Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) Read Free Page B

that with the boys in my life, but the fact I just asked my crush if he needs a nipple is pretty mortifying. My face is burning up in humiliation, but when I see the blush on Deacon’s cheeks, I relax a little. Normally, he’d fire back with a witty retort, but he can’t even look me in the eyes right now.
    Interesting.
    “Relax, Deke. It was just a joke,” I assure him.
    He clears his throat before replying. “I know. You just caught me off guard; that’s all. Besides, you know I don’t really drink at these parties. Not when I have to drive home anyway. This,” he holds up his beer, “is just for show.”
    And there he goes, showing me the real Deacon that not many other people get to see.
    “You played a great game tonight,” I tell him, nudging his shoulder with my own.
    “Thanks, Cam. I love knowing you’re in the stands watching me play. You’re my good luck charm. You know that.” He quirks a smile up at me and winks. He’s told me that since the first game I ever watched him play back when he was in fifth grade. It was his first time to run the ball into the end zone. He told his mom and dad that I had to come to every game after that. And I haven’t missed many. The one time I had strep throat in eighth grade and missed his opening game for varsity, he fumbled the ball twice. Later that night, he brought me soup his mom had made for me and informed me I wasn’t allowed to miss any more games.
    But I don’t think he has any idea what those familiar words do to my insides now—now that we’re older, and my feelings for him go way beyond backyard football and bike rides down dirt roads. And I can’t decide whether I want to kiss him or punch him for making me feel the way he does.
    Before I get the chance to make up my mind, someone yells at him from inside the house, saying they need him for a game of beer pong.
    “Duty calls,” he says, slapping my knee with his large palm as he gets up from the wicker loveseat.
    I smile but hate the warmth he takes with him as he leaves.
    “Oh,” he says, making me jump. “Don’t let Tucker drive home. He’s been drinking the Kool-Aid.”
    I tip my cup to him and nod. Then I gulp the last of my water, hoping it’ll put out the fire in my belly.

Camille
    Present
    FIRE.
    Pockets is on fire.
    I can see the smoke billowing from the restaurant as I turn out onto the highway, and my heart stutters in my chest.
    No.
    This can’t be.
    Deacon and Micah have worked so hard on getting this restaurant off the ground. They’ve poured their blood, sweat, and tears into it, not to mention most of their life savings.
    I clutch my chest as I drive faster.
    As I get closer, I can see the flames as they edge out of the door that’s partially open on the side of the building. It’s the door that leads down the hallway where the bathrooms and offices are, and my heart squeezes in my chest like someone has it in a death grip.
    I see Sam’s truck parked beside the fire chief’s. Then, I see Sam.
    He’s pacing in the gravel parking lot. A fireman comes up to him and takes him by the shoulders, forcing him to take a few steps back.
    When I pull up, I barely remember to put my SUV in park before jumping out and running to him.
    “Where’s Deacon?” I yell.
    Sam’s hands grab my shoulders, and he looks at me for a second before hugging me to his chest. “He’s gonna be fine.”
    He says these words like he’s trying to convince himself, like he’s assuring himself as much as he’s assuring me.
    “Where is he?” I ask, tears pricking my eyes. I’m not sure if they’re from the smoke that’s taking over the air around me or if it’s from the emotions that are squeezing their way up my throat.
    “He’s gonna be fine,” he says, smoothing down the back of my hair.
    When I pull away from him and make eye contact, I see the tears in his eyes too. And something else, something that Sam Landry never shows.
    Fear.
    “I can’t lose him,” I tell him.
    He nods