Page 116 of Take My Hand

I jog behind the back of the stage, my camera knocking painfully against my chest as I do so, to see if he ran over to this side.

But still no sign of Hayden. Frustrated tears burn at the backs of my eyes as I leave the stage and run across the uneven grass toward the trailer they were using earlier.

I round the corner of a tour bus and see Walker and Reid reaming out Arun outside their trailer.

“Who the fuck approved that?” Walker bellows, uncaring of the attention he’s drawing from folks mingling around.

Arun holds up both of his hands in innocence, and by the concern written across his face, I don’t think he knew that was going to happen either.

“It’s in the contract that there were to be no fireworks or pyro and I was assured—” Arun starts but Reid cuts him off.

“Well then, someone’s gonna get a fucking lawsuit on their desk in the morning because that shit,” Reid says, seething through his teeth and pointing back toward the stage, “should’ve never fucking happened.”

“Where’s Hayden?” I ask the three of them, chest heaving as sweat drips down the back of my neck, matting my hair.

Walker turns to face me, expression fueled with fury. “Inside.”

I grab the latch and throw the door to the trailer open.

The moment my feet cross the threshold and I look around, my heart sinks.

Hayden is curled up in the far corner, sitting with his back against the wall and his arms resting on his legs to cover his head.

Nikolai is motionless on the couch, and while I know he needs support too, my heart calls me over to the man crouched on the floor.

Hayden doesn’t look up as I approach. In fact, he doesn’t move a muscle. As if he’s scared that even breathing too loudly will draw unwanted attention to him and his body has shut itself down to protect him.

“Hayden, babe, it’s me,” I say softly, crouching in front of him. I pull the camera off my neck and set it on the table next to me.

Hayden doesn’t stir, doesn’t acknowledge me at all.

Gently, as I possibly can, I lay my hands on top of him. One on the back of his head, running my fingers through his hair, while the other rests on his arm. He’s cold under my touch, skin clammy and damp with sweat.

He jerks slightly as my hands settle, but doesn’t try to dislodge me.

“What do you need, what can I do for you right now?”

I hate this feeling. This helplessness at watching the person I love the most be thrown back into hell and not knowing what to do to make it better.

“You’re safe here,” I say, assuring him. “You’re safe, your friends are safe, I’m safe.” I run my hand in steady, even strokes up and down his arm, giving him something to focus on while I know his mind is trying to run wild with past memories and drag him into them with bloody claws.

My legs burn as I crouch like this for who knows how long, repeating the same words to him over and over again until he starts to believe them.

The door to the trailer swings open, and Walker, Reid, Scar, and Jane enter.

“Is he alright?” Walker asks, walking over to us.

I don’t bother answering. He can see for himself that he’s not.

Walker takes my silence and leaves us be.

A few more minutes pass, my legs and feet completely numb, when Hayden stirs.

He lifts his head and when I see his face, tears threaten to rain down at the utter torment stitched into his expression. His eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, skin pale and lackluster, mouth twisted down at the corners as he shakily inhales.

“I need to get out of here.” His voice is scratchy, cracking with each word.

“Okay, don’t worry. I’ll get a car.” I push to stand, willing my legs to come back to life, but he grabs my wrist.

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