The kindness in his offer pierces through my panic.Thisis the version of Dillon I used to know. The sober one, at least. The one who once stayed up all night with me, rubbing circles into my back while I cried over things that felt like the end of the world.
The realization is bittersweet. For all the ways we broke, for all the ways we had to step back from each other, I can see he’s found his way back to himself.
And that means more than I can put into words.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words seeming inadequate.
My mind races ahead to Callan and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, the stubborn cowlick in his hair that never stays put. The thought that I might never see those details again makes me physically ill.
“There’s a flight in three hours,” Dillon says, his voice breaking through my spiraling thoughts. “If we leave now, you’ll make it.”
His words are meant to be reassuring, but all I can think is… What if I’m already too late?
thirty-four
CALLAN
My boots fill with water. The helmet that saved my skull fills as well, threatening to drown me. Instinct kicks in, and I claw at the strap with numb fingers. I manage to wrench the buckle free. The helmet peels away, and I break the surface with a desperate gasp that’s half water, half air.
The current is merciless, battering me against rocks that materialize out of nowhere in the churning foam. Every impact is a new explosion of pain. I catch a flash of the shore, the middle of the surging river, and the sky. All whirl past in a dizzying blur.
“Swim, you idiot,” I growl to myself, fighting against the weight of my waterlogged jacket.
My arms are leaden as I try to cut through the water, but the river’s too angry. Every time I think I’m making progress toward the bank, the current yanks me back into its grip. My lungs burn. My muscles scream. The cold seeps into my bones, making every movement more sluggish.
As I fight against the current, half drowning and fully regretting every decision that led me here, my brain choosesthis moment to remind me that I amnotbuilt for this. I am not some rugged survivalist. I am not the kind of man who wrestles nature into submission.
And yet, here I am.
A massive branch rushes past, missing my head by inches. That would’ve been it. Game over.
I’m not ready to die, damn it.
I kick harder, arms windmilling against the current. For one glorious moment I make headway, until my shoulder slams into a submerged boulder. The impact spins me sideways, and before I can recover, I’m sucked into a swirling pocket between rocks.
The water closes over my head again, a roaring silence that drowns out everything but my own heartbeat in my ears. Down here, the river has a different voice. A muffled, hollow roar that vibrates through my bones.
My lungs scream for oxygen, every cell in my body demanding what I can’t give them. I fight the instinct to inhale, knowing it’ll mean death. Instead, I focus on the pale glow of sunlight filtered through water and claw my way toward it. With one final surge of desperate strength, I break the surface and grab tree roots that hang like gnarled fingers from the eroded bank. The twisted, mud-slick lifelines are salvation in my hands. I cling to them, gasping and choking up river water that burns its way back out of my lungs.
For several moments, I hang there, every muscle trembling with chilled exhaustion. The roots creak ominously, threatening to give way under my waterlogged weight. I need to pull myself up, but my arms feel disconnected from my brain’s commands.
“Move,” I rasp to myself. “Fuckingmove.”
Agonizing pain radiates through my side where somethinghas surely been broken, or worse. Each breath is a losing battle, but I refuse to stop.
I test one of the thicker roots, wrapping my fingers around its rough surface. It holds. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my shoulder, I haul myself up an inch, then another. I try to find my footing butfuck. A searing, burning pain tears through my thigh, hot enough to steal my breath. My teeth grind against the scream scraping at my throat, and I force myself to push past it. It’s not like I have any other choice.
Every motion sends jolts of pain ricocheting through my skull. Blood drips into my eyes, turning the world into a blur of red. I take the chance to wipe at it with a shaking hand, only to realize it’s already coated in the stuff. It’s everywhere, running down my face, soaking into my clothes, smearing with the dirt I’m dragging myself through.
Inch by agonizing inch, I claw at the ground, digging my fingers into the wet earth until, finally, my body collapses onto the bank.
The gash in my side throbs in time with my heartbeat, blood pouring freely now. I press my hand to it, but my fingers are too weak to stop the flow.
My eyes grow heavy, the edges of my vision blurring into darkness. The pain dulls, replaced by an eerie stillness. I know I should fight it, but the weight dragging me under is too strong.
And yet, through the haze, one thought cuts through with startling clarity.
Bree is going to be pissed if I die.
