I exhale. “I don’t have my phone. I need to know she’s okay. I have to see her.”
Her lips purse. “You almost died, Noah. Shouldn’t she want you resting and getting better? You’re in no condition to leave.”
I shift, pushing the elevator button down and shrug my shoulders. “She was taken and held violently against her will. I want to talk with her. Frankly, I’m getting pissed people keep standing in my way.”
She swallows. “We just want you to … be safe. To get better. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
“Morgan, I don’t know what you think, or what you’re hoping for, but there isn’t going to be anything between us aside from friendship.” I step back, ignoring the way the hallway sways.
She sniffs, nods slowly, and bites her lip before looking away. “Everyone expects it.”
The elevator dings, the doors open, and I step in. “Well, I never expected someone like Lily, and there isn’t anyone else for me.” Holding the door open, I hold her stare and watch as her expression softens.
“You really love her, don’t you.”
Smiling, I remove my hand holding the doors and offer her a slow dip of my chin as the doors draw shut.
She’s out there, and I’m going to get her, no matter what it takes. Iloveher—it’s wild, uncontrollable, and sure as hell going to leave a mark.
Chapter 36
Lily
Istare at the open glove box, the maps of each national park I’ve spent time at spilling out. My fingers grip the wheel, too tight, as I replay the last several days in my head.
Like the good little traumatized citizen I am, I gave my statement, verifying over and over again that Bran, Raven, was in fact, dead. I dealt mostly with the FBI, and they informed me that an incarcerated informant out of Mississippi tipped them off to the Raven’s location.
I’d be lying if I said I cared. All I wanted to know was about Noah, and they didn’t have any updates to tell me.
Once they got what they needed from me—my statement, recorded testimony, and questions about both my brothers in Ruin—they sent me on my way with theoh-so-wisestatement that I should “get my injuries looked at.”
Noah is all that matters, and I went to the hospital to see him, but when I got off the elevator, several national park rangers surrounded the nurses’ station on his floor. Then there was her. Morgan.
She paced outside the door to what I assumed to be his room, her face pale, yet streaked with wet mascara as she wiped at her face.
I hate I was too insecure to march over there for him. My stomach was in knots, feeling like an outsider, and indecision kept my legs stuck.
Did I belong there?
I hesitated, and I hate that. I let him down.
I let the sight of Morgan outside his room make me doubt everything, and Raven’s voice whispered in my head about being too damaged for him … my mind continued that mantra, whispering,maybe you were never meant to stay in Pinebrook at all.
I slam the steering wheel with my palm. The air inside the running car feels thick, and the desire to run presses down around me. Should I leave?
The glove box and all its contents taunt me, and heat rises to my face. I don’t have time for this, nor the patience. It’s a stupid thing, so small, so insignificant, but it feels like a challenge. Daring me to break.
With a sharp inhale, I shift and bring my hand up, slamming it shut with a heavy thud. It latches closed, but the frustration still buzzes beneath my skin. I stare out the windshield at the flickering neon OPEN sign in the gym parking lot.
I wince, looking into the rearview mirror as I catch my reflection. Rose-colored red is smeared on my cheeks and my eyes look like I’m high. I haven’t been sleeping.
After opening my door, I slide out, limping some as I hurry to the front doors. The night is brisk and restless, with the wind cutting through the parking lot. A low hollow howl snakes between the cars and loose trash blows across the asphalt. The metal light poles groan and sway while the advertising flags of the neighboring businesses snap as gusts come in bursts. The clouds have smothered any moonlight, leaving the dim parking lot lights to keep the eerie dark away.
Once inside the gym, I shower, dressing in some random tan leggings I found stashed in my car and an oversized sweatshirt from a gift shop in the Smoky Mountains. With my comb, I brush out my hair, leaving it dripping wet and down.
Alone in the bathroom, I lean against the cold porcelain sink and take a slow, steady breath as I inspect myself. I push up my sleeve first. Dark, angry bruises bloom along my forearm. My back hurts, the gentlest rub against the fuzzy inside of my crewneck bothersome. With hesitation, I lift my shirt, turning to see deep scratches and scrapes from where my back was against the tree stump. They’re sore and I wince touching them.
More bruises stretch across my side, from the struggle as they wrestled me into the SUV.
