Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“I can’t find her.” The words tumble out too fast. “I’ve looked everywhere—her room, the whole house. She’s just…gone.”
Raven’s face drains of color. “No. She wouldn’t just—”
But she’s already moving, brushing past Vinnie into the hall.
The three of us split up, tearing through the house. Raven calls her phone. No answer. Vinnie checks the garage, the driveway, even the small stretch of dirt road that leads to the property line.
I retrace my steps, opening every door, calling her name until my voice is raw. The warm air presses close, thick with the scent of lemon polish and something sharper—my own sweat, maybe, or the tang of fear in my mouth.
Every empty room ratchets the tension higher. The quiet starts to feel wrong, like the whole house is holding its breath.
When I circle back to her bedroom, something catches my eye—a desk drawer slightly opened.
My pulse spikes.
I cross the room in three quick steps and pull it open.
A single folded piece of paper sits inside.
For a moment I just stare at it, my heart thudding so hard I can hear the blood in my ears.
Then I reach for it. My fingers tremble.
The paper is light in my hand, but it might as well weigh a ton.
I unfold it slowly, almost afraid of what I’ll see.
It’s from her printer, a basic font.
I’m sorry. Thank you for everything, but I have to go.
I blink.
What?
No.
I’ve imagined all this.
Belinda would never leave Vinnie and Raven. She’d never leave me.
But she did.
Belinda has run away.
The note blurs as my eyes sting. My knees feel unsteady, the edges of the room hazing like I’m going to pass out.
Somewhere behind me, Raven is calling her name again, her voice breaking now. Vinnie’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall.
But all I can hear is the steady, brutal pounding of my own heart. And in my head, the sound of Hawk’s voicemail greeting.
He’s not picking up.
And Belinda is gone.
41
HAWK
I screech into the hospital parking lot and toss my key fob to the valet attendant with nothing more than a nod. He can get my license plate number. Right now I have to get to Eagle.
I make my way to the fifth floor.
Falcon stands outside Eagle’s room, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight. Savannah is next to him.
“How is he?” My voice comes out rough.
“Better.” Falcon’s jaw ticks. “Stable. Docs think he’s going to make it.”
I breathe. It doesn’t help much.
“Anybody else know?” I ask.
“No.” He shakes his head. “He asked to see you first. After that, I’ll call Mom. Then everyone else.”
“You called me before Mom?” I shake my head. “She’ll never forgive you for that.”
“I did what Eagle asked.” Falcon sighs. “It felt all wrong, but he was adamant.”
Savannah touches Falcon’s arm. “Give them some time,” she says, her voice soft.
Falcon looks back at me. “I think he wants to apologize to you.”
I stare at the little window in the door. The silhouette in the bed. Tubes. Lines. Too still. “I need to apologize to him,” I say.
Falcon cocks his head. “To him? Why?”
“Later.” I push the door open and step into the room.
Eagle looks the same except that his eyes are now open. That’s new.
Bruises bloom at the crook of his elbow. There’s a dressing on his forearm, fresh, the edges clean. Another bit of tape on his shoulder.
I stand there and let the guilt choke me for a second. It’s easier than walking forward. Then I do the thing I came to do.
“Hey.” I keep my voice low. “Eagle.”
His eyelids open wider. Not all the way.
“Hey,” I say again. I stop closer, my hand on the rail. “It’s me.”
He grimaces. It could be a smile if you squint. “Hawk.” His voice is dry as the desert.
“Yeah.” I reach for the cup on the tray, the one with the stupid bendy straw. “You want water?”
He nods. I lift the straw to his mouth.
When he’s done, he lets his head roll back. The monitor bumps up but then settles.
“The docs say you’re stable,” I say. “You scared the shit out of me, Eagle. Out of everyone.”
He breathes slow, eyes half-closed. “I hate hospitals.”
“Me too.”
He tries to talk. I lift a hand. “Me first.”
He shuts his mouth. Waits.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out fast, low, like I’m afraid they’ll run away if I don’t catch them quick. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up the phone that night. You called me. You were going through something and I wasn’t there. And then—” I look at the bandage on his arm. The IV in the back of his hand. “And I didn’t answer the door. Then all that coke was sitting right there in my car. Like a dare. Like I set the table and walked away. I set you up to fail. That’s on me. I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Yeah,” I push. “You chose to relapse. I get that. That’s yours. But I should’ve been there to keep you from making that choice in the first place. I should’ve answered. I should’ve—”