only get harder to start up again—but I just had to take a break. Brad trotted over and started sniffing around my feet, and I wondered if dogs could smell blood. They had to be able to, right? Bloodhounds had to be named that for a reason.
He flopped down on the ground, then rolled on his back and shot me a look, clearly indicating that a belly rub was in order. Glad for any excuse that would mean I didn’t have to keep on walking, I bent down and gave his belly a scratch.
I heard a hiss on the pavement but didn’t turn to look until Matty said, his voice casual and unconcerned, “Oh, look. Rollerblades. Haven’t seen those in a while.”
“What?” I looked around, and saw, my stomach dropping, that a man in sweats and a short puffy coat was rollerblading right past us, eyes fixed ahead and arms doing a weird slalom-y motion. “Matty—” I started as Brad rolled over and then jumped to his feet, eyes tracking the rollerblader. A moment later, though, the guy passed out of sight, and I breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Brad.
Which was why I didn’t see them coming.
The sound was like a wave, the same rasping sound on the pavement—but so much louder. I turned in horror to see what had to be fifty rollerbladers, all—rolling? blading?—toward us in a huge group. Brad’s black eyes went wide and he started shaking from head to tail, practically vibrating.
“Wow,” Matty said, shaking his head as he pulled out his phone. “It’s like it’s 1997 or something. I have to take a picture. Archie’s gonna love this—”
As he adjusted his phone, his hand holding Brad’s leash slackened, and even though I staggered to my feet to reach for it, it was too late.
“No—” I started. But it was no use. Brad darted out toward the rollerbladers, his leash slipped out of Matty’s hands—and he was gone.
CHAPTER 16
Kat
I’d never been through the park at night.
I held on tightly to Cary, my arms now wrapped around and clasped in front of him. Which honestly seemed like better scooter safety and allowed me to get closer to him as an ancillary benefit. As we drove, I turned my head to look at everything as it zoomed past around us—cars and night runners and a band playing somewhere, faintly, the music carried on the breeze and then fading out again.
The traffic slowed as we passed through a tunnel, and Cary braked the bike and brought one foot down to the ground to steady it. A cab pulled up next to us, and I could see a couple in the back, both of them scrolling through their phones.
“Brad!” I heard someone yell. “Come back here!” The voice sounded nearby, panicked—and familiar? I sat up straight, looking around.
“Bradford Higginbottom!” another voice yelled—a guy’s voice. I slumped back down again, realizing it was stupid to have hoped. But I had thought maybe—for just a second—
“Hang on!” Cary called as the traffic started moving again and the scooter jolted forward. I used the excuse to tighten my arms around him as we drove, and I just tried to take it all in while I could, but all too soon, Cary was exiting the park on West Seventy-Second Street, and hung a right. He turned down Seventy-Third Street and parked the bike between two cars. I pulled off my helmet—praying my hair still looked somewhat decent—and looked around.
Sure enough, across the street, there was an awning and logo that matched the one I’d seen on the East Side—but this one read MAVERICK CLEANERS WEST. Cary locked up both our helmets and adjusted his messenger bag. “We’re okay on time, right?”
“We are,” he said, pulling out his phone. “An hour and a half.”
“Great,” I said, even as I felt a stab of disappointment. Suddenly, our time together—which had felt so expansive—was counting down. It was like I could practically feel the clock ticking.
“I had a thought,” Cary said, twirling his keys again, despite what had happened the last time. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you hungry?”
“I am,” I admitted. “Is there a place around here we could grab a slice?”
“Yes,” he said. But he tilted his head to the side, like he was thinking about something. “Or… have you spent a lot of time on the Upper West Side?”
“Just, like, going to the Natural History Museum,” I said. “Or Lincoln Center.” Now that I was in the city,