Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dex
Sayla’s gone.
I probably missed her by less than a minute, and I can’t believe I wasted any time believing she was in the bathroom. When I finally went to check on her, the locker rooms were empty.
The question now is: Where did she go?
Panic is a fist around my throat, and I try her phone, but she doesn’t answer. Maybe her battery’s already dead. Or …
No. Stop, Dex. Don't go there.
I’m about to call Gordon, but he bursts into the weight room, shaking himself off like a wet dog.
“Did you see Sayla?” I grind out.
He pulls off his hood. “She’s not with you?” We both go quiet, listening to the howl of the storm outside. I will myself not to think the worst, replaying her words in my head. She was so calm, trying to soothe me.
We’ll be fine, she said. But my heart thrashes against the cage of my ribs.
I don't believe me.
And this is why letting myself care this much for Sayla was a colossal mistake.
I knew that. I had safeguards up around my heart.
But I let it happen anyway. Still, I can’t rewind time now and un-fall in love with the woman.
All I can do is find her. Then, once I'm sure she’s safe, I’ll deal with the fact that I never want to feel like this again.
I’m not built for scared and helpless.
“Maybe she went to check the theater,” Gordon says.
“Good. Yes. You’re probably right.”
“I didn’t want to worry her.” He grimaces. “But that’s where the trees were coming down.”
“Then I’ve got to go,” I say through clenched teeth. “You stay here in case she comes back. Call me immediately.”
“Will do.” Gordon meets my gaze and nods. But he doesn’t try to claim she’ll be fine, and for that I’m grateful.
I take off into the storm, and the world is so dark now, I can barely see a few yards ahead of me. I practically trip over the roots of an enormous oak tree that’s toppled into the side of the theater.
My heart races as I step inside. A good portion of the roof is gone, and a jagged mouth of sky yawns above the stage.
Wind shrieks through the hole as rain pours in like a busted pipe.
The curtain hangs crooked. The seats in the first few rows are drenched, covered in crumbled ceiling tiles and pink insulation.
I splash across the flooded carpet backstage, heart hammering.
I call out for Sayla. No reply.
She’s not here. She’s nowhere.
But I won’t stop looking. So I take off back out into the storm.
As I push forward down the walkway that leads to mid-campus, wind rips the hood of my jacket off my head, and icy rain stings my eyes and skin.
Branches claw at my arms. Leaves and paper and who knows what else whip through the air around me.
Everything smells like wet earth and mildew and hopelessness.
The science building is up ahead on my left. One of my homes away from home. A place I usually feel safe and good. But right now I’m coming apart from the inside out.
Not from fear for myself, but terror for Sayla.
My stomach turns over, and I tell myself I’m overreacting.
This is what we do, my mother and I. Then a bolt of lightning splits the sky, illuminating the building.
It’s just a flash, but enough for me to make out the silhouette of the entrance.
The door is open. So I rush forward, keeping my flashlight trained on that spot.
And that’s when the beam catches something. A flash of pink on the ground.
Someone.
“Sayla!”
I move fast, splashing across puddles, adrenaline slamming through my body.
Panic thuds in my chest, rushing in my ears, and then I’m at her side.
On my knees, where a jagged chunk of ceiling tile rests on the floor not far from her head.
Wind howls above us, and sheets of water cascade over the open doorway. I lay two fingers along her neck.
Pulse.
Her breathing is shallow but steady, and relief hits me like a wave.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I murmur, gently pulling her into my lap. “You’re all right. You’re all right. You’re all right.” I repeat this like a mantra, over and over, cradling her head as I rock her.
She’s bleeding from a shallow wound at her temple, so without thinking, I press my lips there. The same spot I’ve kissed before. First for show. Then for real.
Now it’s to prove she’s alive.
“Sayla.” I whisper her name, again and again, like a prayer. She shifts in my arms, just slightly, and a soft groan comes from her. “Say something.” My voice cracks, and I brush wet hair from her face. “Talk to me,” I beg. “Come on. Open your eyes. Look at me. Please.”
Her lids flutter, and she pushes her hands up to her chest, groping, like she’s searching for something. She digs inside her half-zipped sweatshirt, and a strip of faded blue satin appears. Then she pulls the rest of the bear free. My sister’s bear.
I stare at Clarence for a long moment, and something twists in my chest. Love and fear and relief and pain knotting together like Sayla’s feelings soup.
She risked herself for this.
For me.
And if things continue between us, today won’t be the last time she puts us through moments like this. I’d be opening myself up to a lifetime of potential loss. For love. I’m not sure I can take that again. I’m also not sure I have a choice.
A ragged groan rumbles in the back of my throat.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she chokes. “I just wanted—”
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “You’re okay.” She blinks up at me as I tuck the bear back inside her sweatshirt, scoop her up, and stagger to my feet.
I expect her to weigh more, sodden as she is, but the emotions rising in me prove to be bigger than her limp body. And as I trudge back the way we came, I know my whisper will be lost in the storm. Still, I say it anyway. Because it’s the only thing I can promise.
“You’re safe now,” I tell her. “I’ve got you, Sayla.”