The Speed of Light: A Novel(56)

But I turn pleading eyes to Connor. “Please.” He nods, and we walk slowly together toward the house.

Inside, the air-conditioning wraps me in its cool embrace, and I ease down on the sofa.

“I’ll be right back,” Connor says. He returns within moments with a glass of ice water and a fan, which he points directly at my face, then sits down next to me and leans in, voice low. “Do you need to go to the doctor?”

I shake my head slowly, not wanting any more dizziness. “I’ll be fine, really. I just need to rest.”

He looks doubtful, though, as Arielle and Ella settle across from us on the opposite couch. “Hey, let’s watch a movie,” Arielle says brightly.

“The Last Jedi!” Ella cries.

Arielle’s eyes darken briefly, but she smiles, her voice light. “You’ve watched that, like, a million times already, El. Let’s watch something else.”

Ella sighs dramatically. “Okay, fine. Beauty and the Beast.”

The movie begins, and it’s just the four of us—no one else is looking at me, no one judging—and yet I can’t shake it. The knot in my gut. The shame and the helplessness. The fear, taunting me.

This will keep happening. Things will only get worse.

But Connor circles his arm around me, and I lean in to him, warm and solid. He is here, and everything is okay. That’s all that matters right now. I close my eyes and try to let my body rest, drifting off with the murmur of the movie in the background.

After a few minutes, Irene sticks her head in, her chipper voice waking me. “Hey, guys, Davey and Mick are here.”

Arielle scrunches her nose when Irene isn’t looking, but Connor’s face lights up. “Oh yeah? I didn’t know they were coming.”

“They’d like to see all of you. I told them Ella is getting so big. They’re waiting by the keg, of course.” Irene rolls her eyes, then adds wryly, “Don’t worry, your father is keeping them company.”

Connor turns to me. “They’re a couple of buddies from high school.”

Irene fixes her expectant smile on Arielle, whose face is expressionless as she pauses the movie. Ella whines, but Arielle gets her up and outside with the promise of another freezie pop. As they breeze stoically by, I marvel at Arielle’s strength, how every moment here with Cam’s family and friends must be a reminder of all that she’s lost.

I turn to Connor. “Aren’t you going out to say hi?”

He shakes his head, grabs the remote. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Connor.” I stare at him until he meets my eyes. “I’m fine. Go.”

“You’re sure?” I nod, so he leans in and kisses my forehead, then jumps up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

I smile as I watch him go, and so does his mom. At least I think she’s watching him, but when I turn toward her, I realize she’s watching me, her smile at the dangerous crossroads between sympathy and pity. I brace myself.

She clucks, hand to her chest. “He’s always been such a good boy—so loyal and dependable.”

“That’s great,” I say cautiously.

“He’s my little fixer.”

My stomach lurches. “Your what?”

“You know, just always there to help people who need it—his friends, his family, people who are, you know, struggling. Less fortunate.” She beams at me. “And it’s just so nice that now you have him to help you.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. She sighs, a wistful little puff, and then flits away still wearing her proud-mama smile.

But her words linger behind. And I sit with them in the silence, alone.





PART EIGHT

CONCEALMENT





Monday, December 6, 10:11 a.m.

I freeze, silent, as another footstep creaks outside the office door—then terror courses through me when the handle jiggles.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

It’s locked and barricaded, I remind myself. He can’t get in.

“Hello? 911. Is someone there?” I want to answer the woman on the phone, but I can’t take my focus off the door handle. There’s a scrape of metal on metal, one and then another, the handle jiggling each time but not giving.

As if the person has a set of keys, trying each one.

Hayley whimpers and Nikki clutches my hand, her fingers cold and clammy. It’s the jolt I need—this is real, and time is running out.

And I’ll be damned if we sit here in the open, defenseless.

“There’s a shooter on campus at Southeastern State University,” I hiss into the phone. “Herald Hall 120.”

I drop the receiver and turn to Hayley. “Closet.” The word is barely a whisper, but she leaps up, rushes across the office, and pulls open the closet door.

I wrap my arms under Nikki and lift, the rush of self-preservation on my side as I carry her across the room, legs aflame with pins and needles with every step. Her breaths are rough and I know she’s in pain, she’s losing so much blood, but we have to hide—nothing will matter if we don’t get to that goddamn closet.

Inside the long, narrow closet, I lay Nikki down as gently as possible as Hayley eases the door shut behind us. Nikki is shaking now—I think she’s going into shock?—so I whip off my cardigan and drape it over her.