An amateur medium races against the brink of her own sanity to track down a serial killer who is already in possession of his next victim.
And she only has 23 days to solve the case or else.
***
Devyn Brooks has only ever had one fear: don't becom...
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Most days feel like a blur. Like I'm just some stranger living some other dude's life. A bystander in a movie. A grain of sand on the street. I blink and the day's over. And then it's: eat, workout, eat, sleep, repeat.
Eat.
Workout.
Eat.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Shit, practice hasn't even started yet. The games haven't even started yet. The NBA might actually draft me this season.
I breathe out a spiral of air, sweat dripping in my eyes and mouth. Benching 155 pounds today. My coaches say I should be doing 170 by spring. The goal is twenty reps of 185 for the NBA combine this summer. Fuck, I don't even want to imagine that much weight right now.
My brain fizzes as I spit out a grunt. My arms start to shake. Another grunt explodes as I push the bar all the way up.
"You got this, Ace?" Owen asks with concern. As my spotter, he does a good job placing his hands at the center of the bar, ready to help.
I nod my head.
I got this.
I got this—fuck, I don't got this.
My right arm gives out and Owen catches it just in time before the whole right side crashes into my face.
"Bro, you good?" Owen asks, every facial muscle tense and alert.
We work together to place the bar back in each saddle.
"Yeah, I'm straight," I reply, sitting up with a wince. My whole right side is throbbing. I grab my water bottle on the floor and swirl some into my mouth. "Ima call it a day. I didn't warm up."
Owen replies, "I'm beat too."
"C'mon, don't be a bunch of weak-ass pussies," says Mikey from the treadmill. "It ain't even game time yet. We've only been here an hour. And once practice starts back up, it'll be ten hour training days nonstop."
Owen and I throw Mikey a look. He's only been hitting the treadmill since we got here, flexing his lean muscles to some of the girls that just walked in. I'm not sure if he's realized it, but they're not looking at him.
I've gotten used to it, though. All the attention. It never stops.
"Nah man, I'm beat," Owen repeats. "We should go to that one vegan place on Scottsdale again...what was it called? Athena?"
"Persephone's," I offer.
"Oh yeah. Whatever, I just like their protein wraps."
Mikey slows the treadmill, adjusting his pace for a cool down. "I could eat."
"You guys go on without me. Dev and I are gonna do our own thing."
"Oh?" Owen asks, grinning. "No wonder you want to call it quits. You're hoping for a different kind of workout."
