Page 126 of Ride or Die

The doctor said something. Told her. Warned her. The concussion. The confusion. The anger. I know exactly what’s happening and I fuckin’ hate it.

“I’ll… I’ll get the doctor,” Bailey says.

“I don’t need the fuckin’ doctor. I just… I need my girl.” I throw my head back, squeezing my eyes closed.

“Cole, you can’t let yourself get worked up like this.” Bailey touches my hand.

The panic that blooms in my chest is almost too much. Something is wrong. Clara wouldn’t just leave. Not without talking to me. She wouldn’t?—

“I’m getting the doctor.”

“Bailey, no. I swear to fuckin’ God?—”

“I’ll be right back.” She ignores me and hurries out of the room, leaving me.

“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing my hair back from my face.

But then the second she’s gone, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room spins violently, and I grip the mattress until it settles enough for me to see straight. My head feels like it’s splitting apart but I don’t care.

The wires attached to me pull tight and I look down. Heart monitor, pulse ox, IV line. For a second, common sense warns me to stay put, to wait for answers, to listen to the fuckin’ doctors because as much as I hate whatever it is they’re bound to tell me,they do know best. But then every instinct inside of me screams the same thing. Find her. Before it’s too late. Before she’s gone for good.

I rip the leads off me. The adhesive tape tears at the hairs on my skin. Pain shoots through my hand when I rip the IV out, an alarm shrieking from somewhere nearby. Good. Let it.

I stumble toward the chair in the corner where my clothes are folded. Jeans, boots, shirt, hat. Getting dressed feels like playing Twister drunk. My limbs barely work and my balance is shot to hell. I nearly fall twice but eventually I’m fully clothed.

The alarm outside is louder now and I hear the sound of voices approaching, feet hitting the linoleum.

I pull open the door, relieved to find the hallway beyond is empty, for the moment at least. I slip out and the movement again sends another wave of dizziness through me. I steady myself against the wall, taking a breath. Everything fuckin’ hurts. My head, my neck, my ribs, everything. But none of it matters. Because with every step, one thought keeps repeating itself in my head.

Where are you, Clara?

The hospital stretches endlessly ahead. Nurses’ stations, waiting rooms, elevators, people moving through the halls. But nobody stops me. Not yet. And as I stagger toward the door to the stairwell, heart hammering, dread growing heavier with every step, I know one thing with absolute certainty: I don’t care if it fuckin’ kills me, I will find my girl.

My phone is going off from the passenger seat, Siri’s robotic voice coming through every few minutes, interrupting the music playing through the speakers to alert me of a new phone call.

Bailey Bay calling.

You have new voice messages.

Wyatt calling.

You have sixteen new text messages.

Brady calling.

Austin calling.

I ignore every fucking one of them as I drive the road from Sunshine to Summer, but then Siri comes through and I almost veer right off the road.

Clara calling.

“Clara?” I almost scream the second I press the answer call icon on my steering wheel. “Baby, where you at?”

Rustling comes through the speakers, static and crackly, and the tires skid as I pull off to the shoulder, gravel and dirt clouding up all around me. Grabbing my phone, I switch to the device. “Clara?”

My heart hammers in the back of my throat as I listen. A whisper. A distant shout. A faraway scream. More rustling. What the fuck is going on?

“Billie?” I try, keeping my voice soft, tentative, holding my goddamn breath.