Only this time... I get the feeling I might actually like whatever trouble she's about to stir up.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CAROLINE
Adam and I cross the quad toward my dorm. He's trailing half a step behind me, backpack slung over one shoulder like he's in no rush, while I'm speed-walking like there's a medal waiting for me at the finish line.
"Are you sure you don't want me to grab you dinner?" Adam asks.
"I told you, you don't need to walk me inside," I say, rifling through my bag like it just swallowed my entire life. "...and I'm not really hungry right now. So, I'm good."
"Care," he drawls, ignoring me completely, "you haven't eaten since lunch. At least let me run through a drive-thru or grab you a sandwich. Something."
"I'm fine," I mutter, still elbow-deep in my bag. Where the hell is my key? Gum wrappers, pens, a notebook... nope. Not the key. My pulse spikes, and I grit out, "Damn it, where is it?"
Adam lifts both brows, amused but also a little worried. "That sounds like someone who could use a cheeseburger."
I shoot him a quick smile, though it's tight. "Seriously, I'm good. Not hungry yet."
The truth? I couldn't sit still for food even if I wanted to. Not after Sam's text.
We'd been holed up in the rehearsal studio way past schedule, both of us laser-focused on nailing our lines for tomorrow's winter showcase audition. Supposed to stop at seven, but we pushed until nine because neither of us could leave without perfecting every beat.
That's the thing about Adam—we share the same curse. Passionate. Obsessive. Perfectionists when it comes to performance. It's like a switch we can't turn off.
And then my phone buzzed. A single text from Sam.
9-1-1.
My stomach dropped.
That code? We made it up as kids. We never use it unless it's serious—like, deathly-sick-in-bed serious or I-need-a-shoulder-or-I'll-crumble serious. No jokes. No exaggerations. Always urgent. Always real.
Which is why I bolted the second I read Sam's message, why Adam's still hovering with concern, and why I'm practically tearing through my bag outside my dorm room like a lunatic,praying I find the damn key so I can get inside and check on Sam.
A shaky breath of relief escapes me when my fingers finally brush the cool metal. "Got you," I mutter, yanking the key free and shoving it into the lock like it might vanish if I hesitate. The door clicks, swings open, and I push through in a rush.
I glance back at Adam lingering in the hallway.
My lips curve into a tired but grateful smile as I lift my hand in a small wave. "Thanks. For driving me back. For... walking me in. I'll see you tomorrow at the audition." My voice dips softer at the end, and my eyes hold his just long enough for him to see I mean it.
He nods, lingering a beat longer before heading down the corridor. I slip inside and close the door firmly behind me, the latch catching with a soft snap that seals me in.
My bag slides off my shoulder and lands heavy on the wall rack with a thud. The room is dim, shadows clinging to the corners, only the faint glow of the streetlamp outside filtering through the blinds.
"Sam?" My voice comes out hushed, careful, almost coaxing as I step down the short hallway toward our beds. "I'm back..."
Silence.
My throat tightens. Guilt pricks hot and sharp in my chest. She texted hours ago—three whole hours—and I'd been too wrapped up in lines and to notice. What if she really needed me then? What if this is worse than I thought? That code—9-1-1—is sacred. We never used it unless it was serious.Desperate.
I pad forward slowly, my steps soft, toes instinctively rolling heel-to-ball to keep the floorboards from creaking.
If she's sleeping, I don't want to wake her.
"Are you sleeping?" I whisper, leaning my head toward her side of the room.
Her bed is tucked in the right-hand corner. Mine's on the left. I cock my head, straining to see through the dim. "Sa—"
