Free Hold Me Like a Breath by Tiffany Schmidt

“
When
will we talk?”
    I could practically feel the impatience skittering down his arm. “Let me go now—so I can do this thing before I change my mind—and you can name the place and time.”
    â€œYou realize my first question is going to be
‘Do what
?’”
    He nodded.
    â€œFollowed by ‘
How’d you pay for a New York City apartment?’ ‘What was in the trunk?’ ‘Whose tires did Garrett shoot
?’ And a million other things.”
    â€œCan’t. Wait.” He stretched out the words like rubber bands of sarcasm.
    â€œFine. Go on your hot date or secret mission or whatever, but don’t stay out too late; you’re taking me out for breakfast.”
    â€œSounds good. Doughnuts? Eight?”
    â€œDeal.” I let go of his arm, giving his sleeve one last tug. “Have fun.”
    He took a step down the hall, then turned around and bent to kiss my cheek. “And if you do hook up with Gare, don’t let him break your heart—I’d hate to have to kill my best friend.”
    â€œWhat if I break his?” I taunted.
    â€œServes him right.” Carter’s laughter drifted down the hall to be joined by the pattering of his tan loafers on the stairs. Then both noises and my brother disappeared behind the leaded-glass panes of the front door.

Chapter 6
    The sunlight was slanted wrong, creating shadows instead of a glow. A glance at my clock confirmed my apprehension—10:47. A glance in the mirror heightened it—I had a new bruise.
    It was on the side of my neck, a two-inch-wide, inch-long stripe—from the seat belt. Probably from when I’d fallen asleep on the drive home. Probably no big deal.
    Just like there was probably no good reason for me to get the shivers when I called Carter and it rang and rang and went to voice mail. No good reason for me to continue shaking when I stood in a scalding-hot shower.
    He’d changed his mind—again.
    He was busy.
    He was pissed I’d overslept and stood him up.
    I was healthy.
    I was healthy.
    I was
still
healthy.
    I exhaled a reassurance on each step as I walked past his empty bedroom and headed downstairs.
    As I passed the parlor, Mother put down her tablet. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Are you just getting up?”
    â€œA little bit ago.”
    â€œHow was the play? I still can’t believe you got those boys to sit through a musical.”
    I gave her a sharp look, but she wasn’t suspicious, just amused. “It was good. Carter fell asleep—speaking of, where is he?”
    â€œI haven’t seen him. I had an early session with my trainer, and by the time I got back they were already in your father’s office. I’m sure he’ll be at lunch.”
    I frowned.
    â€œAre you that bored, sweet pea? I could ask Nolan to set up some lessons.”
    â€œIt’s summer.” Even the homeschooled were entitled to a break. Especially when faced with a tutor like mine. Nolan was Family. He’d been fresh out of college when Father put him in charge of my education. He had wanted in the
business
aspect of the Business, but Father said he needed patience and leadership … skills that
I
was supposed to teach him in return for biology and world civ. I’d thought his lack of experience would make him a pushover. He’d assumed having only one pupil would be easy. We were both wrong. Five years later, our school days were still battles of will and stubbornness.
    Nolan was big on structure, drills, and memorization. I cravednovelty and creativity. Preferred writing and reading fiction to his research projects; geometry over his favored calculus. Our only overlapping interest was a shared addiction to C-Span and a quiet support of the Organ Act, which aimed to legalize compensation for organ donations. It would allow payment for both live donors who gave things like kidneys or a portion of their livers, as well as families