A distant blast of a French horn. That was Jeremy’s text notification, unique and unmistakable. He’d been here and dropped his phone? Where was it? How had he not noticed? She headed in the direction she thought it had come from, around the back of the science building. She tapped out another message.
Testing.
The sound came again. Nearer, maybe. And then there was another sound. A gulping, whimpering sound, and then…a sort-of canine whine. Lucy scanned the back of the science building, the ground at the base of the building, and texted the same word again as she headed toward the inclined sidewalk. The notification sound was close now. As was that strange faint whining.
He sat against a tree wearing a yellow T-shirt and jeans, his arms around his knees, about thirty feet from the walkway. His head was bowed, but those hulking shoulders made him easily distinguished from any other male on campus. Lucy’s pulse sped up. She sprinted to him and dropped to her knees in front of him.
“Jeremy? What happened? Are you hurt? Are you sick?”
Another little whine came…from him. She set her hand on his arm, and he looked up at her, his eyes glassy.
“Lucy,” he whispered.
“Hey, I’m here. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I can’t get—get away from the—the scent, it’s so—so much—so much blood.”
The choppy echo in his speech sent her adrenaline up another notch. Must be a panic attack. She drew a deep breath and smelled nothing but sweet blossoms in the flower beds across the way. And him, gamey with notes of sage and sweat.
“I don’t smell blood.” She rubbed his arm, took his hand in hers.
“I can’t—I can’t—I can’t get away from it—and no peppermint.”
“Um, what?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s stand up and walk away from the science building, in case somehow you’re actually smelling blood from when somebody got cut earlier.”
“Got—got cut?”
He turned gray. She’d said the wrong thing. Shoot, if he passed out, she’d have to leave him to get help. She had to calm him somehow.
She scooted closer and wrapped him in her arms. “Can we stand up and go for a walk? Can you do that?”
“Is the person—is okay—that got cut?”
“Yes. Completely. Just a little scratch. Come on, babe.”
She helped him up, no small feat of balance and lifting with her legs. Jeremy Freeman was a colossus of solid muscle. He shuddered as he leaned on her. Once they were upright, she took a portion of his weight. She shepherded him to the sidewalk, then set out toward the assembly hall and the campus commuter lot.
The farther they shuffled from the science building, the deeper his breaths became. At last he stopped walking, blinked a few times, and stepped back from her support.
“I’m okay,” he said.
A long sigh left her. Now that he no longer trembled, her own knees weakened. She sat down in the grass next to the walkway, and he joined her.
“You okay?” he said.
“Yeah, just…I was worried for you.”
“Sorry you saw that.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Wow, this sucks. No one was supposed to see it, much less…”
“Much less me?”
His words were like a pin poking her chest. Maybe the closeness she felt budding between them was all in her head. Maybe Jeremy was one of those serial daters who kept a girl no longer than one semester. That’s not how they felt together, not at all, and she wasn’t usually so far off at reading people.…
He was nodding though.
“Oh,” she said. “Well…why? Because we’re just casual?”
Two candles snuffed in his eyes. He looked down. “I guess so.”
