Grunts and threats and desperation clogging my throat.
A gunshot.
Always the sound of a gunshot.
It reverberates up my forearms and singes every nerve.
Fuckin A.
My heart hammers painfully, my vision blurring.
She’s still screaming.
Sawyer.
No.
Not again.
“Tremblay.”
I blink several times, then slowly shift upright, once again seeing clearly.
Eden and Noah are both twisted around in their seats, their gazes darting from me to Sawyer then back to her again.
Pain grips my knee.
No—not pain.
A hand.
I drop my head, and an instant later, it’s gone.
“I’m sorry,” Eden says. “You weren’t responding. Like you were locked in your head. I didn’t mean to grab you. I didn’t want to hurt you. Just trying to get you to snap out of it.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod once.
“The sound—”
“It was just a car backfiring,” Noah assures me, horror etched on his face. He’s grasping Sawyer’s hand, trying to calm her, but she’s locked up, too.
He can’t get through to her. Not when she’s like this. But I can.
“I’ve got her.” I scoop up my girl and pull her into my lap.
Her body spasms as she sobs, her chest heaving with so much force I’m worried she’ll hyperventilate.
With a deep breath in, I press my forehead to hers.
“Shh, baby. It’s okay. It was a car. You’re safe. It was a car backfiring. Just a car.”
The tremors slow subtly, giving me hope she heard me. Despite the way my instincts scream at me to sit up and let go, I hold her tighter.
“I’ve got you, mon ange. You’re okay,” I tell her again. Then, on a choked whisper, I add, “We’re okay, baby. We’re going to be okay.”
Silence falls.
Sawyer sniffles, then hiccups.
