken first overall. The team swarmed in at once—high-fives, a quick hug from Cassidy, a back-slap from Jason that nearly knocked me over.

Coach clapped my shoulder. “That’s how you run. You just put us through to the next round.”

The wolves stayed out of the celebration and didn’t look thrilled about the praise. Naomi stood with her arms crossed, face closed off. Two others stayed with her, not openly hostile but clearly apart from the rest of us. Parents and friends swarmed the team next. Jackson got pulled away by Jason’s parents while Cassidy dragged me toward hers. I did the small-talk version of myself. It wasn’t bad. I had practiced.

Then I saw Janet waving across the field, Brian standing just behind her. I hadn’t expected them. But something inside me eased at the sight. I had missed them more than I’d let myself admit.

Janet had been my mother’s best friend. After the fire she and Brian had taken me in. I’d lived with them until college and still visited often. A fox and a bear who had never once made me feel like anything but their own.

I crossed the field toward them. Janet caught me before I finished the last stride and pulled me into a tight hug that lifted my feet off the grass.

“You did so well, honey.” She set me down. “We cheered you on, but the finish line was so crowded that we decided to wait to congratulate you.”

“You didn’t have to drive down for this.”