Connected (Connections, #1)(107)

I’m surprised to hear Serena’s voice instead of Grace’s. “River?” she asks and then she’s oddly silent.

I flop my head back on the pillow and stretch out. “Serena? What’s . . .” I start to say when she interrupts, “I need to talk to Dahlia.” Her voice is a little off, and she sounds sad or nervous, I’m not sure which.

Taking the phone in my hand, I sit back up immediately. “Serena she’s not here. She went running. Is everything okay? Is it Grace?” I have to ask, but pray it’s not.

“River you need to find her. We need to talk to her now.” Her tone is urgent, and I have to know what’s going on.

With concern clear in my voice, I ask, “Serena, what’s going on? What’s the matter?”

Her voice is muffled through the phone for a few seconds, and I can’t really hear what she’s saying when Grace gets on the phone.

“River, we’ve called the police,” she tells me, her voice quivering as she speaks.

“Grace, I’m lost. What do you need the police for?”

“Didn’t she tell you?”

My heart is racing, and I really just want her tell me what the f*ck she’s talking about. “Grace, what are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“I left Dahlia three messages last night. They let him out on a technicality.”

“Grace, who did they let out?”

“The man who shot Ben. He’s out,” she’s telling me this and I’m trying to process what’s going on.

I look at Dahlia’s phone and hit the home button. I see three messages from Grace that haven’t been listened to, and fifteen missed calls from Grace and Serena.

“Grace, she hasn’t listened to your messages yet.”

She’s crying and I think she is unable to speak but she manages, “Hold on.”

Caleb gets on the phone. “Hey man. Where is she? I’m not sure what’s going on but we need to keep an eye on her.”

I’m trying not to get annoyed at this prick and his use of the word ‘we’ as I answer, “She went running. What the f*ck is going on?”

I can hear him inhale a deep breath, “Look man, I think the guy that shot Ben is looking for something. I drove by Dahlia’s house last night just to check on it, and someone broke in again. I drove over to your house looking for her, but they wouldn’t let me in the gate and neither of you answered their calls. I called your sister and she gave me your number. I called you all f*cking night.”

I bolt out of bed and look frantically around for my pants. Running to the bathroom, I find them on the floor. I pull them on and find my phone still in the pocket. My hands are trembling. “Caleb, I’ll call you back when I find her,” I tell him and hang up.

Calling hotel security, I hastily explain the situation. Whether it’s necessary or not to send someone to find her, I have no f*cking idea, but I want her found now.

Just as I throw on my shirt and sneakers and head for the door, the hotel phone rings. I’m torn between answering it and running out to find her but since I did call security, I turn around and go back. I silently pick the phone up.

“Mr. Wilde?”

“Yes,” I answer with concern clearly in my voice.

“Sir, we’d like you to come down to the lobby and we’ll escort you to the hospital.”

I swallow a few times trying to catch my breath as all the air leaves my lungs, and my knees buckle beneath me. As I’m searching for the courage to ask the question I already know the answer to, I hear the ambulance sirens in the distance and I don’t need to ask anything.

Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I bolt out of the room and take the ten flights of stairs down to the lobby where security is waiting for me. I can hardly think, but I know I can’t lose her. I can’t lose my best friend, my soul mate, my smile, my laugh—my everything.





They say she’s already on her way to the hospital in the ambulance. I want them to take me to see her now. No one knows what happened, just that someone heard screaming and called security. This car ride feels like the longest fifteen-mile drive of my life. My phone keeps ringing, but I can’t answer it. I just have to see her, my beautiful, perfect girl. I need to know she’s okay.

I slide open the photos I have of her. Some are serious, some are funny, some are quirky, and some are downright hot. All of them a reflection of her beautiful face, and the tears I’ve been holding back start to flow like the unease I feel about my inability to keep her safe.

Absorbed in my thoughts and the quiet of the car, I can barely even hear my own breathing. The heat is blasting and even though I’m not wearing a coat, I’m sweating. The security chief is talking to me, but I’m not listening until I realize he’s telling me we’re at the hospital. Rushing through the emergency room doors, I make my way through a very packed waiting room toward the small glass window at the reception desk. As I get closer I think I see Dahlia back behind it, but once I’m there, I realize it’s only wishful thinking.

Holding myself up against the counter, I feel slightly queasy. My nerves are getting the best of me. My heart is pounding a thousand beats a minute, my stomach is in knots, and the chill running through my body is making the shivering painful.

“Can I help you, sir?”