The Speed of Light: A Novel(29)

I let out a puff of breath, relief spreading its warmth through my body. “Yeah.”

He gives my hand one more squeeze, flashes me his wide grin, then cocks his head toward my apartment building. “Come on. Let’s head inside and take your mind off things, huh?”

My eyes are saucers now, and he laughs. “Whoa, I just meant maybe we could watch a movie or something.”

“Right,” I say quickly. “That sounds great.”



I say a prayer of thanks as I peel off the spare key taped to the back of the HOME SWEET HOME sign hanging from my apartment door. Soon I’m curled up on my couch, tucked into a fluffy blanket and eyeing Connor, who has found the emergency supply of mint chocolate chip ice cream and stands in the kitchen in his gray hoodie and sweat pants. He looks up. “One scoop or two?” I grin slyly and he shakes his head. “What am I even saying?”

He walks over and hands me a bowl with two scoops and sits down next to me.

I smile as I take the first minty-sweet bite. “Do you want a drink or something? I think there’s some beer in the fridge.”

His jaw tenses. “Yeah, about that . . . I, uh, I don’t drink.”

“But you . . .” I stop, frown, think back . . . I never actually saw him drink from his glass on Christmas Eve. On New Year’s Eve, he said he was driving. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He takes a deep breath. “I haven’t had a drink since my brother, Cam, died.” He rubs his neck, eyes on the floor. “It’s something I decided that night, but I guess I haven’t really told anyone yet. I’m sorry.”

I reach for his hand. “Hey, it’s okay.”

He looks up and smiles. I give his hand a squeeze, then lean over for the remote and press play. The iconic Star Wars theme blares through my apartment.

“So which one are we starting with?” he asks.

“Episode IV,” I say, snuggling up next to him.

Connor smiles as he wraps his arm around me. “A New Hope.”





PART FOUR

HOPE





Monday, December 6, 9:51 a.m.

“Hayley?” I sputter. For a moment, hope surges within me—there could be other people in Stan’s office—but when I scan the room behind her, I find it’s empty.

Hayley shrugs, grimacing. “Surprise.”

I almost fly into a rage—it’s just like her to be so goddamned flippant in a terrifying situation—but then I notice her trembling hands. “Are you okay?” I whisper.

“Yes.” She squeezes her eyes shut before opening them again. “I mean no, not really, but physically, I am. What the hell is going on?”

My eyes implore hers. I whisper, “Do you have your phone?”

“No, I left it on my desk, and Stan’s phone isn’t working.” She shakes her head, looking confused. “I just came over to ask for extra fact sheets for a high school visit next week—the door was unlocked, so I came in to wait, and then I heard gunshots and somebody ran past . . . he was . . . he had . . .”

I raise a finger to my lips—she’s spiraling, and if I’m not careful, her panic will spread to me. “Did you see him? Did he see you?”

“I just saw a guy in a ski mask, but he ran by so fast, and the door was half-closed—I don’t think he even noticed me.” Her eyes grow wider. “I heard another gunshot after he ran by. And . . . a scream.”

I wince. “Yeah. I’m going to get Nikki.”

Her eyes widen. “You aren’t getting out of here? You didn’t . . . I thought you came here to . . . you know, rescue me.”

A flare of anger again, but there’s no time for that. “Consider yourself rescued, Hayley.” I wrench my thumb toward the stairway exit across the hall. “It should be clear to go out this way. Go down those stairs and out the door—it’ll take you past the food service loading zone and into the parking lot.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

I glare at her. “Find a phone and call 911 when you get out there.”

Hayley stares back at me, and I can’t read her face. But when she opens her mouth, something has changed, like the Grinch’s heart growing three sizes. “Dammit, Simone. I can’t just leave you here.”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

She sighs. “I think I do.”

All my judgment of her privilege, her ignorance, sweeps away, pushing me toward her for a quick hug. “Okay.” I nod, grim. “Follow me.”

“Wait!” She runs to Stan’s desk and returns with an advertising award, a glass monstrosity from the days of old white men sitting around a table spouting their alleged brilliance. “This could be a weapon, right?”

I nod again, then sweep my eyes down the corridor. The office I share with Nikki is several more yards down the hall, but before I can take a step toward it, there’s a crash from above—not a gunshot, but something heavy falling.

I whip around to face Hayley. “The shooter?” she breathes.

My mind races. It could be. Or it could be more survivors—or someone else hurt. My eyes flit down to my and Nikki’s office, then back to the gray steel door to my right that leads to the staircase.