Page 61 of Out of the Blue

She succeeds in grabbing my arm, but I yank it away. My breaths become shallower as the buzzing gets louder. The walls close in on me.

“I can’t breathe. I have to get out of here.” With my heart racing, I rush toward Dwight. “Hey, man, gimme your keys.”

“It’s dark and icy out there, dude,” he replies.

“The hotel’s not far.” When he doesn’t move, I add, “I need to clear my head.”

Dwight’s eyes scan the room and land on where I was standing, talking with Cordy. Although I don’t spare her a glance, I’m sure she looks less than happy. His brown eyes return to mine. “Here. Marvin drove her over.” He tosses me his keys. “Don’t let things fester too long between you two, okay.”

I close my fingers around my freedom. “Yeah, man. I’ll keep it cool.”

I stride out of the room and into the chilly New Hampshire evening. I need the Harley’s speed under me. Seconds later, helmet strapped under my neck, I get on the open road.

Chapter 19 - Cordelia

If I don’t stop pacing, I’m going to leave a rut in the cream-colored rug between the window and the bed. After staying in a dozen or so hotels, I can vouch they’re basically all the same with interchangeable browns and beiges on the walls and floors. And sanitized artwork. After Trent bailed in the dressing room, I lasted another twenty minutes at the Pavilion before hitting my own hotel room—wasn’t able to bring myself to go to his suite.

I’ve spent the past hours focusing on a rebuttal for the Dwight story. At least I’ve been more or less productive. His counselor was ahead of her time with prescribing drums to him. Maybe other kids with ADHD will find their way to playing drums as a way to manage the disease. Even though this idea still isn’t mainstream, some exciting research has been made into drummers’ brainwaves and such. I send my draft to Mr. Hewitt and stare blankly at the wall.

“He’ll be back. Give him time.” Dwight’s order from earlier, no matter how sweetly couched, rings in my ears. Checking the clock once more, I confirm I’ve already given him plenty of time.

You should be used to this.You promised to be patient if something goes wrong, my mind stubbornly reminds me. So did he. I place my hands over my ears and yell, “Stop!”

Nothing moves in the room. Not my cell phone with a call from my erstwhile boyfriend. Not a knock to alert me he’s back. Not even the radiator dares turn on.

Exhaling, I collapse onto the bed. It’s probably for the best, anyway. We were only together for a month or so.Time for me to end this farce. Yet—why are tears coating my cheeks?

Getting up, I open my suitcase and pick up one of my nightgowns.

My phone rings.

Adrenaline rushes through my body as I fumble to pick up my cell.About time.I get ready to lay into Trent when my foggy brain shows it’s the Franklin Pierce Hospital calling. I glance at the clock, which reads three a.m. Is this a crank?

What if it isn’t?

Grappling with the phone, I finally press the green button. “Hello?” I croak.

A disembodied voice asks, “Is this Ms. Cordelia Hernandez?”

My body freezes. “Yes.”

“I’m calling because your name was listed as the Emergency Contact for a,” papers rustle. “Trenton Washington.”

My breath accelerates faster than one of Dwight’s drum rolls. He put me down as his contact person? Shoving this thought aside, I ask, “What happened to Trent? How bad is he? Can I talk with him?” My questions stumble all over themselves.

“He was brought to the ER of Pierce Hospital after an accident. We’re located at …”

I take down the address, then stare at my blank screen. I have to get to him. Realizing I’m still dressed, I grab my purse, shove my feet back into my boots, and let the door slam shut. In the hallway, I freeze. I don’t even have my coat. Shit. Finally getting the keycard to work, I fling open the closet and snatch it. Leaving the closet door ajar, I’m back in the hallway in seconds and stop dead. Again. I don’t have a car.

Raine. He can help me. Instead of the elevator, I expend some energy scrambling up two flights of stairs to get to his floor. Outside his room, I bang on the door. A groggy man opens it wearing only a pair of boxers. Recognizing me, he pushes his shaggy hair away from his face. “Cor—”

Before he can even finish my name, I dive in. “Trent. Accident. Hospital.” I wave my cell phone. “I need a ride.”

His eyes widen. “Shit.” He turns his back on me and I follow him into his suite. All business despite wearing next to nothing, he places a call. “I need three cars immediately to go to—” He looks at me. “What hospital?”

I give him the information and he relays it to the car service. When he hangs up, he says, “Cars should be here soon.”

I draw him in for a brief hug. “Thanks, Raine.”

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