We circle the town twice. The bookstore, the square, the grocery store parking lot. Nothing. Her phone is still off.
It feels like hours before Beau’s phone finally buzzes. He jerks it off the console, thumb swiping so fast he nearly drops it.
“Hello?” His voice is desperate, rough.
Relief surges the second I hear Norah’s voice. “Beau, it’s me.”
“Where the hell are you?” His voice cracks, and he glances at me and Simon, eyes wide.
“Put it on speaker,” I bark, my chest heaving.
He fumbles but taps it, and her voice fills the cab. “I’m with Wren.”
My lungs seize. Thank god. “Where?” Simon demands, his tone sharp enough to cut.
“We’re at the Fernbridge trail,” she says.
I blink. “The trail? At night?”
“What the hell are you doing out there?” Beau growls.
“She called me,” Norah says firmly, her voice calm in a way that sets my nerves even more on edge. “She needed me. I’m with her now. She’s safe.”
“Safe how?” I ask, my voice low, my throat dry. “Is she hurt? Sick? Tell me what’s going on.”
Norah exhales. “She’s not hurt. She’s… overwhelmed. There’s something she needed to talk about, and I’m helping her through it. That’s all I can tell you for now.”
“That’s not good enough,” Simon snaps. He’s leaning forward between the seats, his glasses slipping down his nose. “She disappears from dinner without a word, won’t answer her phone, and you want us just to take your word that she’s fine?”
“Yes,” Norah says simply. “Because she asked me to handle this. And I am. But,” her voice softens, “you should come. She’ll need you. Don’t push. Not tonight.”
I close my eyes, relief mixing with frustration. She’s alive. She’s safe. But my gut still twists because something’s wrong, something she couldn’t even tell us.
Beau looks at me, then at Simon. His voice is ragged when he asks, “What the hell do we do?”
Simon exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We go. We wait. We listen. Whatever it is, she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
My hands clench on my knees. It goes against every instinct in me not to demand answers, not to tear through the trail right this second until I have her in my arms. But Norah’s words replay in my head.Don’t push.
I nod slowly. “Drive, Beau.”
He slams his foot on the gas. Gravel spits from the tires as we head toward Fernbridge.
All I can think is that when I see her—when I finally lay eyes on her—I’m not letting her out of my sight again.
The truck’s headlights sweep over the gravel pull-off at Fernbridge Trail. My chest is so tight it feels like it might crack. And then I see her.
She’s standing beside Norah’s car, swallowed up in an oversized sweater I recognize instantly as Norah’s, her curls pulled back messily like she didn’t care what she looked like.
Even from this distance, I know she’s been crying. Her cheeks are blotchy, her lips bitten raw. My heart twists so violently I nearly double over.
We barely kill the engine before all three of us are climbing out. Norah catches our eyes, holding her hands up. “I’ll give you a minute,” she says quietly, and she slides into her car, shutting the door behind her.
The sound of her engine starting fades into the night, leaving only the three of us and Wren under the beam of Beau’sheadlights, surrounded by the rustle of trees and the faint rush of the creek down below.
I don’t even think. My boots crunch over gravel until I’m in front of her, reaching for her arms.
“Baby,” I rasp, my voice breaking. “What is going on? Why did you run?”
