Page 26 of Freeing Savannah

But inside, she was spiraling.

The desperate need for a quiet corner left her feeling on edge, jittery, every sound amplifying her anxiety. She caught Sawyer’s eye as he stood on the periphery, watching over her.

He made his way to her, the crowd parting for him like he commanded it. Savannah admired the way the tuxedo hugged his form, highlighting his physique; he looked devastatingly handsome. She noticed the admiring glances of several women as he walked by, their eyes lingering on him. But his eyes never wavered from her.

His steady gaze ground her, softening the frenzy building inside.

“I need the restroom,” she said, her voice more fragile than she intended.

He gave a slight nod, then escorted her out of the room. He stopped at the entrance to the dimly lit hallway leading to the bathrooms, and said, “I’ll wait here.”

She nodded. “I’ll be quick.”

He didn’t argue, just watched her retreat, something unreadable in his eyes.

Savannah slipped into the woman’s restroom, heels whispering over marble. The bathroom was elegant, with ornate gold trim, pristine fixtures, and a full-length mirror that showed her reflection with too much honesty. But more importantly, it was quiet.

She stepped into a stall and, with an audible exhale, locked the door behind her.

The silence was a balm.

Having finally managed the somewhat awkward task of using the facilities in her long evening gown, she stepped toward the counter, smoothing down her dress.

After washing up, she pressed her hands to the cool marble counter surrounding the porcelain sinks, trying to remember how to breathe properly. In for four. Hold. Out for four.

You’re okay. You’re just overwhelmed. It’s fine.

She closed her eyes, willing the nausea and dizziness to pass. Her mind fluttered with too many memories: the Senator’s forced smiles, the weight of his hand on her shoulder when cameras were near, the subtle pressure of his expectations.

The lights flickered.

Savannah opened her eyes.

Then everything went black.

Total, suffocating darkness.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. A chill licked down her spine. She blinked, disoriented, but there was nothing. No sound. No light from the hallway. Just?—

The dark.

Her breath hitched. A memory surged up from the depths, uninvited.

That day when she was fourteen, crying inside the closet. The Senator’s angry voice behind the door. The sharp click of the lock turning. Her mother’s silence.

“Think about your attitude, Savannah.”

She stumbled toward where she thought the door might be and, finding it, she clawed at the doorknob, panic rising like a tide. Locked. From the outside.

A gown meant to pockets. Which meant no phone. Sure, the gown was beautiful but suffocating, and had nowhere to hide anything.

“Come on,” she whispered, jiggling the knob. “Come on, open . . .”

The darkness pressed tighter. Her chest heaved. Her thoughts spiraled. But somewhere through the fear, one name broke through the chaos.

Sawyer.

He’d come. If she took too long, his worry would grow, and he’d come looking for her.

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