Page 79 of Push My Buttons
"Coffee run," I snap, my patience evaporating. "Some of us actually need caffeine to function, not just the souls of our subordinates."
Matthews' eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing," I mutter. "Bad morning. Reports by end of day, I promise."
Before he can respond, I push past him. I hear him call something after me about professionalism and expectations, but I'm already jabbing the button of the elevator repeatedly as if that will make it arrive faster.
The walk to the café feels endless. I check my phone a dozen times, hoping for a response from Wren, but there's nothing. Not even a read receipt to indicate she's seen my messages.
By the time I push through the café door, my anxiety has crystallized into a hard knot in my stomach. The morning rush has passed, leaving only a few customers scattered at tables. I scan the room for pink hair, but don't see her anywhere.
Maya is at the counter, wiping down the espresso machine with quick, angry movements. When she looks up and sees me, her expression transforms from professional neutrality to pure fury in an instant.
"You," she hisses, throwing down her cloth. "You have some fucking nerve showing up here."
I approach the counter cautiously. "Maya, I—"
"What did you do to her?" she demands, her voice rising. "She came in here sobbing—completely falling apart! I've never seen her like that!"
The knot in my stomach tightens painfully. "We had a fight," I say, which feels like the understatement of the century. "I came to apologize, to make sure she's okay."
"Okay?" Maya laughs, the sound sharp and humorless. "She had a complete breakdown! Marcus was being an absolute dick to her, and she just ran out of here like she was being chased! I tried to follow her, but—"
"But what?" I ask, dread climbing up my throat.
Maya's words come faster now, her anger making them tumble over each other. "—she just collapsed right outside on the sidewalk. I tried to get to her but there were too many people crowding around. Some guy in a suit was already helping her, had his jacket under her head. Blood everywhere. Someone else called the ambulance—Marcus wouldn't even let me leave to go to the hospital with her. Threatened to fire me if I walked out during rush. "
"Hospital?" I interrupt, my brain finally catching the word that matters most. "What hospital? Maya, what the fuck do you mean hospital?"
She continues her tirade, not hearing me. "—and where were you? Where was Jace? You're supposed to be protecting her! You're supposed to care about her! Some fucking boyfriends you—"
"MAYA!" I slam my hand on the counter, making her jump. "What. Hospital."
She blinks, finally registering my question. "Mercy General," she says, her anger momentarily replaced by confusion. "They took her about an hour ago. I couldn't even follow the ambulance because of Marcus. I thought you knew. I thought that's why you were here."
I'm already backing toward the door, fumbling for my phone. "No one called us," I say, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears. "No one fucking called us."
"But you're her emergency contact," Maya says, frowning. "She changed it weeks ago in her phone. Both you and Jace."
Cold dread washes over me. If no one called us, that means...
"I have to go," I say, already dialing Jace with shaking fingers. "I have to find her."
As I burst back onto the street, Jace's voice comes through the phone. "Theo? What's wrong?"
"It's Wren," I say, breaking into a run toward the street, flagging down a cab. "She's at Mercy General. Something happened. She collapsed. Maya said there was blood."
There's a beat of silence, then: "I'll meet you there."
I end the call, my mind racing with terrible possibilities. Wren in the hospital. Wren injured. Wren alone.
And somewhere out there, a stalker who knows her real name, who's been watching her for months, who might have seen his opportunity and taken it.
As I get into a cab and bark out the request for Mercy General, one thought pounds in my head with each heartbeat: Please let her be safe. Please let her be safe. Please let her be safe.
Each second that drags by screams with terror: Did I drive her to this? Did my cowardice push her over the edge? There’s a stalker out there who knows her real name, who’s watched her for months. What if he grabbed his chance while we gave her “space”?
The cab winds through traffic. My mind races through every terrible possibility. Sweat beads on my forehead. My hands shake on my knees. I’m the reason she’s here. I should have said it. I fucking should have said it.
