Shadow Mutation (Book Seven) [UNDER MAJOR EDITING]

Chapter 1: Losing His Focus

"I'm telling you, Red, it wasn't my fault!"

April O'Neil's bright blue eyes flicker towards Casey as she arches an eyebrow. A wind blows, rustling her ginger hair as she adjusts her grip around her textbooks.

"I want to believe you, Casey, but..." she starts.

He furrows his dark brows, pouting even as he scratches at the bandage on his jaw. His black eye still aches a little.

"Well, it wasn't my puck," he insists. "I was just trying to get done and out of there and Brayden—"

"It doesn't matter, okay?" she interrupts. "Even if they goad you, you have to ignore it. Punching them back isn't going to make things better."

He shoulders his stick, still pouting as he lets out a huff. They keep walking, en route for the ice rink, and April lets out a sigh.

"I know why you didn't do summer school. It wouldn't have done you any good," she says. "But now you have to be the bigger person and just push through, okay?"

Casey snorts. They pass a community bulletin board on the way up to the rink and Casey swipes his stick, sending papers flying. A few catch on his stick, wet from the recent rain, and he curses to himself as he goes to remove them. Lost dogs, tutoring and music lessons, missing posters that have been there for years.

He scoffs. At some point, just give up.

April just gazes after him, stooping to pick up the fallen papers and tacking them back up.

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Inside the rink, Casey heads down to the box, settling onto the bench and suiting up. April follows him down and settles onto the closest bleachers, setting her textbooks beside her. There's a single grade twelve trigonometry textbook tucked among her college material.

"Casey?" she asks. He keeps his head down, lacing up his skates. "You know I'm just trying to look out for you."

"Whatever," he responds without looking up.

"It's one credit. Ms. Somerset thinks you could finish the necessary recovery work in a few months! That's good, right?"

He bristles as he straightens up, although he still doesn't look her way. "The hell are you talking to her for?"

"You won't tell me anything about what's going on and she's exhausted trying to get through to you! Please, Casey—"

"Please, Casey," he mimics as he hoists himself over the boards.

April fumes, but she keeps her mouth shut. It's been like this for months, the whole summer and then some, and it's getting harder and harder to give him grace. It's killing her, watching him act like this, so unlike the Casey Jones she knows and loves.

He won't accept her help. He won't accept anything and she's running out of steam, fast.

At the very least, watching him glide across the ice, she can picture the old Casey, moving like he was born to wear skates.

"If you just focus—" she starts.

"I don't want to focus on anything anymore."

She lets the silence ring. The ice scrapes beneath his blades as the air conditioner whirs overhead. It's still quieter than the blood roaring in April's ears and, for a second, she feels her fingers tingle with a surge of energy.

She sucks in a breath and curls her hand into a fist, holds it, and releases slowly. No time for an outburst now.

Casey lines up a row of pucks ahead of the goal. He fires them off with deadly precision and accuracy, one by one, whooshing as they hit the net.

April sighs. "Casey, you can't keep shutting everyone out. You haven't even talked to Raph since Taylor left."

She watches his expression harden, jaw clenching, but he says nothing. Frustration burns in her chest and she wants to scream at him to react. Andy told her about the accident. Casey wouldn't and, well...she's a journalist in the making. She needed answers.

She knows about the argument. She knows that Arnold blew through a red because of it. She can fill in the pieces from there, but she keeps clinging to this idea that if Casey would just talk to her, she could start helping him feel better. He needs to take that step.

But he stays silent, stony, and she gives in. "How about a study sesh?" she calls. "I still have my notes. Maybe—"

"Sure, Red! Whatever makes you feel better!" he shouts, slamming another puck into the net with such force that he nearly breaks through the material.

She snaps. "You're such a piece of, of..." She lets out a frustrated growl. "Piece of work, Jones!"

She gathers up her books, rises to her feet, and storms away, breaths too fast, chest aching.

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Casey watches her leave, breaths shaking his whole body as he squeezes his eyes shut. Why does she care? Why does she try so hard when he's proven again and again that he's a failure who isn't worth the time it took to make him?

Don't lose it, Jones.

You're not a kid anymore. Deal with it.