“Are you hurt anywhere else? Talk to me, baby.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My lips move, but there’s no sound.
All of this craziness—the last few days. First the stalker. Then the break-in. The messages. The cartel. Being chased on the highway. Journey disappearing into the night with guns and no explanation, and now this. It’s too much.
Shaking my head, the thought crashes through me like a wave, and everything goes numb.
I just… I can’t do this anymore.
I’m sitting in the back of an ambulance with my legs hanging over the edge, a thin emergency blanket draped around my shoulders that I don’t remember anyone putting there. The paramedic, a woman with kind eyes and a soothing voice, just finished cleaning the cut on my cheek and applied a small butterfly bandage.
“It’s shallow,” she says, tilting my chin to examine her work. “Shouldn’t scar.”
I nod because that’s what you do when someone tells you that you’re fine. You nod. Even when you don’t feel fine. Even whenyou feel like you’re unraveling thread by thread and there’s nothing left to hold you together.
The apartment building is swarming with cops. Two cruisers are parked at the curb with their lights still spinning. I can see officers moving in and out of the entrance, and somewhere inside, I know Amy Morris is in handcuffs.
At least, I think she is. I don’t really remember much after Journey pulled me off the floor.
The crunch of gravel pulls my attention, and I look up to see Journey crossing the parking lot toward me. There’s drywall dust on his boots, and a scratch on his forearm that he hasn’t bothered to clean. His jaw is set in a hard line like he’s pissed at the world, but his eyes show the fear he’s trying to hide.
He stops in front of me, his hands hanging at his sides like he’s not sure if he should touch me. “Cops released your apartment,” he says, his voice rough. “But I think we should stay at my place tonight.”
I stare at the pavement between his boots.
“June?”
“I can’t do this anymore.” The words come out hollow, but I force myself to look up and immediately wish I hadn’t. The hurt that flashes across his face is raw, and it nearly breaks me. His brows pull together, and his throat bobs as he swallows.
“What do you mean?” he asks carefully.
“This.” I gesture weakly at everything. The ambulance. The cops. The building. Him. “All of this. It’s only been a few days, and someone just tried to shoot me in the face.” My voice cracks, andI press the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I can’t—I can’t keep up, Journey. I feel like I’m drowning.”
“Baby—”
“June!” Brooklyn’s voice cuts through the night, and I drop my hands to see her sprinting across the parking lot, her purple hair flying behind her.
She skids to a halt in front of the ambulance, her green eyes going wide when she sees the bandage on my cheek. “Oh my God.” Her hands fly to my face, tilting my chin to get a better look. “Are you okay? What happened? Stella called me and said someone—” She sucks in a breath. “Was it the stalker? Did he come back?”
“No,” I whisper. “It was something else.”
Brooklyn’s worried eyes dart between me and Journey, and I can see her piecing together what’s happening here. The distance between us, the look on my face, the devastation on his.
Her brows knit together as understanding dawns.
Journey steps forward, his voice tight. “June, don’t do this.”
My chin starts to tremble, and I press my lips together to stop it. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” He shakes his head, dragging a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “You’re sorry? I just—” He stops himself, his chest rising and falling. When he speaks again, his voice is determined. “I’ll fix this. Whatever you need, I’ll fix it.”
The tears I’ve been fighting spill over, running hot down my cheeks and stinging the cut. “I just need some time. I need to breathe. I need to think. Everything is happening so fast.”
Brooklyn is looking between us with eyes the size of dinner plates.
I turn to her, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Can I stay with you for a little while?”
Brooklyn’s mouth opens. Then closes. She blinks, glances at Journey, then back at me. “I—yeah.” She clears her throat. “Yeah, of course. You know you can.”
