Deadfall Read Free Page B

about boxing and football. Hated the Jets but he loved the 49ers.”
    Rafe pauses, waiting for you to say something. “He was probably watching the gym for a while, trying to see who they might be able to recruit,” you offer. “Getting you to trust him.”
    “It makes me feel so stupid. Like, it was this big, exciting thing. I told everyone I was going. I would not shut up about this boxing championship I was going to be in and all the money I was going to make. My grandma was sick by then and I thought I was going to go there and . . .”
    He doesn’t finish, just keeps his eyes on the ceiling. His palm comes down over his face, fingers rubbing his temples. “Curt said they had this sponsor, that we’d fly private. I’d never been on a plane before that. We took off out of this small airport and I freaked out when we were up in the air.It was the craziest feeling. And then when I woke up I was on the island.”
    “How did it happen?”
    “He gave me a drink twenty minutes after takeoff. He must’ve put something in it.”
    “And when you woke up on the island, you could still remember everything?”
    “Yeah, we remembered everything on the island. I don’t know how long I would’ve lasted there without my memories.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Remembering things . . . people . . . it helped, it always helped me fight harder. It gave me a reason to survive. On the island, whenever I started thinking I couldn’t make it I would just picture . . .” He laughs a small, quiet laugh, then turns his head so his face is out of view. “I’d remember these eggs my grandmother would make for me. She’d put hot sauce on them, then scramble them with cheddar cheese. It sounds stupid, but I thought about that so many times, how she’d do that every morning. Just for me. She didn’t even like them. That memory kept me alive.”
    Something gives way inside of you. You wipe at the corner of your eyes, wanting him to turn to you, for him to reach for your hand again. When he does, you take it.

CHAPTER FOUR
    WHEN YOU GET back from the shower Rafe is gone. It’s past eight, the sky beyond the window dark. The seats are folded back against the wall and there’s a piece of paper sitting on your chair. He’s scribbled it on the formal Amtrak stationery, the complimentary notepad that came with the room.
    LAST NIGHT OF FREEDOM. MEET ME AT THE BAR CAR.
    You fumble through your knapsack, looking for the fake ID you bought in LA. Then you study yourself in the tiny mirror above the sink. Your hair is still wet, the ends soaking your T-shirt. You move a thick tangle to one side to cover the scar. You pinch color into your cheeks, press your lips together, and smooth back your brows.
    You start into the hall, locking the compartment behind you. The bar car is four away, and you keep your head down,your hair covering the side of your face. When you get inside you see Rafe in a booth at the far end.
    You slip into the bench across from him. His glass is half filled with a watery caramel-colored liquid. He picks it up and drains the last of it, setting it back down on the table. You lean in, noticing the way his smile keeps appearing and disappearing from his lips, like he’s fighting it back. He can’t seem to keep his gaze in one place.
    “You’re drunk,” you say.
    “And you’re behind.” He reaches into his pocket and slides something across the table. A tiny plastic bottle of Jack Daniel’s. You twist off the cap, the smell familiar. You take it down in two sips.
    When you’re done, you look around, scanning the tables behind you. There are two older couples with white hair, each one with a martini glass in front of them, the drinks barely touched. A twentysomething guy with thick glasses and a beard is scribbling in a notebook.
    “Relax,” Rafe says. “If someone got on in Chicago this morning, they would’ve found us already. We’re off the radar . . . at least for now.”
    “I was more