Page 50 of Entwined Hearts

He frowns. “We’re all friends. I didn’t think I needed special permission.”

“After the stunt he pulled?” she asks, her eyebrows shooting up.

Colby starts singing U2’s “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” his microphone held too close to his face to see his lips moving. As he gets to the chorus, I realize he’s pretty good.

“Something came up.” Kabir shrugs.

“Did that something have a vagina?” Marisa asks, sipping her beer.

“He’s a good guy,” Kabir says with a hint of ice in his tone. “Just trying to do the right thing. It’s tough.”

“I’ll bet,” Marisa huffs.

As they talk, I feel my attention drift. I take a sip of my soda water, hoping it will cool my hot throat. My stomach feels tight. I’m attempting to work air into my lungs, but everything feels loud and close like the walls might start moving in at any moment. I wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

Colby’s number ends. Some rap song takes its place, with two guys trying to act like gangsters. It takes a minute to realize Colby hasn’t returned to the table.

“Hey, isn’t that the girl?” Jo says, pulling me back to the table.

“What girl?” I ask, following the direction of Jo’s finger. I squint at the woman she’s identified, a slender brunette wearing a strapless top and tight jeans, her hair pulled off her neck in a high ponytail.

My pulse drops into my gut as Colby leans in close to her.

Fourteen

Anya

Ipush to my feet, a flood of emotion seizing my mind. My fingers tingle, and my stomach threatens to heave.

Jo looks up, her eyes wide. “Anya?” she says, but I’m already moving toward the door.

My breaths rattle in my lungs and throat, so loud in my ears they block out the sound of the noisy bar. When I shove the door open, I’m greeted by the night and the dry, desert heat.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get out of here.

“Anya?” a voice calls from behind me.

I start to run. This is all too much. The memories swirl together—Jake and Colby fighting at Kabir’s party, Jake and I being forced off the climb by gunshots ricocheting off the walls, and, now, Colby with someone else when I’d just started to thinkmaybe.

I hear footsteps behind me. “Anya, wait,” Colby says.

I grit my teeth, pushing my legs to go faster. And it’s as if I’m replaying the march from the base of the wall in Morocco. Only this time, I’ve escaped. The men shout behind me. Any second, I’m going to feel a bullet rip through me. I run faster, my vision tunneling.

“Anya!” Colby calls from behind me.

But I can’t stop. At a traffic light, I turn right and follow the pale concrete sidewalk. Cars whizz past me. My legs start to burn. More footsteps behind me. Faster. Renewed panic floods into my muscles, driving me on. I’m going to get free. But what about Jake? Is he running, too? Have I left him behind? But it’s like I can’t stop, even to save him. At a freeway entrance, I sprint across the onramp to the honk of a sedan that has to screech to a halt, then beneath the overpass where it’s chilly and the air tastes of exhaust and blown tires, but I can’t see. My eyes are wet, my legs hurt, and I can’t get enough air.

I slow to a stop because I start to realize what happened. It’s like coming out of a dream, only it’s not a dream. It’s some kind of waking nightmare.

Colby catches up. I can hear his rapid breathing.

“Stay away from me!” I cry, putting my face in my hands as the sobs shake my body.

“If that’s how you feel, I will,” he says, holding his ground. “But no way am I leaving you here.” He steps within view but keeps his distance.

I wipe my eyes and stare at the gritty ramp of gray concrete that connects with the underside of the freeway above us. In magenta spray-paint is a message I can’t decipher.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” he says softly.

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