Chapter 12
Devlin: I’m glad you texted me.
Devlin: you can text me anything, whenever you like
Devlin: especially if you can’t tell me something to my face
Devlin: I don’t want to scare you
I read the words over and over. Devlin Bower, the man who breaks bones for a living and speaks in jagged sentences, is worried about scaring me?
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, half-hysterical and half-endeared. My light-hearted nature suddenly takes the wheel.
Val: Admit it, you sometimes want to scare me a little.
The three dots appear instantly. He’s right there. Waiting.
Devlin: not anymore
Devlin: How are you feeling?
Val: Everything’s fine. Thanks. How are you?
Devlin: how are you really feeling Val
I bite the edge of my pillow, a sharp, needy heat pooling in my stomach. He’s being so attentive it’s dizzying. It’s a complete 180 from the silent, brooding giant who used to mock me.
Val: Everything really is fine, Devlin. How are you?
The reply that comes back makes my breath hitch.
Devlin: Want to know the honest truth?
Devlin: Part of me wanted to blow my brains out after you left
Devlin: and part of me’s been fucking in heaven ever since you came for me
I drop the phone onto the duvet, gasping.
I have to pace the room twice, checking on Clover the rabbit’s water level on my laptop and my report just to ground myself, before I can reply.
Val: I’m really sorry I ran off and behaved like that. It’s just all so uncertain. It’s as if I don’t know what I can or can’t do.
I sit up straight in bed, the sheets bunching around my waist, when the phone chimes again.
Devlin: there’s no uncertainty when it comes to us
Devlin: not the slightest bit
Devlin: when you’re with me, you can do whatever you like
My throat tightens. Us. He said it again. I’m floating, caught in a current I have no hope of fighting.
Devlin: We need to have a serious talk. So there’s no uncertainty left for you. Tomorrow. I’ll come and pick you up after lunch.
Val: Okay. I’ll be waiting!
But the universe apparently has other plans. An hour later, my phone pings with a frustrated follow-up. The away match was rescheduled. They’re leaving tonight. Two days of silence. I try to be the supportive “not-quite-boyfriend,” telling him it’s fine and we’ll meet when he’s back.
Then, the final message:
Devlin: Don’t go anywhere tonight. Stay in your room. I’ve asked someone to keep an eye on you while I’m gone. I mean it, Val. Don’t make me worry.
I stare at the screen, my smile fading into a frown. Someone is keeping an eye on me? The possessive, obsessive maniac. He’s worse than Sasha ever was. I don’t reply. I’m not a pet, and I’m certainly not a damsel.
* * *
I eventually drift into a restless sleep, dreaming of dark eyes and heavy hands.
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
I bolt upright, my heart leaping into my throat. It’s 2:14 AM. At first, I think it’s my alarm, but then I realize it’s the high-pitched notification from my laptop. The motion sensor for the rescue center.
I scramble for my computer, my fingers trembling. The grainy night-vision feed flickers to life.
In the corner of the room, near the supply shelf, one of the transport boxes lies on its side, as if it’s been shoved.
“No,” I whisper.
I don’t call security—there’s no time, and the campus guards are notoriously slow. I throw on a hoodie and my sneakers, grabbing my keys and sprinting out the door.
The night air is biting, the campus a graveyard of shadows. I run toward Building C, my breath hitching in my chest. If anyone hurts those animals, I’ll kill them myself.
I reach the back entrance. The building is an old stone structure, and the rescue room is on the “ground floor,” though it’s elevated about five feet above the actual pavement. I approach the heavy metal door, my ears straining.
Crash.
The sound comes from inside. I scramble up the short service ladder, my hand on the handle, when the door suddenly swings outward.
I slam into a solid, leather-clad form.
“AHHH!” I shriek, stumbling back on the small landing.
“Fucking hell!” Monica Vance hisses, her purple-streaked hair a wild mess in the dark. She’s clutching a heavy flashlight like a club. “Wylie? You’re going to get us both killed! Shut up!”
“Monica?” I gasp, my adrenaline spiking. “What are you doing? Did you knock over the boxes? Are you trying to steal the cavies?”
“Steal your rats? Are you delusional?” She grabs my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “I was in the basement A space when I heard them. You need to—”
SMASH.
The sound of shattering glass echoes from the front of the room. A heavy, rhythmic thrumming begins to vibrate through the floorboards.
Vroom. Vroom-vroom.
Monica pales, pulling me toward the interior window that looks out toward the street side. “Look!”
My blood turns to ice.
Four motorcycles are idling on the grass, their headlights cutting through the darkness like predatory eyes. Figures in dark helmets are swinging baseball bats. One of them throws a heavy brick through the main window of the rescue center.
“The animals!” I scream, lunging toward the cages.
“Val, no! They’re coming in!” Monica yells, but she doesn’t run. She curses loudly and follows me as I dive toward the rabbit enclosure.
The room is filling with the smell of gasoline. I grab Clover, the pregnant rabbit, shoving her into a soft carrier. I scoop up the two hamsters, stuffing them into my hoodie pockets.
“Get the birds!” I shout at Monica.
“I hate birds!” she grumbles, but she’s already ripping the covers off the cages, her movements frantic. She grabs the small travel bins, shoved-in parakeets chirping in terror.
I spin around, my eyes searching the floor. “Gerald? Gerald!”
The red-eared slider’s tank is cracked, water leaking onto the floor. But the tank is empty.
“He’s gone! Gerald’s gone!”
“Val, we have to go!” Monica screams. She’s standing by the back door, three cages balanced in her arms.
A flickering orange light catches my eye. Smoke. A Molotov cocktail must have landed near the hay storage. The dry bedding ignites instantly, a wall of flame leaping toward the ceiling.
“The tortoise, Monica! I can’t leave him!”
“He’s a tank, Val! He’ll be fine! We won’t be if we stay here!”
The sound of boots hitting the floor comes from the front entrance. The bikers are inside. I hear the sound of a metal bat racking across a filing cabinet.
“Where is the little vet?” a distorted voice calls out.
Panic paralyzes me. Monica looks at the back door—we can hear the bikers laughing on the other side of it. We’re trapped.
“The window!” Monica shouts. She looks at the giant, man-sized pane of glass at the side of the room, the only one not yet broken.
She doesn’t wait. She grabs a heavy metal stool and flings it with a strength born of pure terror. The glass explodes outward.
“Jump,” she whispers, shoving me toward the jagged opening. “I’m right behind you!”
I don’t think. I tuck the rabbit carrier against my chest and leap.
The fall is short but violent. I hit the ground hard, feeling the sharp sting of glass slicing into my palms and my forearms.
A second later, a rain of shards showers down on me as Monica lands beside me, her leather jacket shredded but her arms still full of bird cages.
“Run,” she wheezes, grabbing my elbow and hauling me up.
I look back once. The rescue center is a glowing orange maw in the darkness.
“Gerald,” I sob, but Monica pulls me harder.
“Run, Valentine! Run!”