Page 101 of Misted

Whether I return to Omega now or later doesn’t make a difference.

I rush back to my car and reach for the briefcase at the back. My hand stops midway.

Hawk did a lot to get me off this poison. He made me feel so alive and wanted after fifteen years of living as a complete shell.

I’ll only return to Omega when I absolutely have to.

My head falls on the steering wheel. It’s been two weeks since I left Hawk unconscious and wounded. I’ve been calling Crow every day since to ask about his state. His short replies drive me crazy and I wish I had Eloise’s number instead.

Being stingy — and obviously hating me for leaving — Crow made our calls brief and mono-syllable.

He’s fine.

He had a fever but it’s going down.

He can walk. He eats.

Why do you think you have the right to ask about him after you abandoned him?

Ink’s words from earlier keep pushing into my mind uninvited.

If I were you, I’d spend whatever time I have left doing what I love the most.

No. I can’t even think about that option. I have to remind my aching heart that I’m doing this for Hawk’s safety. I’m used to the distance.

Or was.

After the weeks I spent with him in that cosy house, it’s becoming a torture to breathe without him. He doesn’t run with me, shop with me, watch festivals with me. He doesn’t look at me as if I’m the most beautiful woman on earth. He doesn’t fuck me senseless as if he can’t get close or deep enough.

I didn’t know I needed all of that until I had it. He’s different from my old Hawk, but in some ways, he’s still the boy that kept me alive. He’s still the one who hugs me and lets me sleep on his lap when it’s too much.

The boy and the man might be different, but deep inside, they’re still the same.

Now that I have neither of them, my chest feels so empty, it aches to even breathe.

I rip the wrap off the protein bar, finish it in a few bites, and start the engine. I need to keep moving.

My phone vibrates.

The name that flashes across the screen causes my skin to prickle.

Scar.

Why is she calling me? Wait…

I answer in a rush. “Is Hawk all right?”

“He has a strong fever!” She shrieks. “He’s dying. Oh my God, Haaaawky, hang in there.”

There’s a rustle on the other side. Some fumbling. More muffled sounds.

My breathing deepens as I ask in a slow, spooked voice. “Scar? W-what’s going on?”

“Noooo— ” The line goes dead. So does my heart.

I dial her again. She doesn’t answer. I curse and dial Crow. His phone is turned off. My hands become sweaty and tears rim my eyes. They stream down my cheeks and into my mouth until I taste salt.

No.

No.

This can’t be happening.

My phone vibrates. I never opened a text so fast.

Scar – it’s all your fault!

My world turns black.