Page 18 of Undone

“Okay… Thank you.” My voice cracked.

“It will be okay,” he said, as though he was trying to reassure the both of us.

An hour later, we confirmed the worst.Dotty hadn’t gotten on the plane.I was in my car, speeding toward Woodstone, the fear clawing at me with every mile.

My mind spun with questions.

Where is she? Is she okay?Why wouldn’t she get on the plane?

My grip on the steering wheel was so tight my fingers ached. Anxiety threatened to overwhelm me with every passing minute, and the space around me felt suffocating.

Dotty was missing. Mybest friendwas missing. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the fear.

I glanced at the empty seat beside me, a cruel reminder of her absence, and the ache deepened. She should’ve been there complaining about overpriced airline snacks, or how many movies we could go through over the long weekend.

Instead, there was nothing. No texts. No calls.

Just a void that screamed louder than anything else.

SEVEN

Noah - November

TRAIN WRECK - JAMES ARTHUR

The hospital doorsslid open with a mechanical hiss, and I hurried inside, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of activity pressed in around me, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. My eyes darted frantically across the lobby, searching for someone—anyone—who could tell me where to go.

At the reception desk, I stumbled over my words. “I’m looking for my friend, Dotty James. She’s here for Trent… …Trenton Akers. He’s in the ICU.”

The nurse nodded, her face calm and practiced. “ICU is on the third floor. She might be in the waiting area there.”

I didn’t even thank her before bolting toward the elevators, my breath catching in my chest. The numbers above the doors ticked up agonizingly slowly, but the moment they opened, I rushed out, scanning the hallway.

And then I saw her. Dotty. Sitting in the waiting room, hunched over with her face in her hands.

Alive.

Dorian had already told me she was okay—physically, at least—when he called to give me the rundown of what happened. But hearing it and seeing it were two different things.

It turned out her longtime stalker was the very person responsible for her mother’s hit-and-run nearly two decades ago. The truth was both horrifying and unbelievable, leaving her shaken to the core.

Seeing her in person, even with her flushed cheeks streaked with drying tears, sent a wave of relief crashing through me. The way she was staring blankly at the wall told me that, while she was alive, she was far from okay.

I slid into the chair beside her in the waiting room and could sense the worry radiating off her.

She’d held onto so much for so long, and now that the truth was out, I could see it taking its toll, especially with the way things ended. With her boyfriend, Trent, shot and fighting for his life.

Every second stretched as we waited, the minutes turning to hours.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, desperate to do something, anything, to ease her pain, ignoring my own in that moment. I moved my head to lightly rest against her shoulder and nudged her gently until her head lay against mine. Her blonde hair tumbled over my face, a faint reminder of her presence, fragile yet here.

“I’m not sure I can,” she admitted, her gaze fixed on the wall in front of us.

“Coffee then?” I raised a brow. “Since I know you are too stubborn to sleep.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed, a silent confirmation that she appreciated the effort.

“Sure…” she said. “That’d be nice.”

“You got it,” I said, and as she lifted her head, I stood.

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