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I crack my eyes open, but I already know.
He’s gone.
I felt it the second he walked away…
The second my heart gave up.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
SKYLER
Iwatch the sun rise across my ceiling—the shadows slinking away, gathering into the far corners of the room, where the light streaming in from the window can’t reach.
It’s been a long night…
And yet, all I have to do is close my eyes, and I’m back on that graveled walkway, kissing Nolan in the rain and listening to promises I know in my soul he won’t be able to keep.
The pit in my chest sinks deeper, so deep, its claws anchor me to the bed. I didn’t even bother to change last night. It’s damp under me, where my clothes have soaked into the covers, and smells of must.
Of rain.
Of Nolan.
Turning my head, I stare directly into the golden sun peeking in from between the curtains. The burn feeds the ache weighing my bones down.
Somewhere, distantly, I hear an airhorn alerting to a boat’s departure.
First light.
I sit up suddenly, my lungs heaving, mouth parted and neck straining.
I clutch my stomach, my chest—patting around, feeling for the gaping wounds that aren’t there.
Jumping out of bed, I pull at the fabric of my shirt, looking around wildly. My vision blurs and I shake my head.
No. Nonononono.
He can’t leave me.
Not now. Not when I—
Before I can think better of it, I throw my door open and run for the stairs, bypassing the elevators. I’m vaguely aware I’m barefoot. My flip flops must’ve slipped off at some point during the night. Or maybe I kicked them off. I don’t know.
I hear a door open, and someone call out in concern. But it’s just noise.
So much noise…
The echo of the airhorn the loudest of all, and the only thing I focus on in my mad, scrambled dash to get downstairs.
Air whistles in and out of my lungs—my heart racing so fast, it’ll be a miracle if I get to him before it quits completely.
More voices call out, and there are eyes coming from seemingly everywhere. Workers mostly—has to be; it’s too early for most of the patients to be up and about.
Electricity sizzles in my veins, making my movements feel too jerky and fast—like I’m glitching out. I can barely get my hand around the handle of the first Exit door I see.
It won’t budge, and I shake it, gritted sounds of frustration crawling up from my throat.
Through my tears, I spot my bracelet, and shake my head, quickly lifting it to the reader.
