What if she needs me? What if she wants to leave but can’t? What if she’s trapped by guilt and the old instincts he’s spent years learning how to provoke?
“That’s it.” My sudden announcement startles Mixie, her head popping up from her paws. “I’m going after her.”
The cat blinks slowly, tail twitching once before she resettles.
I grab my jacket from the hook by the door and check the pockets for my wallet.
I pull up her contact on my phone, and my thumb hovers over her name. My chest constricts. I should call first and ask if she’s okay. But what ifheanswers? What if I interrupt a critical moment? What if she thinks I don’t trust her?
I close her contact without calling and pull up an app for a rideshare instead. The pop-up tells me to expect my driver to arrive in fifteen minutes.
I pace through the cottage again, unable to sit, unable to stand still. Mixie watches from her perch on the couch, tail swishing back and forth in judgment.
“I’m just going to check on her.” I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. “Make sure she’s okay.”
At ten forty-three, headlights sweep across the front window.
The cab.
I step onto the porch, locking the door behind me. Mixie jumps up to sit in the windowsill, the living room light casting her in silhouette.
“I’ll bring her home,” I promise the cat, my breath clouding in the cold air.
The cab idles at the curb, exhaust curling around its tires. Rain has started again, the fine mist beading on my jacket. I slide into the back seat, the door thudding closed with finality.
“Pine Street Hospital,” I confirm to the driver.
As we pull away, Emily’s cottage recedesthrough the rearview window, warm lights glowing through rain-streaked glass.
The cab turns onto the main road, wipers working as the drizzle thickens into steady rain. With each mile, my pulse quickens, a current of anticipation and dread running beneath my skin.
I’m not sure what I’ll find at the hospital. I’m not sure what I’ll say when I see her. But I can’t keep sitting around, imagining the worst while trying to hope for the best.
The streets blur past, and my fingers tap on my knee with impatience.
I tell myself I’m just checking on her. But the knot in my gut suggests otherwise.
The cab pulls away, tires splashing through shallow puddles as I stand under the hospital’s covered walkway. Rain drums on the metal awning, the sound merging with the distant rumble of thunder.
The parking lot stretches before me, asphalt black and shining under flickering street lights. Emily’s truck sits in the first row, wipers frozen mid-swipe as if she was in too much of a rush to reach Auren to bother turning them off.
I pull my collar higher to block out the chill, thefabric damp against my neck. The hospital’s automatic doors hiss open and closed as visitors exit into the night, their faces drawn with worry or relief.
None of them are Emily.
My phone shows eleven-oh-two. How long should I wait? What will I say when she emerges? The questions circle through my mind on an endless loop.
A security guard passes by, radio crackling at his hip. He gives me a quick once-over before continuing his patrol, keys jingling with each step.
The rain intensifies, hitting the awning in sheets now. Water cascades from the edge in a curtain, isolating the covered walkway from the parking lot. The cold seeps through my jacket, settling in my bones. I stamp my feet to keep the blood flowing, breath clouding in front of me.
I check my phone again. Eleven fifty-three.
The automatic doors slide open, and I turn toward the sound, muscles tightening in anticipation.
Emily steps out first, her silver hair catching the harsh overhead light.
My heart leaps, and I start forward, but then she pauses, her body angled backward, and I notice the leather satchel she clasps in one hand.
