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Like it means nothing.
Like with a single sentence, he didn’t just confirm a miracle.
My gaze lifts to where Jeremy Montgomery stands in the open doorway, chin lowered to his chest, lashes fanning over his cheeks, hiding his eyes. His hair looks more silver than white, washed out in the dim lighting. It’s a mess too, like he’s been running his fingers through it.
I’m standing before I even realize what I’m doing, hands balled at my sides.
On the outside, there’s no indication he even notices I’m here.
But I feel it.
The rising tension.
The pointedness to his avoidance of me.
Despite the hushed murmurings coming from where Will and Waylon embrace off to the side, the silence grows more and more deafening with each passing second. Almost painful—like that pressure right before your ears pop.
Except…the pop never comes.
I feel eyes on me—Shawn. Ivy.
But I only have eyes for him.
Jeremy.
Without a word, he abruptly turns around and disappears the way he came, bolting out of sight.
Chuck—one of our roadies who’s been guarding the door, ensuring only hospital personnel are permitted inside—glances in the room with a frown just as he goes to shut it.
I don’t let him.
“Mason?” a worried voice calls after me.
Not looking back at whoever spoke, I mutter something along the lines of, “Be right back.” And then I’m shouldering past Chuck and stumbling into the hall, the noise and lights and nurses bustling about momentarily blinding me, heightening the pressure squeezing my skull.
Time does that thing again—slowing, slowing, slowing…
I swing my head both ways, my body feeling strange, like it’s no longer a part of me.
There.
I catch sight of him at the far end of the hallway, just as he disappears around the corner, and with a sharp hitch of breath, I hurry after him.
The carpet quickly gives way to linoleum as my boots eat up the distance separating us.
I pass by the nurse’s station. Breeze past open doorways to patient rooms.
Low monotonous beeping.
The whirring of machines.
Muffled television chatter.
It all spikes and fades, spikes and fades, not unlike the thudding of my steps, my heart, and the echoing clock I can’t seem to shake, ticking down the seconds to…
To what?
I round the corner, and jolt to a stop.
