“What?!”
A deep, grumbly voice rumbles in the background. “This better be fucking good.”
“I think something’s wrong with Keoni.”
“Where are you going?” Ronan, I assume, asks.
“Where are you, Ayden?” Cal asks.
“I’m running toward your cabin.”
“I’ll come get you.”
“No.” Ronan’s voice is forceful, leaving no room for argument. Then, after a shriek from Calista, he says directly into the phone, “Where are you? We have two two-person vehicles. If anyone’s going anywhere with you, it’s me.”
In less than ten minutes, I’m buckling into a red Mustang and fighting not to black out. I’m so sick with worry.
Ronan’s squished in the driver’s seat, and within seconds, we’re out of Sapphire Valley, barreling toward the hospital.
I search news articles on my phone and quickly find reports: A fire at the only hotel in town. One critically hurt, two people missing. No details on who was injured or missing. My entire body shakes, and I’m silently grateful that Ronan isn’t talking. If Calista had been driving, she would’ve tried to make conversation, and I just… can’t.
Ronan drops me off at the hospital the reports say received the injured. Seeing a firetruck parked off to the side gives me a sliver of hope.
“I’ll be back with Cal,” Ronan says before speeding off.
I spin on my heels and rush into the bright-white waiting room. The oval desk in the center is what I slam into, bypassing the two people waiting in line.
“Hey!” one of them shouts.
“I’m looking for Keoni Pierce.” The woman at the desk that has two other women and a man standing around her, peers up at me. “Please, is he here? Was he admitted?”
“Sir, I apologize but you’ll need to wait like?—”
“Just tell me if he was admitted. He’s a firefighter—that’s likely his squad’s firetruck outside.”
The devastated look on her face makes my legs shake.
“Go down the hall. There’s a separate room on the left. C2. It’s for the families.”
I push off and rush through the metal doors that buzz open. One sharp turn, and I see the room.
Nothing in me is ready to see nearly ten people huddle over themselves, crying, or pacing back and forth.
I shove my phone into my pocket and step through the threshold. Heads turn, but any small relief vanishes when they see a man in pajama pants and an oversized sweater—not a doctor.
I don’t recognize anyone. Instant anxiety grips me, and I step back. I’m going to demand they tell me where Keoni is. Fuck waiting.
“Hey.”
A male voice pulls me from the brink of spiraling into a shadowy, numb place. I look up at brown eyes framed by wrinkles, and dark ebony skin contrasted by short, gray curls.
“Who’re you looking for?”
Swallowing hard, I clutch to Keo’s sweater like it’s my lifeline.
“Keoni Pierce.”
He nods. “You’re in the right room, son.”
