Page 75 of Nash

“Paxton,” Monroe says my name on a panicked breath.

That quickly, I'm up, shoving my feet into shoes and grabbing my keys.

“Where are you?” I ask, adrenaline flooding my veins as I head out of my house, barely remembering to lock the door on my way out before I’m in my car.

She's crying.

I swear I'm going to fucking kill him if he hurt her.

“He drove me into the city for this festival thing and heleftme here,” she says, her tone drenched in tears, her breathing shallow.

“Fuck.” I grip my steering wheel so tight my fingers ache, shifting the call to speaker and drawing up her location.

We've always shared our locations since we've had the ability, and I’ve never been so grateful for that as I am now. My phone’s GPS locks on to her, and I take the route faster than is probably safe.

“I'm on my way,” I say, doing my best to keep the anger I feel out of my tone.

It's all for him, and nothing for her.

Goddamn him, he has no idea what he's just done.

“Monroe,” I say firmly. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? I'm going to stay on the phone with you the whole time. You’re not alone, do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” she says. “I'm trying. But there are so many people here, Pax.” She lets out another panicked little cry. “I don't know anyone here. I'm so sorry I had to call you?—”

“Never apologize,” I cut her off. “You need me and I'm there. Always.”

That has never and will never change.

I've known Monroe since we were kids, our families close friends.

Which is why I know that being abandoned in public places is ahugetrigger for her. It causes all variations of panic attacks.

Once, when we were ten and on a vacation in Greece with our families, Monroe got separated from us in the market. It’d been packed. One second, she was there, the next she wasn’t. It took us over two hours to find her, and by the time we got to her, she’d been so traumatized by it that it stuck with her forever.

I’ve never let her out of my sight again when we’re out together.

And this asshole justlefther.

“Breathe for me, Monroe,” I say again when I hear her breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just close your eyes and breathe. Is there a place you can get away from the crowd? A front entrance, a reception desk, anything?”

I'm on the highway now, driving twenty over the speed limit.

“There's too many people,” she says, and I can hear her teeth chattering, her body going into full panic mode at being left alone in a strange, crowded place.

I’m going to fucking kill this guy.

“That's okay,” I say, taking the exit that will lead me to her. “I'm two minutes out. You don't have to move. I will find you. I promise.”

“I'm so sorry,” she says again.

My chest cracks at the apology. At the way shealwaysapologizes anytime we've ever been in this situation.

“You've done nothing wrong,” I say, finding my way onto the patch of land that's working as a parking lot for the festival happening several yards away.

“I did,” she says. “It's my fault. I broke up with him and he left me here. He left me with no way to get out.”

Rage cuts into me, but I do my best to push that to the side.

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