Not already.
I need to put as much distance as possible between them and us, as far as Van-essa allows me to drive.
She could give out any minute now.
“No,” I reply firmly, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “We can’t stop here, Saylor, sorry. I need to keep going a little while longer.”
Saylor nods, his expression thoughtful. After about ten minutes, he starts fidgeting in his seat, and I see him squirming out of the corner of my eye.
Something’s not right.
I steal a quick glance at him, and my heart clenches with fear as I see what is happening. “What’s going on?”
He turns to me, his face even more translucent than usual. His trembling hand reaches for his throat and lets out a faint, strained whisper, “I-I don’t feel so good.”
Panic seizes me as I watch him fade, his form growing fainter with each passing second and every inch we drive farther away from those whom I want to escape, like mist dissolving in the morning sun.
“No, no, no,” I plead, my hands trembling on the steering wheel as I frantically scan the roadside for a place to pull over.
Saylor’s voice becomes barely audible as he struggles to speak, “Slo, I… I’m… I think I?—”
My heart sinks as I reach out toward him, but he dissolves, leaving nothing but an empty seat beside me. My hand passes through the air where he just was.
No tingles at all.
I come to a screeching halt in the middle of the road. The car behind me just manages to swing out and bypass me, honking wildly. My hands tremble on the steering wheel, I’m panting, not getting any air in my lungs, and my heart almost beating out of my chest, trying to make sense of what just happened.
He’s gone.
She’s gone.
That fact alone sends a sharp pang through my heart, but Hunter’s furious approach, his words laden with blame, carves that pain deeper. “This is all your fucking fault!” he accuses, and the air between us thickens with unsaid regrets and harsh truths we’ve both been avoiding. Hunter crosses the hospital room, having just returned, to stand directly in front of me, seething. We’re the same height, which brings us chest to chest as he leans into me, fists clenched. “You and your wrong fucking accusations drove her away from us, fromme!” he spits out, his frustration pouring out of him.
He’s invading my space, something I can’t handle well on a good day, and his accusations make my hackles rise. Without thinking, I shove him away. He stumbles backward a step, almost falling on his ass because his bad leg didn’t pull back fast enough, and I feel even more disgusted with myself than I already am.
He’s right.
Itisall my fucking fault.
The nausea that hits me is overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the guilt that’s been gnawing at my insides. I glance down at Lio, laying so innocently in the hospital bed, still asleep despite the chaos around him. My heart clenches at the thought of how close I came to losing him and how my stubborn pride nearly cost my son his health.
His life.
“Lower your voice,” I find myself whispering, almost pleading, nodding toward Lio, desperately clinging to the semblance of peace his quiet breathing offers. “He’s sleeping, and we’re in a goddamn hospital.” I take a breath before answering his initial accusation. “I know I’m the one to blame for the most part, but don’t act all innocent and shit. We all shoved her to the curb.” I try to defend myself and share theblame, but the truth is a bitter pill, and my attempts feel hollow, even to my ears.
Nash is furious as he stands from the chair in the corner, seemingly ready to give me a piece of his mind. “No, the shoving into the dirt wasallyou,” he snaps back, his voice laced with bitterness.
Nash’s anger, a reflection of my self-loathing, only deepens the chasm of guilt within me. I know I’m the one who pushed her away, her—the only one who truly saw what Lio needed, who fought for him despite my baseless accusations and unfounded doubts.
“I know, okay?” I admit, crossing my arms over my chest. “I fucked up!” My voice rises, anger bubbling over, mostly directed at myself,but well, fuck, we all have to deal with me right now.
Thinking about how she sat in the dirt, gripping her bag, tears streaming down her face, despair written all over it while I practically called her a crazy whore…
Jesus.
She saved my son.
She talked to Jessie.
