Page 198 of Broken Saint

He ran from the hospital. He didn’t tell me—and I’m assuming others because, in turn, they haven’t told me—that he was leaving.

Is my handprint going to work?

Will he have locked me out as well as run from me?

“Mom, I don’t know if?—”

“Ella,” she whispers, cupping my face. “Life is too short for regrets. Do everything you can do, seek the answers you need, or you’ll spend a long time questioning them.”

Blowing out a long breath, I stare down at the black panel before pressing my hand to it.

It beeps with an error, making my heart plummet into my feet. But then I realize that it’s because my hand is trembling so much that it can’t read my print.

Attempting to calm myself down, I try again, and this time…

“Oh my god,” I gasp when the little light turns green and the locks disengage.

“See,” Mom says, “All is not lost.”

Pushing the handle down, I rush inside his penthouse. “Colt?” I cry, scanning the empty living space before setting my eyes on the bedroom.

My legs move without instruction from my brain and I find myself running through the vast space, my need for him too strong to ignore.

My heart is in my throat, and a renewed sense of hope flows through me.

Mom is right. Everything is going to be okay.

I burst into the room like a mad woman. If he was sleeping, there is no chance of him still doing so as the door crashes back against the wall.

“Colt,” I cry again as my eyes lock on the bed.

The…empty bed.

My brows pinch in confusion.

She said he went home.

Spinning on my heels, I race into the bathroom. But that is equally as empty as the bedroom.

No.

This isn’t right.

“COLT?” I shout as I come running out of the bedroom.

Mom watches as I dart around the apartment, throwing doors open and looking inside every room, including the pantry.

But there is nothing.

All the fight, the hope, drains out of me, seeping into the floor and disappearing into the distance.

“Ella?” Mom asks when I walk back into the living room where she’s been hovering. “Where is he?”

I shake my head, confusion fogging my every thought.

“She said he came home,” I whisper as if Mom didn’t hear those words with her own ears. “I don’t understand.”

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