He doesn’t need to explain more. He was hoping, just as I was, that this would be over quickly. But with Daniel’s most recent announcement about keeping us here through Christmas, I’m not so sure about that.
Still. I don’t want Ryan in any more danger than he already is.
“Willow.” Ryan covers my hand with his. “I need to try.”
There isn’t just determination in his eyes. There’s something deeper. Something heavy with meaning. Something that plucksat my heart and makes me wonder if I’m not the only one who’s ever wished for more than friendship.
I don’t want him hurt. I want to explore thatsomethingin his eyes.
But if he’s asking me to trust him, how can I not?
So, though it terrifies me, I swallow hard and reply softly, “Okay. What do you need me to do?”
“Like that game in elementary school,” he replies. “Tell everyone to get down the second I call Daniel’s name.”
He doesn’t add the rest of it. Get down so if the gun goes off, they don’t get shot. Except Ryan won’t be crouched down with the rest of us. He’ll be vulnerable. Anything could happen to him.
“Trust me,” he repeats. “I can do this.”
So I do.
And as soon as I have the opportunity, I pass along the message to Harold White, who’s sitting directly to my other side.
He hesitates, but does what I ask and passes the message to the woman beside him. And in a matter of minutes, Ryan’s request makes it to all the hostages.
Then it’s just waiting for Ryan to pick the perfect time to make his move.
Nausea rises, along with my growing fear.
I pray silently, bargaining for Ryan’s safety.
I vow to ask Ryan on a date if—when—we get out of here.
Enough with the excuses, I tell myself. If I ask him out and he says no, the rejection will be nowhere near as bad as this. And at the very least, I can stop wondering if there could be something more between us.
Ryan squeezes my hand and leans his head close as he murmurs, “I’m doing it. Get ready.”
My heart lurches.
Now?
But it’s too soon.
What if something happens?
What if I never get to ask Ryan out?
What if?—
Ryan lets go of my hand.
Then he shifts slightly, moving his legs so he’s better poised to jump to his feet.
I stop breathing.
I send up one last silent prayer.
Please. Protect Ryan. He’s a good man. Agreatman. He deserves to live.
