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“Where do we need to go?” Skyler says.
“Hospital.”
“Will you be able to give me directions as I drive, or do I need to plug it into the GPS?”
“I can dr—”
“I’m driving.”
My gaze flies to his at his hard tone. His mouth is thinned out into a white, bloodless line, his eyes round with worry and something else I can’t name—something I’m too afraid to acknowledge.
“She said she’s alive,” I whisper.
He inhales deeply, nodding. “Then focus on that.”
Forcing a hard swallow, I nod.
He glances around, and then gives me a little shove. “Sit there, and I’ll get our clothes.”
I do as he says, dropping my face in my hands.
His footsteps grow faint, and I squeeze my eyes shut, digging the heels of my palms in my cheeks.
Please. Please let her be okay.
CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
SKYLER
Nolan’s flying out of the passenger door before I can so much as finish shifting into park. The truck jolts and I suck in a sharp breath, quickly turning off the engine, before scrambling out after him.
By some stroke of luck—or the fact it’s a Sunday night, in a small town—parking was a non-issue. I even managed to find a cluster of empty spots near the ER entrance, ensuring I had enough room to squeeze this beast in without clipping anyone or anything in my haste.
Thank whoever might be watching over us right now, that his truck’s an automatic, or there’s no way I would’ve been able to drive him here. Still, it was not easy. It’s like driving a tank.
The sliding glass doors open for Nolan just as I catch up to him, a cacophony of sound assaulting my ears—chatter, footsteps, beeping, an intercom clicking on.
I cup my ears briefly, shaking my head.
Focus.
Nolan’s head swings around, and then he’s on the move, all but charging through a group of people, some of whom are dressed in street clothes, and others in blue scrubs.
Keeping my gaze lasered in on Nolan’s back, I mutter shaky apologies andexcuse me’sas we pass by, feeling the raking stares, the curious fleeting glances.
It’s not eventhatbusy, but it’s a new place for me—new and unexpected—and it’s tripping me up. I don’t know any of these people. I can’t keep up with all the new sounds.
Not to mention the anxiety coursing through my veins. I don’t even know Abby—not really—but I feel Nolan’s terror as if it was my own. My body quakes from it; my stomach clenching around hollow nothingness. It feels like neither of us have shared a breath since the one we shared between our lips in his kitchen.
Somehow, in his shocked state, he was able to remember to turn off the oven. I sure didn’t. All I could focus on was getting him to the hospital.
“Mel!” he calls out, pulling me from my head. His steps quicken, and I hurry to keep up, my head downturned. The floor seems to pulse with each step I take, mingling with the noise in my ears.
The vinyl gives way to thin burgundy carpet flecked with beige.
“I’m s-so sorry,” I hear a female voice choke out.
“What happened?”
