Page 79 of Love JD

I had the keys to my rental in my hand and my feet headed for the elevator in the next second. “How bad is it?”

“Zev,” she cried softly. “Please. If you care about me, please don’t put your job at—”

“Screw the job,” I scowled, punching a shiny silver elevator button. “Tell me how bad it is.”

“It’s… a flare up,” she admitted, and her voice confirmed it.

“How long?”

She sniffled, her voice muffled by something. “It’s just a headache now.”

Shaking my head, I rode the elevator down to the main floor, waiting impatiently for the doors to open. “You don’t get to abuse the woman I love, Isla.”

She cried softly on the other side of the line. “What are you—how can you say that?”

“I can say it easier than you can, I’ll bet.” I rushed across the sunny lobby, weaving through suits and skirts, my eyes on the exit. “I love you, Isla. I love you so much, it hurts. I love you a hell of a lot more than a job, and if you’re telling me you’ve been suffering in silence, then you and I are going to have words.”

A little sob bubbled out from her end, crackling the mic with static. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be smart.”

She sniffed again, and it broke my heart not holding her when she was very clearly crying a thousand miles away from me. “Tristan said you—you were going to lose your job. That Azura was, too. That the reporter put you in a bad place.”

“So, you freaked out,” I guessed. I pushed through a set of revolving glass doors and into a warm, weirdly muggy spring day. I had to cross the street to get to the parking garage where I’d parked my rental, but as soon as I got a handle on Isla’s condition, I could make calls. A nurse, for one. And then a plane ticket.

“My body did,” she muttered. “I’m better today, though.”

If this was “better,” then what did she go through yesterday? My chest ached so badly, I hammered it a few times with my fist. “Can you keep liquids down?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Jesus, Isla.” I jogged to the crosswalk and slammed the button with my palm. Seattle teemed with life this time of the day, with some people getting off work early and others rushing by on bikes and scooters. I liked the feel of this city—it felt less spread-out than Denver in some ways, but more open in others. “I’m going to send someone to you. If we get fluids in you, you’ll probably feel better.”

“Send someone,” she said, her voice taking on a pleading edge. “But please don’t cut your trip short. Zev, it’ll kill me.”

“I’ll kill you if you hide a flare up from me again,” I growled back.

“Yeti,” she groaned.

I smiled, looking left and right down the busy road. “You love me.” She made an unintelligible sound like she was giving up. “Well, that’s not a no,” I teased. The “WALK” signal flashed white, and I jogged across the road. “Just hang in there. I’ll be there soon.”

The intersection filled with chaos the second I crossed to the middle. While a group of chattering college students filtered around me going the opposite way, a horn blared to my right. I followed the sound, my thoughts distracted by the calls I needed to make. Time stretched in a painful tug as a flash of red caught my eye. A car careened around the corner, ignoring crosswalk signals, and headed straight for us.

I had a moment to panic, a moment to feel my breath freeze in my lungs and my body tense. Then the red sedan barreled through the crosswalk and made impact.

Chapter twenty-seven

Isla

"Zev?” I lifted the phone away from my ear with a shaking hand. I’d managed to drag myself from the bathroom to the hallway, but my body hadn’t let me go further than that. I’d been on the hardwood floor for hours, clutching my dying phone and trying to convince Zev that I didn’t need him.

Trying to convince myself, really.

But suddenly, Zev’s end of the call had clattered and cut off. Distant shouts and screams filtered through the call. My limbs went cold with fear. “Zev?” I demanded. “Are you there?”

A woman screamed, and shouting sounded in the background, but I couldn’t make out anything coherent. I hit the video call button, but it rang until the line went dead. I called again. And again. And again. I called until my phone flashed with a warning that I had five percent left on my battery.

My pulse pounded so forcefully, I could hear it in my ears. A rushing white noise filled my senses like seashells had been strapped over my ears, and I numbly dialed Tristan. He picked up, and I babbled incoherently. “Zev is—Tristan I can’t get—he was just on the phone.”

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