Page 44 of Elusive

“Thank God. Okay, you drive the girls to Bellamy’s. Brynn, call Dad and tell him you’re spending the night there and that everything’s fine. I’ll drive P.”

“Drive her where? Does she need a doctor? Hospital? Police?” I gulp down the acid that rose with the last option. “Look at her, she’s trembling, not talking, and I still don’t know why! Was… she hurt? Is… she hurt?” My voice cracks, hands flexing in and out of fists, itching to touch her, comfort her, fix it. Whatever it is… I’ll fix it… or die trying.

“Sutton,” Brynn whispers, placing a guiding hand on my arm. “I’ll explain everything on the drive, but right now, we need to get going, get her out of here. I promise you, she’s not physically hurt. We’d have already called the police, and family, if she was. Please, just come on.” She takes my hand in a tellingly tight grip, and even though I’d rather do anything but, I follow, clueless and terrified, my head turned back to watch Presley fade further and further away. “Where’d you park?”

“Where’d you park?” I mock, failing epically to match her docile tone. “How the fuck are you so calm? Oh, I know, because you do know! Everyone does, except me. How ‘bout this?” I rip my hand from hers and stop walking. “I’m not moving another motherfucking inch until you tell me what’s going on.”

She, however, doesn’t slow a step. Bellamy either. “Whatever you wanna do. No time for your tantrums. I gotta call home, while I walk to Bellamy’s,” she calls out.

“Stubborn as your cousin,” I grumble when I’ve caught up to her. “You’re not walking. I’m sorry. I just-”

“I know.” She remains stoic. “Now, let’s try this again. Tell me where you’re parked and get your keys out. B, don’t let him get away.” She snags my hand and places it in Bellamy’s. “I gotta call my dad real quick, so be quiet, but Keep. Moving.”

“Bellamy, please. Please tell me something, anything. What the hell happened to Presley?”

“Shhh, soon,” she whispers past a sympathetic smile, squeezing my hand. “Let her finish talking to her dad first. He hears about any of this and things will go from bad to… I don’t even want to think about it.”

Logic tries to prevail, to convince me that whatever it is can’t be that bad, far from any of the horrible scenarios running through my head, or they would’vealreadycalled the cops like Brynn said, but worry is drowning out logic. My every step is weighted, as though trudging through that very water, and my whole body’s numb, yet my mind’s reeling. That contradiction, mixed with fear and a dozen dismissed, unanswered questions, is a lethal combination, and my anger resurfaces in one huge swell. I will kill whoever hurt my Hot Shot. Then, I’ll tear Camden and Ryder apart, limb by limb, for their roles in this. Their bullshit that took me from her side, allowing… whatever to happen.

“Okay, all-clear on the home front,” Brynn’s relieved sigh almost misses severing my dangerous thoughts. “Keys? I’ll drive.”

“I can drive,” I grate.

“I’m sure you can, but I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve been through this before, so I’m not quite as rattled as you. Not trying to emasculate you or anything, just trying to get us there alive. Please, let me drive.”

Lil’ Brynny, ever the level-headed, sensible one. Damn shame I’m planning to maim both her suitors. Hope she’ll understand and forgive me… doing it regardless. But it does make me feel marginally better to hear she’s been through this before. So again, maybe it’s not that bad. I can only pray I’m right, and that my definition of “not that bad” even remotely aligns with hers. Never know when it comes to her family; there’s a strong chance her tolerance level may be what I’d consider off-balance.

“Sutton, keys?” She sticks out a hand.

“Can you even reach the pedals?” I stall, not quite ready to cave.

“I’ll manage.”

“Brynny, seriously, I can drive… my own truck. I’m worried, confused, pissed as hell and out of patience, yes, but I’m not gonna fuckin’ wreck or some shit.” Done debating, and now at the truck, I open the back door and help Bellamy up and in, turning to do the same for Brynn… who’s already helped herself in, behind the wheel, adjusting the seat. I bite my tongue, get in the passenger seat, and toss her the keys… in the interest of time. Whatever gets me to Presley the fastest is the only battle I need to win.

“Sutton?”

“Yeah?” My head snaps her way, morethan ready for her to start talking, and moving.

“Put on your seatbelt.”

“Seriously? That’s what you have to say?” I yank the goddamn belt across me and shove the clip in the buckle. “There, it’s on. Now start driving, andexplaining, or swear to fuck, I’m gonna lose all my shit.”

“For real, Brynn. He’s waited, in agony, long enough. Even you don’t have the patience he’s shown. Out with it.” Bellamy firmly backs me up.

“You’re absolutely right.” She drags in a deep breath, puts the truck in drive, and motion, then continues on her exhale. “I don’t think it needs said, but just to be sure, this is a squad matter, one we deal with onour own. No parents are to ever find out. Got it?”

Bellamy and I both agree with no hesitation, then wait for what seems like eons as she takes her sweet ass time with another breath that’s bigger than her. “None of us know why, and she won’t tell, so we quit asking a long time ago, but every once in a while, just a couple times ever actually, P has…”

“Has what?” I can’t contain it any longer, zero patience left, less-than-zero for dramatic fucking pauses — drama’s been well-covered for the night.

“I’m not sure what to call them. Panic attacks, I guess? Like I said, it’s only happened a few times before, three tops, and always at parties or similar type settings. She… uh… freaks out in crowds sometimes. But most times, she’s fine.”

“What?” A brittle, scoff of disbelief escapes me. “Presley? Presley Beckett? We talking about the same girl here? ‘Cause the Presley I know loves crowds, clubs, parties, concerts, or anything close. Not sure whothe hellyou’re talking about.”

“Does she though?Love them? Really?” Brynn cuts me a quick but sharp look of rhetorical question, then focuses back on the road. “Think about it. Yes, P’s always the life of the party, if it’s a party with her family, friends, or both, surrounding her, onherturf, herterms. But you tell me one time you’ve ever known her to party by herself, or outside those parameters?” She pauses, giving ample opening to be corrected… which isn’t possible. “Can’t think of one? That’s because it’s never happened. Take the night we all went to Lit, for example. P was all for it, her idea in fact, but not once did she even think about saying she needed to celebrate, maybe call some of her friends, bet you’ve never seen any of those either, to go out with her did she? Nope, she said ‘we werecelebrating,’ an understood that we, her squad, family, safety net, were all going with her. So, is it that she likes crowds and parties, or that she likes spending time with family in places they enjoy?”

Now that she’s laid it out, in glaring black and white, I realize… she’s right. Presley is always with her family. Only. Or at work… for her family. Or at home. Alone. Called to try, I can’t think of a single time that I’ve known of, or been told about by JT, to the contrary. And the possible, almost impossible to acknowledge, reasons for that type of behavior hurl me right back into a nauseous panic.

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