Page 34 of Redline
Chapter ten
Carter
Iwas supposed to be listening.
Something about depreciation schedules and asset valuation floated down from the front of the lecture hall, the professor’s voice steady and precise in the way that usually anchored me. Numbers followed rules. People broke them.
I sat two rows from the back, pen moving on autopilot, writing words that looked right without actually meaning anything. My notes were neat. My mind wasn’t.
Because all I could see when I closed my eyes was the blurry doorway of the bowling alley from two nights ago.
It had been my dad’s idea. We’d been at the Valerio garage, the air thick with the scent of rubber and the frantic energy of pre-season prep. When the clock hit six, Dad had clapped Marco on the shoulder, announcing that no one should spend the eveningof his birthday looking at a suspension assembly. The rest of the crew had cheered, the decision made before the tools were even wiped down.
“You coming, kid?”Marco had asked Dominic, his voice hopeful in that way that always made me wince.
Dominic hadn't said no. He hadn't said anything at all, just watched us pack up with that same unreadable stare he always used.
I’d spent the night trying to forget the look on his face. I’d just finished my turn, the crash of the pins still ringing in my ears as I sat down to check the score screen. I was mid-laugh, reaching for my soda, when I looked toward the glass double doors leading out to the parking lot.
I swore I saw him standing there.
He wasn’t inside. He was just outside the reach of the fluorescent humming lights, hands in his pockets, his silhouette a dark, sharp cut against the night. He looked like he was watching a different planet.
I froze, my hand hovering over the table, waiting for him to pull the door open. To be the person who didn’t just drift the edges of things.
And then I’d blinked.
And Dominic was gone.
No figure in the pane. No warning, either. Just the empty, flat stretch of the parking lot where he’d been a second ago. I stared at the spot until my eyes burned, wondering if I’d imagined it—because apparently that was easier than admitting he could just disappear.
It was a hallucination. It had to be. Because why would he drive all the way there just to stand in the dark?
It was just residual adrenaline. It had to be.
“Miss Hayes.”
My head snapped up. A few people turned in their seats. Pens paused. The room sharpened uncomfortably into focus.
“Yes?” I said, too fast.
Professor Adler adjusted his glasses, looking at me over the rims in a way that suggested disappointment had been penciled into his schedule for the day. He was the type who believed participation was a character test.
“Would you care to explain how declining balance depreciation affects long-term asset reporting?”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
My pulse kicked, hard and stupid. I glanced down at my notes, at the tidy lines that suddenly meant nothing, at numbers that refused to assemble themselves into language.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Could you repeat the question?”
A soft snicker floated down from a row above me. I didn’t have to look to know it was Sienna.
The professor’s mouth thinned, but he repeated himself, slower this time, like he was talking to someone who had wandered into the wrong room. I answered anyway. Or tried to. It was technically correct. Barely. The kind of answer that proved I’d studied but not that I was present. The kind you gave when your mind was still standing in a doorway somewhere else, waiting on a boy who’d already proven he wasn’t built to stay.
The professor nodded once. Tight. Unimpressed. “Thank you, Miss Hayes. Let’s move on.”
The class ended a few minutes later. Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. As I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder, the thought returned unbidden and unwelcome.
