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I’m so desperate to see her, to know she’s okay and to cuddle her so hard our bodies fuse together. Preferably permanently.

“Nate,” Noah warns when a horn blares at us, and he glances over his shoulder to look at Bry next to me. He is a little pale, but he is prone to getting a little carsick, and with this sort of driving, I wouldn’t be surprised if he puked.

“Don’t,” Nate growls. Apparently, he refuses to care about our safety or anyone else’s.

“I’m okay,” Bry says, and I appreciate he doesn’t ask Nate to stop or slow down.

All I can do is stare at the dot and watch as ours creeps closer and closer.

Flashing lights catch the corner of my eye, then all I hear are sirens. Suddenly, one appears in front of us, and Nate has to slam on the brakes to avoid rear ending it.

“Fuck,” I pant, trying to swallow my heart after it leapt up my throat. “That was close.”

“You don’t think…” Bry starts, but he doesn’t voice what we’re all thinking.

Nate follows the speeding ambulance, and as we’re directed the same route it takes, my hands somehow fist the headrest even tighter.

More flashing lights ahead of us aren’t a good sign. The smoke isn’t either. The ambulance pulls over, bumping the curb before it stops. I’m too distracted by the fire engines and all the firefighters working on the house with flames consuming it.

Our truck stops too. I throw a quick look at the map and see that our dot has joined the one we were following; Logan’s dot.

This is where Logan was told to go. Where he was tipped off Rosy might be.

Fuck, no.

I fumble the door handle, pushing it open. Stepping out, my unsteady legs buckle, and I crash to my knees. A hand hooks under my arm, and I’m tugged up. Noah’s concerned face inspects me.

“You good?”

I nod, then look around. It’s not bitingly cold, but the spring air is still cool, so I zip up my hoodie, more so out of habit than being able to feel the cold. My body is strung too tight. Where is she? Nate’s already running. The dark night’s unnaturally bright from the lights of all the vehicles and scattered streetlights, but it’s not clear enough to see where Rosy is.

People are around, but most are in uniforms.

None look like Honeybee.

“We should follow Nate,” Bry says, coming to stand next to us. Nate turns from the fire engines and sprints across the road to the front of the ambulance, then Noah murmurs his agreement.

Overtaking them, I arrive just in time to see Nate slam to his knees at the side of a parked car, but the paramedic to the side of him blocks my view of anything more.

I step closer.

My knees almost buckle, joining Nate.

“Honeybee,” I croak, heavy under the wave of relief that’s hitting me. She’s here, in front of me. Alive.

Fuck. Something really dark inside me has been whispering that she was trapped inside the burning house.

I scan her face, and a little more worry releases when I find no marks across it. She’s pale, her cheeks tear-stained, but she’s here.

Pink catches my attention, and I see the collar.

Her lower lip quivers, and I step closer, needing to hug her. A weight knocks the air from my lungs. The paramedic steps into my path, her forearm still pressed against my chest to stop me from moving forward.

“I’m sorry, but I need to check her. You can all see she’s here, but enough is enough. The patient is more important than whatever reassurance you need, so just move out of the way,” she orders, the last part directed at Nate as she spins towards him.

More hands tug at me, and I reluctantly allow Bry to lead me a few steps away. It takes Noah, the male paramedic, and one of the uniformed police officers hovering nearby to persuade Nate to leave.

He allows a little space, just enough for the two paramedics to gather around Rosy and speak to her.