Inside her.
When I emerge from my bedroom, Dax is in the hallway. He takes one look at me, and his expression darkens.
“Really, Cole?” he asks, voice low.
“Don’t,” I warn. “Don’t say it.”
“We’re supposed to be helping her, not?—”
“I can’t help her if she won’t let me,” I snap. “None of us can. So, forgive me for trying to take the edge off before I completely lose my mind.”
Dax’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. Probably because he understands. Probably because he’s considered doing the same thing.
Maybe already has.
Another whimper echoes from down the hall, and we both freeze. The sound cuts off abruptly, like she’s bitten it back.
“Kitchen,” Dax says finally, his voice rough. “Before I do something stupid.”
I follow him back and find Jalen and Malik exactly where I left them at the table.
The silence stretches. Rain hammers against the shutters. Someone’s knee is bouncing. I think it’s mine.
“Deal me in,” I say to Jalen, nodding at the deck of cards on the table.
He blinks at me. “What?”
“Cards. Deal.”
“Cole, I don’t think?—”
“Deal the fucking cards, Jalen.”
He does, his movements strained. We play three hands in complete silence, the only sounds our breathing and the storm outside. Nobody’s paying attention to the game. Malik folds on a winning hand. Dax bids without looking at his cards.
On the fourth hand, Jalen suddenly stands up, scattering his cards across the table.
“I’m going for a run,” he announces.
“In this weather?” Malik asks.
“I don’t care if it’s a storm. I need to move, or I’m going to—” He cuts himself off, grabs his jacket from his bag, and disappears into the storm.
Just before the door slams behind him, I can see him break into a sprint before he’s even off the porch.
“Smart,” Dax mutters. “Wish I’d thought of that.”
“Still could,” I point out.
“No.” He runs a hand through his black hair. “No, someone needs to stay. In case she—” He stops. Shakes his head. “Never mind.”
Malik sets his phone down hard enough to crack the screen. “I’m going to inventory the supplies. Make sure we have everything we need.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For whatever happens next,” he says shortly, and heads back toward the living room.
That leaves me and Dax sitting at a table covered in abandoned cards, both of us too wired to sit still, too responsible to leave.
