“Oh. And the tall guy from 6B just walked through here with what looked like bloody knuckles.”
My smile dies.
He tilts his head, considering me. Then lowers his voice a notch. “Didn’t hear it from me.”
I keep walking, but something in his tone makes me stop.
I turn back. “Sorry—what?”
He squints, as if replaying the image. “Yeah, he speed-walked right through here, muttering to whoever he was on the phone with about heading to emerg.”
My skin goes cold.
6B.
My thoughts spiral, and suddenly I can hear it again—the sound from last night.
Oh God.
Somethingdidhappen. And it’s my fault.
“I—uh—thanks, Chester,” I say, already backing toward the doors.
He frowns. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” I lie, pushing them open. “Totally.”
I’m halfway outside before I remember to call back, “Bye, Chester!”
Then I’m gone, heart racing, the morning suddenly way too bright.
I know this is my fault.
Ugh. I need to at least check on him, right? Or apologize? Say thank you?
I quickly dial Ashton.
She answers on the first ring. “Ashton’s House of Self-Loathing, how may I direct your shame?”
“I’m gonna be late.” I pant as I sprint toward the crosswalk. Why are these blocks so damn long?
She groans. “How late?”
“Just… late.” I pick up speed and nearly collide with a pedestrian holding his phone toward the sky, as if he just discovered he can take pictures with it.
“Why are you out of breath? Did you start exercising again?”
“Not funny, Ashton.” I push past a slow walker. “I’ll be, like, thirty minutes. Tops. I just have to check something.”
“Your blood pressure?
“Bye!”
“Wait—don’t forget about the noon delivery?—”
“Yeah, yeah!” I hang up and mutter to myself, “I’ll be back on time. Probably.”
Order? What order?
