Page 106 of Love so Hot
"Move!" It slips out as a snarl, frustration boiling over. I swerve around a beat-up sedan, earning a chorus of horns that blend into the cacophony of my own mounting terror.
I dodge a minivan, slide past a delivery truck, each maneuver a calculated risk that could land me in the hospital next to her. But I don't care. It's just me and the road and the all-consuming need to reach her.
"Please be okay." My grip on the wheel is a vise, knuckles white, the leather creaking under the strain. It's taking forever, this drive, an endless stretch where time has no meaning except for the dread that multiplies with each passing moment.
What if she's seriously hurt? What if... No. I can't go there. I force myself to take a deep breath, but it doesn't do much to calm the hurricane in my chest.
"Damn this traffic!" The curse is hollow, swallowed by the din of the outside, and the unyielding reality that the world doesn't stop spinning, even when yours feels like it's about to shatter.
The hospital looms ahead and I don't even bother parking anywhere. I slam the brakes and kill the engine at the front door. My door slams shut behind me, echoing in the cacophony of shouts and camera clicks crowding the entrance.
"Excuse me, coming through!" My voice is a blade, slicing through the noise. Reporters swarm like vultures, mics thrust forward, hungry for a soundbite.
"Is it true?—"
"Can you comment?—"
"Look here?—"
"No comment!" I bark, shoving past bodies that blur into an indistinct mass. They don't matter. Only Willow.
"Sir, just a quick?—"
"Move!" It's not a request. Elbows out, I barrel through the last of the crowd, a final burst to the sliding doors. They part with a whoosh, and I'm inside, away from the frenzy, lungs heaving.
"Willow Harper," I gasp at the reception desk. "Where is she?"
Chapter Fifty-One
Lawrence
"Second floor,but we're not done with in-processing" the receptionist says, barely looking up from her computer.
"Thanks." I don't wait for more information. Time is a luxury I can't afford. My shoes pound against the polished hospital floor as I make a beeline for the elevators, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Sir!" She's calling after me now, her voice sharp with authority. "Visitors aren't allowed yet!"
Her words ricochet off the sterile walls, but they don't slow me down. Rules? They're nothing compared to the knot of dread tightening in my gut. Willow could be up there, hurt—or worse. I jab the elevator button, willing the damn thing to hurry up.
I step into the elevator the second it dings open. The doors slide shut, cutting off the receptionist's protests. Up we go, the car climbing with agonizing slowness. I tap my foot, every second an eternity. If anything's happened to Willow because of that damned pipeline...
The doors open, and I barrel through the second-floor corridor, eyes scanning for a nurse, anyone who can point me in Willow's direction. “The explosion,” I blurt out to the first scrubs-clad figure I spot. “I’m looking for Willow.”
The nurse’s brows knit together, a hint of confusion in her gaze before recognition sparks. "Room 204," she says, gesturing down the hall.
My thanks is a muttered blur as I sprint towards the door marked "204." My hand wraps around the handle, heart hammering in anticipation of seeing Willow. But when the door swings open, the scene inside knocks the breath from my lungs.
The leader of the Earth Defenders, River, lies sprawled on a hospital bed, a patchwork of gauze and bruises marring his usually fierce features. No sign of Willow, just him. Confusion coils tight in my chest, anger close on its heels. "What the hell happened?" I demand, stepping into the white room.
His green eyes, dimmed with pain or guilt, lock onto mine. "I screwed up," he rasps, voice barely above a whisper. His confession hits like a punch; he led the action, the one that backfired into a fiery nightmare.
"Willow?" My voice cracks, urgency bleeding through. He shakes his head slightly, regret etched deep in his expression.
"Was with me, then... she must've left." His words are shards of glass in my gut.
"Must have left?" I echo, disbelief and tension warring in my tone. The River I know is all conviction and fight, not this beaten figure with his vague answers.
"Where is she now?" I press, my relief that she wasn't caught in the explosion now morphing into a gnawing pit of worry. His eyes are hollow, regretful, and frustratingly clueless.