“Petrified,” I admit. “But I’m pretending I’m not so the guy outside—Dr. Evans—doesn’t make fun of me. Want to help me fake it?”
Elias looks at the door, then at me. Slowly, his shoulders drop. He uncurls from the corner.
“Okay,” he whispers.
“Good man.”
I walk over, help him stand up, and guide him away from the overturned bed. When I open the door two minutes later, Elias is sitting on the mattress, drinking water.
I step out into the hallway.
“He’s calm,” I tell Evans, whose jaw is practically on the floor. “He needs dry sheets and maybe a sedative for sleep, but no restraints.”
I push past the stunned security guards and grab Luke’s arm. “Get me out of here before my knees give out.”
We walk briskly down the hall, turning a corner into a quiet alcove, and Luke shoves me into a supply closet.
The door clicks shut, plunging us into total darkness.
For a second, the only sound is our breathing—heavy, ragged. The air in here smells like rubbing alcohol and cotton gauze.
I slide down the wall until I hit the floor, burying my face in my hands. The adrenaline dump hits me like a freight train. My hands are shaking.
“York,” Luke’s voice is soft. I feel him slide down next to me.
“I hate this,” I mumble into my palms. “I hate storms. I hate feelings. I want a martini and a climate-controlled environment.”
“You were amazing.”
I lift my head. My eyes have adjusted to the gloom enoughto see Luke’s profile. He’s looking at me, and the expression on his face stops my heart dead in its chest.
He looks… impressed. No, more than that. He looksproud.
“I just lied to him,” I deflect. “I told him my dad would sue the ocean.”
“You met him where he was,” Luke corrects. He shifts, his knee bumping mine. “Evans wanted to fight the psychosis. You joined it and steered it. That’s not medicine, Preston. That’s… that’s a gift.”
He reaches out and touches my arm. His hand is warm, his thumb brushing against the damp fabric of my sleeve. The touch burns.
“You’re good at this,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “I know you’re doing this for spite, or whatever you say, but… you belong here.”
I stare at him. The heat in the closet is stifling, but I’m shivering.
“Luke,” I breathe.
He leans in. Just an inch. But in the dark, it feels like a mile. The air between us charges with static electricity that has nothing to do with the storm. I can smell him—rain, soap, and something uniquelyLuke.
I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so bad it makes my teeth ache. I lean forward, closing the gap, my eyes fluttering shut.
BAM!
The door flies open, flooding the closet with blinding emergency light.
“HA!”
We scramble apart like teenagers caught making out in a basement. I smack my head against a shelf of saline bags. Luke tries to stand up and trips over a mop bucket.
Dr. Jackson O'Connell stands in the doorway, holding aflashlight under his chin like he’s telling a ghost story. He’s grinning like a maniac.
