Page 108 of Roaming Holiday

“I’m sorry,” he says into my neck. “I’m so sorry. I never should’ve lied.”

I want to apologize, too, but words get stuck in my throat. When I pull away to breathe, he checks me for wounds.

“Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, right?”

I nod. Wesley studies my face, brushing away drops of blood with his thumb. Blood that’s not mine. I shudder, pulling him to ride with me to the hospital. The paramedic tries asking me questions again. I answer, but that doesn’t mean my hands have stopped shaking.

When she starts yelling at the driver about the traffic, I lean on Wesley’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, too,” I say, my voice cracking.

“Don’t be,” he says gently, kissing my head.

There’s so much to say, and I say nothing at all. I froze again. I didn’t move fast enough, twice, to keep from Arlo grabbing me. Silas had to drag me to safety.

Seconds after I sit on the edge of the hospital bed in a private room, my family rushes inside. My heart drops when Wesley leaves the room, but I catch his eyes. He nods, as if inferring he’ll be right outside.

Despite everything, I lean on Dad’s chest as he hugs me, feeling the thump of his heart. Maia holds my hand. Ruby strokes my back. I not only cry because of what I saw, but of feeling loved by my family.

In the silence, my stomach grumbles loudly. Maia snorts, and we break out into fragile laughter as the nurse steps into the room for my examination.

“We’ll go find you some food? A meal?” Ruby suggests.

I nod. “Okay.”

Dad and Ruby leave for the cafeteria while Maia promises to sit outside the room. Before the nurse can start, I ask, “Uh, is it okay if my boyfriend is in here with me?”

The nurse blinks, surprised. “Oh—of course.”

She peeks out the doorway, and Wesley soon follows her inside. This woman isn’t a threat, but I want him close by. He sits in a chair as she runs me through some tests. My heartbeat has long settled, but my hands are just starting to calm.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she says, handing me a bag of crackers and a water bottle.

I set them aside, unable to eat yet. Wesley stands beside me, stroking my back. To think we were curled up, cozy in bed, just this morning.

“Was that you?” I ask suddenly. “Who… who shot them.”

I know the answer. Perhaps knowing and hearing it will somehow make a difference—make it easier. He tucks some of my frizz behind my ear and says, “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

His face tenses with anguish, and my heart breaks with guilt at his internal torment. The goal was for Wesley to not kill anyone.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“What?” he stammers. “This wasn’t your fault. Not in the slightest.”

“I know, but?—”

“No, Nina. None of that. I don’t regret what I did, and neither should you.”

I lean my head on his chest, easing into his arms. I’m still struggling to register what happened today. It all happened so fast that I didn’t remember how to move until three people were already shot.

But it’s over. Relief rushes into me when I realize that it’s done.

I take a giant sleeping pill that night.

Wesley stays with me in case I have nightmares, but my slumber is so deep that time moves from hours into minutes. When I wake, my body is too heavy to move itself. I groan.

Footsteps pad through the room. A weight dips on the bed. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

My bonnet is suddenly shifted from my eyes and I find Wesley staring back at me.

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