He pulls out his phone and calls 9-1-1. Explains everything. Stays calm. Keeps one hand still on my back, making sure I don’t keel over on the sidewalk.
The fire department shows up within minutes. Mads walks them through what happened, stands off to the side while they go in with gear and detectors and serious voices. One of them comes out ten minutes later and tells us it was a low-grade leak. The stove. Enough to make someone sick with exposure. And the carbon monoxide and methane detector?
“Dead,” he says. “There’s not even a battery in it.”
Awesome.
When Doc finds out about this, I sincerely hope she rethinks shoving us into this deathtrap of an apartment together and lets us go back to our respective dorms. Even if the thought of that gives me a weird feeling. One I don’t want to acknowledge. Something about preferring to be here with Mads rather than being alone again.
I sign the forms after the EMTs check me out—blood pressure, oxygen, and a few questions about dizziness and disorientation. Get told not to go back in for a few hours. Maybe overnight, just to be safe.
I should be shaken.
But all I can think about is the weight of Mads’ arm still draped across my shoulders. His body heat seeping into my side. His voice when he barked at me to move, get up, go.
He took charge. Didn’t even hesitate.
I exhale. Quiet. Shaky.
“You okay now?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Better.”
“You sure?”
I nod. Then add, because it’s suddenly too loud in my head not to say it, “Thanks.”
He shrugs. Doesn’t say anything.
But something shifts in the way we’re standing. Something tightens in the silence between us.
I haven’t let myself admit how scary it is to trust him until now. Because when he’s not pissing me off or driving me insane? He makes me feel cared for.
That’s exactly what makes it harder to keep the truth from him—that I’m starting to suspect the drive isn’t just about hazing, that whatever’s on it is bigger, darker, riskier than I imagined. The gas leak could’ve been an accident, sure, but it feels too coincidental stacked on top of everything else.
And right now, keeping that from him feels more dangerous than finally spilling my guts.
Chapter 10
Mads
Ikeep one hand on the wheel and the other clenched tight in my lap, fingers aching from how hard I’m gripping my own thigh. My leg won’t stop bouncing. Every time I replay the look on her face when I pulled her out of that flat, I feel sick.
She could’ve died. If I hadn’t come home when I did, if I hadn’t smelled it when I opened the door…
No. Not going there. Not when she’s sitting two feet away, breathing, alive, and somehow still mad at me.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Blake snaps, arms crossed so tight she looks like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I’ll crash with Chelsey or something.”
“You’ll crash where I crash.” I fire back, sharper than I mean. “There’s a party, Mayson’s there. Colin told the whole team, and I quote, ‘Skip and I’ll bury you in the yard next to the grill.’ He saves the threats for people he actually likes, so I’m pretty sure he won’t mind if we stay the night. You'll be fine.”
She twists toward me, narrowing her eyes when I toss a wink in her direction. “Definefine.”
“Spare bedroom, doors that lock, probably a suspicious amount of beer pong happening on the lawn. Beats going back to the gas-filled deathtrap.”
“You don’t get to be the decision maker.” Her chin is tilted stubbornly toward the window.
“I’m not deciding. I’m helping.”
