Chapter Twenty-Two
Zayden
I’m halfway to my class when a hand shoots out and slams against my chest, pinning me to the nearest door. The floral scents hit first, then she comes into view. Fabiola, who stands before me with narrowed eyes and pressed lips.
“Have you seen Thiago?” she demands, her fingers curling against the fabric of my shirt. I give her a dumbfounded look, unsure why she’s asking me instead of literally anybody else. I blink fast, trying to hold back the annoyance that climbs higher.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Zayden…” Her nails dig into my shirt. “Don’t play with me. Have you seen him?”
I swipe her hand away, smoothing out the fabric, and taking in how nervous she looks. Why? “Do I look like his keeper?” I reply, with a lopsided grin, unable to hide the sarcasm in my tone.
She scoffs, folding her arms over her breasts, head tilting as she studies me. “Do you think this is funny?”
“No,” I respond flatly, trying to step around her. “Maybe place a tracker on your future husband; he would be easier to track.” Her hand curls around my bicep, nails digging into my flesh as she pulls me into her.
“You saw what happened? I need to know that he wasn’t responsible for the accident,” she mutters softly, her gaze falling to the ground. “I need to know.”
I can’t contain the laughter that builds within my chest and escapes my mouth. Using my finger, I loosen the collar around my neck, finding this far too amusing. Confusion marks her features as the sounds continue to roar between us. My shoulders shake from how hard I'm laughing.
“For what?” I cut in when her lips part for her to speak. “You’ll cry? To threaten someone? Blackmail? You two are great at performing.”
Her lips press together, forming a thin line, her brows perfectly pulled together in a glare. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re too nosey,” I shoot back. “We all have our roles. I advise you to stick to yours.”
She blows out a breath, her hands waving between us. “Are you jealous?”
My head leans to the side, and I raise a brow.
Her questioning has me second-guessing myself.
Am I? Not a thought I voice out loud, and since once again, she’s put a spotlight on my feelings, I let her feel the brunt of it.
With a roll of my eyes, I drag my tongue over my teeth and whisper, “Why would I be jealous? I get him even if I don’t want him. ”
Amusement dances in her brown irises. Her lips twitch, fighting off a smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to be your friend.” Her voice is sharp and clear, trying to get her point across. “But as much as I like you, someone died.”
“YEAH! IT HAPPENS!” I shout, the emotion pouring out of me like a weeping wound. Tired of pretending like it’s out of the ordinary in this University. “It fucking happens in this place. Whatever you’re trying to accuse him of, I’m sure he’s innocent.”
That relaxes her features into something melancholic and tragic. Her arms wrap around herself.
“I don’t wanna die…” Fabiola's voice cracks on the last word, and for the first time, she looks small. Not the sorority queen, not the girl who weaponizes charm, or the future Mrs. Safra—right now, she’s just a girl, terrified of becoming another headline.
I bite down my lip, exhaling a mouthful of air, trying to find the right words to say. I find none. I only stare at her, watching the small tremors in her arms as she folds into herself like she’s trying to disappear.
“I don’t wanna die…” she whispers again, softer this time.
I blink, and all I see is June. Big brown eyes with a contagious smile. There’s a strange twinge in my chest, pulling and turning into something like a truce. Acceptance. Who knows.
“He’s putting out fires; give him space.” I give her a small truth, one that cracks a small smile on her stoic face. “It’s what he does; he disappears. Get used to it, princess.”
Fabiola straightens, the tension melting away with a quick nod. She wipes the single tear that races down her cheek before clearing her throat, and, like most people in this place, she places on the mask that holds the facade in place.
“Stay safe, Zayden,” she mutters softly, moving past me when the loud pang of a metal door slamming pulls our attention, followed by heavy footsteps that echo down the hall. Nico’s voice follows next. “Zayden!”
Nico is running, eyes wide and breathless by the time we spot him. “We need a car. T–Thiago. He got in an accident.”
He plants his hands against his knees, trying to steady his breathing, sweat dripping off the ends of his hair.
Nico swallows, gasping for air, all while Fabiola panics beside me.
My mind still tries to make sense of what he just said, my world narrowing to that single sentence.
He got in an accident. And even though I hear the words, my mind just can’t grasp it.
“What?” I manage to say, over my racing heart.
“I was running and found him,” Nico says, already turning to the exit. “I need a car. E said no cops. To bring him to his dorm.’”
“Rowan,” I added quickly, knowing she could help him. Fabiola's voice cuts through the fog of my panic.
“He needs a hospital, not the school nurse.”
Nico gives her a half-hearted smile. “Tell that to those calling the shots. You got a car?”
“Of course I do,” She mutters softly, before her apprehensive gaze flicks up to mine, and her hand slides into my grasp.
“We gotta go,” Nico rushes us.
Fabiola moves first. “Lead the way.”
And just like that, the fight, the sarcasm, and the walls burn away. We’re sprinting down the hall, my feet pumping harder with each step, dragging Fabiola behind me like a rag doll. All racing to go to Safra’s rescue. Just as we step outside, Ezra’s car screeches to a stop beside us.
“Get in,” he orders, and I do so without a moment of hesitation.
Nico begins to speak, but I can’t make out a word he’s saying over the sound of rushing blood.
Ezra speeds out of campus towards the windy roads.
The car jerks forward, tires screaming against the asphalt.
And even though we’re moving, time is moving awfully slow.
Too fucking slow for the panic lurching at my throat.
The tightness in my chest continues to grow until it becomes impossible to breathe.
We might be taking a trip to space, given the lack of gravity around me.
Nico’s voice blurs beside me, while Ezra continues to swerve, driving like a man on a mission.
My stomach twists, and my knees bounce from the stress.
Fabiola's hand lies on it, applying just enough pressure to make it stop.
We finally come across the guardrail, which sports evidence of a gnarly crash—black streaks before it opens towards the woods.
“There.” Nico’s finger marks the spot.
I don’t bother to wait for the car to come to a full stop before I swing the door open and throw myself into the path the Benz forged.
It’s bumpy, and I practically slide down it, palms biting into the dirt, preventing me from falling.
Ezra slams the brakes, smoke rising from the tires, as the car fishtails, skidding sideways before coming to a stop inches from the wrecked guardrail.
Doors slam closed behind me, soon followed by the crunch of dead tree branches.
It’s okay. It’s okay…
He's okay…
The words replay inside my head in a loop.
“Safra!” I yell, my voice cracking alongside my heart. It’s okay… thump. It’s okay… thump. The urge to purge has me doubling over, hand resting on a tree branch. Rough.
Cold.
The storm clears the moment Fabiola cuts through the thick fog. “Zayden, there.”
My eyes narrow in that direction, and there he is—slumped forward, blood streaking down his temple, with his hand reaching towards the passenger seat.
My lungs fill with air, and a strange calmness replaces the urgency.
Replacing it with coolness that has me moving to him, assessing him before I can reach him.
Ezra runs up beside me, shouting orders, none of which I can make out.
I’m too focused on Thiago.
Using as much force as I can muster, I pry open the driver's side door enough to squeeze myself through. I kneel beside him, releasing a sigh of relief when I feel his pulse hammer beneath my fingers. Thump. A sigh of relief escapes me, watching the slow and steady rise of his chest.
“He’s breathing, help me get him out.”
Ezra doesn’t hesitate; he’s helping me within seconds.
I’ve never seen him look this worried, the stench of fear oozing from all his pores.
Yet, he moves with determination and ease.
We work on him, trying to keep Safra’s neck steady and his back straight when we pull him out and place him in the back of Ezra’s car.
I look over at Nico, who runs a hand through his damp hair, then to Fabiola, who’s currently dissociating, her eyes glued on Safra.
“I found him,” Ezra speaks into the phone, his brows relaxing as he takes in each steady rise of Thiago’s chest. “Yeah, I know he needs a hospital, but right now, he only has you.”
Nico steps back, his eyes darting between us. “I have something I have to do first, go with him.”
I shake my head, unwilling to leave him alone in the woods with all the bullshit happening around us, but Nico clasps his hand over my shoulder and squeezes. “Go, I’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, I step away, feeling something slither its way to my heart.
A warning impossible to ignore, an invisible pull that tugs, reminding me this is only the beginning, I turn away and slip into the passenger seat and, from the rear-view mirror, I watch as Nico disappears.
When we pull into our dorm, Rowan is already waiting outside, shifting nervously from side to side.
“What the hell happened?” she demands, glaring towards Ezra.
“Accident,” Ezra says, hauling the door open. “He’s bleeding, but he’s breathing. Make sure it stays that way.”
The coldness which he delivers those words has anger flashing over Rowan's face. She clears her throat, assessing the situation, her gaze snapping towards Ezra once again.
“He needs a hospital.”
Surprisingly, it’s Fabiola who steps forward, voice cold and clipped.
“This is the best he’s going to get. You’re going to shut up and do your job before I report you for sleeping with students.
” Something twists inside me, maybe jealousy—who the fuck knows—but watching her already act like she’s his wife… his woman, has my lip down turning.
Rowan’s jaw tightens, her shoulders squaring. “Fabiola, he could have internal bleeding—”
“You're a nurse,” Fabiola bites out. “Start acting like one.”
I let them hash it out between them and focus on bringing Thiago inside without making a scene.
Shockingly, we do; there’s no one around when we bring him in and set him up on his bed.
Rowan stares at us like a mistake she wants to erase.
Yet, she moves with purpose, snapping on gloves and grabbing her stethoscope before kneeling beside Thiago and cutting through the fabric of his clothes.
There’s nothing significant that I can see besides the gnarly rash left from the seatbelt.
Ezra stands behind her, arms crossed and eyes locked on her movements. All command with no emotion, watching his soldiers work under his orders. Fabiola paces around the room, her figure casting shadows through the space.
Meanwhile, Rowan begins to take his vitals. “He’s cold. Let’s get him warmed up.”
I walk towards the thermostat and turn it up from a comfortable 60 to a toasty 75.
That should warm him up, along with everyone else in the room.
From where I stand, I watch as she puts on a stethoscope and listens to his lungs, a sigh of relief escaping past her lips as her fingers trace the bruises forming along his ribs.
“He’s lucky,” she mutters, removing the earpieces from her ears.
“Doesn’t look like there’s any swelling yet, some bruises, but that’s from the crash.
His vitals are good, and his lungs sound clear.
Since he’s unconscious, the only thing I worry about is a possible concussion or maybe a brain bleed.
He needs a CT and a hospital.” My lip turns up at her words, my heart flooding with warmth, knowing he’s okay for the most part.
“I’ll give him some fluids and some medicine for the pain. ”
Ezra moves instantly, pulling the IV kit from her bag, his hand steady even as his jaw flexes.
While I gather more things that will keep him warm, blankets, shirts and anything that might help.
The air smells of antiseptic and the thick metallic tang of blood.
Rowan threads the IV, her fingers trembling. “I need somewhere to hang it.”
Since I’m the tallest in the room, I move towards Rowan and grab the IV bag without a word. I hold it up like it’s the most natural thing, whatever it takes to make sure he’s safe.
Rowan looks up at me. “He’s going to be okay…”
I nod.
Ezra exhales, the sound harsh within the silence. “Good…”
We all silently watch as the school nurse continues to work on Thiago, muttering curses under her breath, and pressing the alcohol drenched gauze to his temples, cleaning out his wounds one by one. All while I count them.
Ezra paces back and forth until he comes to an abrupt stop at the head of the bed. “No one outside this room talks about what happened today.”
Rowan looks up, eyes flashing with disbelief. “What?”
“Not a word,” Ezra repeats, his voice firm and final. “I’m keeping him safe.”
The words hang heavy between us. And for the first time, I find myself agreeing with Ezra.
No one should know that Thiago is here and unconscious.
Not after everything that’s been happening.
Rowan starts listing policies, HIPAA violations, and every other rule she’s breaking just by being here—none of it matters.
Not in this place.
And definitely not right now.