Page 52 of Lock Me Out

“He went to his apartment on foot,” I whisper, knowing Colt has to be worried. “He had a cut, but otherwise he seemed fine. He couldn’t come with us.”

Sirens wail in the distance, approaching fast. It’s unnerving knowing they’re for us.

“What about you?”

We stop on the other side of the street from where we crashed, and I have to bite back a whimper when I see the damage from this angle. The whole front is caved in—I’m surprised I could open my door so easily.

“What about me? I’ll probably be pretty sore later,” I admit, “but right now, I’m all right. I’ll probably feel better once you’re checked out, though.”

We sit together on the curb to wait for the ambulance, his head in my lap, and I stare at the wreck as the sirens get louder. “What happened?” I whisper, still shocked.

“The brakes went out. It was either hit that tree or end up in the lake.” He covers my hand with his, stopping me from stroking his hair. Increasing the pressure, he says, “Don’t say anything about the message you got today.”

At first, I don’t understand why he would say that. But then my brain catches up, and I get it. I hadn’t even thought about the message until just now, and my body goes cold. “Do you think…”

“Just don’t say anything about it,” he tells me again as the lights from the ambulance and police car paint his face red and blue.

Because if I mention it, they’ll want to know more, and it will lead them straight to Dennis and Deborah.

“They said I’m fine.”No matter how many times I remind Colt that I’m only a little banged up, he won’t stop worrying about me. “You’re the one who needs to take it easy.”

He’s about as far from taking it easy as can be, sitting up in bed with a tube in his arm, feeding him saline. “Why do they always do this?” he mutters, flicking the tube with one finger. “I don’t need to be hydrated. I just need to go home.”

“They think it’s better for you to stay here for the night, to keep an eye on you. You hit your head hard enough to knock you out.” And there’s a bruise on his forehead as a result. It’s starting to swell, too. “You got lucky.”

“Oh, yeah,” he mutters. “I feel very lucky. Trapped in bed.”

“It will make me feel better to know you’re all right. Unless you would rather me sit up all night watching you sleep at home.”

Some of the frustration etched across his face softens, and he sighs. “Like you won’t sit up here, anyway. Though I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, too bad.” I try to laugh, I do, but I know it comes out sounding weird and hollow. When he gives me a concerned look, I try to shrug it off. “I guess I’m kind of shaken up still.”

That’s only a tiny part of the story. It’s been hours since the crash. Where is Nix? What happened to him?

It’s like I’m being pulled in half. One part of me wants to stay with Colt to make sure he’s okay and support him through this. The other half wants to get out of here so I can look for Nix. What if he was actually hurt out there? He could’ve had injuries he didn’t feel yet—adrenaline will do that. I didn’t feel anything at first, but now that time has passed, my neck is a little sore, and my shoulders ache. Nothing serious, nothing that would land me in a bed like Colt, but enough to make me wonder how much worse it could have been for Nix.

“He can take care of himself.” Colt’s voice is a whisper, barely audible as he voices the concern I couldn’t say. He settles back against a pillow with a sigh that tells me he might not be feeling as well as he wants me to believe. “He made it after the fire, right? He’ll be okay now, too.”

“But what if he isn’t?” I perch on the side of the bed, keeping my voice low like he does. We don’t need anybody accidentally overhearing us. “He could be wandering around with a head wound that’s getting worse without him knowing about it.”

“That sounds pretty dramatic.”

“I’m not kidding.” I know why he’s trying to make a joke about it. He wants to make me feel better. It’s not that he doesn’t care.

A funny look comes over his face as his eyes search mine. “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

There’s a knock at the door before a cheerful young nurse walks in. “Just coming to check on vitals. How are you feeling, Mr. Alistair?”

“You can call me Colt,” he murmurs. “And I guess I’m all right.”

“You got lucky, from what I’ve heard.”

“I don’t feel so lucky right now. Are you sure I need to stay?”

“I don’t make the rules, but I’m pretty sure it’s for the best that you do.” He grumbles quietly while she takes his blood pressure, and I go to the window to look out into the darkness. Well, we were on our way to the hospital, weren’t we? We ended up here eventually.

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