Free Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) by Jiffy Kate Page B

with us shortly.
    I look up at Sam, expecting him to refuse to leave, but he doesn’t, and he takes me with him. We walk out into the stark white room with blue chairs, and we both stand there. I don’t know what Sam’s thinking, but I know what I’m thinking.
    How did this happen?
    How did I go from feeling like I finally caught the one castle I’ve wanted my entire life—my Deacon—to being so scared I’m going to lose him?
    It’s crazy how fast life can change. It’s crazy how only a few hours ago, I watched him wrestle with Carter. He was so full of life, just like always. The life of the party. And now, he’s lying on a stretcher in an emergency room, and I don’t know if he’s going to walk out of here. I don’t know if I’m going to get to marry my best friend, the love of my life.
    How in the world did this happen?

Camille
    Past
    “WHAT’S ALL THIS MOPIN’ ABOUT?” Annie asks, sliding a batch of cookies into the oven. She thinks food fixes everything, and it usually does, but not today.
    “I don’t know,” I groan, leaning over the counter with my head in my arms.
    Annie walks over and pulls my hands away from my face. “You know you can talk to me. Anytime. About anything.”
    “I know.”
    “You’ve been goin’ through a lot of changes lately. And I know this time of year is hard, anyway.” She sighs and mimics my pose on the other side of the counter, leaning in. “I think about her too, you know?”
    “I know.”
    “I think about her all the time, but I especially think about her this time of year. It’s hard to believe she’s been gone ten years.”
    The sad look in her eyes makes me wonder if that’s what mine look like. It also reminds me that I’m not the only one who misses her—my daddy misses her, Tucker misses her, Annie misses her—and something about not feeling alone in my grief makes it easier to bear.
    “I do miss her, and I am sad, but I don’t think that’s what has me all mopey,” I tell her, sifting through my feelings.
    “Then what is it?”
    I shrug and then let out an exasperated sigh.
    “I’m just . . . I don’t know.” I huff, letting my shoulders slump. “I can’t paint. I try. Every day after school, I pull out a fresh canvas, but I end up sitting there and staring at it until it’s time to cook dinner. I can’t see anything in my mind that’s worth painting. Normally, I have, like, visions or something of a painting. I can just see it. I see the shapes and the colors and that transfers from my brain to the canvas, but lately . . . nothin’.”
    “I know what you need,” she says.
    I look at her with a quizzical stare. “What?”
    Something tells me she’s going to suggest cookies or pie, but I’ve tried all of that, and it hasn’t worked.
    “You need to go to the barn.”
    I look over my shoulder in the direction of the barn. “Am I in trouble?” I ask, looking back at her.
    Sometimes, when we were little, if we were all arguing, Annie and Sam would send us to the barn to hash out our disagreements and get an attitude adjustment. Sam would put us to work sweeping or something.
    “No,” Annie says, laughing as she walks around the counter. Grabbing my shoulders, she forces me to look at her. “I think you need a change of scenery.”
    “You think I need to take my canvas to the barn?” I ask, still not following.
    “No, I think you need to pick back up on your mural . . . use the barn as your canvas.”
    Memories of a younger me hit strong. I remember the year after my mama died, my daddy didn’t know what to do to help me get out of my head and let my feelings out. Annie had given me some paint and brushes and dressed me in one of her old shirts and sent me to the barn. She told me to paint whatever I wanted, anything that was floating through my head, I could put it on the wall of the barn. And I did. And it was the best therapy money couldn’t buy.
    “You’re right,” I tell her. “I’m gonna go get my