Page 32 of The Drummer

For a minute or two, I’m fine with that. I’m not even bitter that Luke’s drama stole another relationship from me. I expect that now. I knew the moment he mentioned Callie with that little smirk, he’d unintentionally ruin any chance I had with her or anyone else who drifts into our orbit.

You can’t survive Luke, and as I watch our old pattern play out in real-time, reality crashes in.

My heart breaks.

Everything goes dark and muddled around me.

Luke knows all of this as well. He knew he couldn’t prevent himself from destroying everything in his path, so he had to divert his path away from the only person he still cared about.

Me.

How does a deadly hurricane show love? By leaving a sixteen-word note and fleeing as far from his next victim as possible. I read his note all wrong. It wasn’t an apology. It was a goodbye.

My blood goes cold. I can’t breathe as the truth constricts around my lungs, lodging in my heart.

There’s only one place he can go that’s far enough to protect me from himself, and it isn’t a luxury suite in a distant city.

Casey:

I’m sorry. I love you too much to drag you to hell with me.

Luke

He didn’t come here to hide. He came here to stop existing. This party? It’s the cover. And these strangers have no idea they’re not guests. They’re witnesses.

Oh god.

What if I’m too late?

CHAPTER SIX

My heart slamming against my ribs, I push through the crowd toward the hallway.

The women who were with Luke a minute ago are now grumbling in the opposite direction to return to the party. There’s still no sign of Callie or Luke, and I’m terrified of what I’ll find at the end of the hall. Whatever it is, Callie shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.

I run the rest of the way, breathing prayers I haven’t uttered in a long time. Not since that night at Elena’s grave.

I knock on the closed door out of habit but don’t wait for a response. When I push through it, Callie is perched beside him on the bed, a devastated and helpless look on her face. My heart breaks for her. Both of them.

I knew we’d end up here the second I learned about Callie The Breakfast Club Girl. I just hoped it wouldn’t be like this.

“Is he okay?” I ask, urgently scanning Luke’s still form.

The rise and fall of his bare chest relieves some of my tension.

She studies him for a second as if she’s not sure how to answer that. Of course she’s not. There is no answer. But fornow, I have to translate our past into the present for those who don’t speak our twisted language.

“I don’t know. What are the different stages of substance abuse unconsciousness?” she says.

That’s all the invitation I need.

I charge into the room and drop to the floor beside Luke. Nausea swirls in my stomach at the sensory memory of this familiar situation. So many panicked evaluations, desperate pleas, and jarring movements to wake him up. But I can’t think about that now.

All that matters is this latest time.

I test his pulse and his breathing. Both are strong. A scan of his room doesn’t reveal any paraphernalia other than alcohol. It doesn’t mean he hasn’t taken anything else, but it’s unlikely. We need to clean out his system just to be safe.

“He’ll be okay,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Callie doesn’t need to carry the full reality of this situation. For now, we just have to deal with the present. “We need to try to wake him up in a bit and get some water in him. Has he thrown up, yet?”

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