"Okay, stay there," I say, opening my door. "I'm on my way."
I zoom out of the parking lot, taking the corner too fast, tires screeching.
My heart pounds in my chest as I drive, knuckles white on the wheel. The dashboard clock reads 10:17pm. A tournament night, and I'm running away from it like the building's on fire.
For her.
Traffic lights blur past in streaks of red and green. I weave between cars, earning honks and shouts.
Is she okay?
The question pounds in my head with each heartbeat. Two weeks of radio silence, and now she just walks back into her apartment like nothing happened? Nah, fuck that. Something's wrong.
My mind cycles through possibilities, each worse than the last. Maybe she's hurt. Maybe she's running from something, or someone. The thought of someone putting their hands on her makes something deadly stir in me.
I slam on the brakes at a red light, nearly rear-ending a minivan. The soccer mom inside gives me a death glare.
Where the fuck did you go, Lyra?I think to myself, drumming my fingers against the wheel waiting for the light to hurry up and change.
Maybe she just needed space after that kiss. The memory of her lips on mine flashes back, the surprise, the heat, the way she looked like she'd been burned.
Green, finally. I punch the gas.
My heart pounds in my chest as I drive.
But two weeks? Without a word?
No. This isn't about the kiss.
I take a sharp left onto her street, checking the time again. 10:28.
And the worst part? The part that's eating me alive? I care too much. Way too fucking much. For a nurse. For an employee.
For a woman who clearly doesn't want anything to do with me.
So why am I racing across Boston like my life depends on it?
Why the hell does it feel like she took something from me when she left?
The answer doesn't come, but something else does; a realization that hits me like a fist to the gut.
I'm not just worried about her.
I'm scared.
Scared of what might have happened to her. Scared of what I'll do if someone hurt her. Scared of what I'll say when I see her face.
Scared of how much I need to know she's okay.
I slow as I approach her building, scanning the street. There, Henry's black sedan. I park crooked, blocking a hydrant.
Henry comes up to me. "She's still inside; she hasn't left."
I nod. "Stay here."
I take the stairs two at a time. My chest tightens.
Anger, relief, confusion, all of it a toxic cocktail burning through my veins.
