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Summary
It rolls, it rolls, it rolls, Will is clenching his hands into fists so tight his knuckles are white, bracing himself, preparing himself.
He’s so focused on steadying his breathing, on wrapping his heart in a guard of barbed wire before the blow lands, that he doesn’t quite see the number on the dice.
Mike lets out a shaky breath next to him. “It’s a seven.”
Will runs through the list in his head. Three times, before it clicks. He thinks he might throw up.
“C’mon, Wheeler. Don’t keep us waiting,” Max teases, and Will finally catches the satisfied gleam in her eyes.
A 20. He gets twenty minutes locked in a linen closet with Mike.
Two years ago, he would have been jumping for joy.
But Mike won’t even look at him.