Ellis moved on to Francesca, who flipped her ponytail and grinned, more than happy to serve up sound bites. I went over to Heath, who was on a floor mat completing some physical therapy exercises.
“Have you seen Bella?” I asked.
He shook his head. Even that small motion provoked a wince.
I bent down beside him. “Your back?”
“It’s just this cold weather,” he said. “Guess California’s turned me soft.”
He needed more rest, more time, more treatment, but we didn’t have it.
“Bella should have some muscle rub in her bag.” I straightened up. “I’ll go find her.”
I figured she was in the bathroom or something, but I checked every stall and there was no sign of her. Maybe she’d gone to get something to eat? Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen her consume more than a granola bar in the past forty-eight hours, and that was only after Heath pressed it into her hand.
I remembered seeing some vending machines down a different hallway, so I headed in that direction. Sure enough, there she was, leaning against the wall, still wearing her winter coat.
“Hey,” I called out. “Heath’s back is acting up, and he was wondering—”
Bella didn’t seem to hear me. She didn’t even turn her head.
I watched in horror as she slumped to the floor.
Chapter 71
I ran to Bella and crouched at her side.
She was conscious, but barely—head sagging limp against the wall, eyes squinted like she couldn’t bear the brightness of the fluorescent lights.
“Bella?” I pressed the back of my hand to her forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“Shit, is she all right?”
Ellis. He’d followed me.
“You better not fucking write about this,” I said.
He pressed a hand to his gold lamé ascot. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”
“You really want me to answer that? Make yourself useful and go get the medics.”
Bella let out a soft whimper and clutched at the bottom of her rib cage. Her coat zipper was halfway down, like she’d tried to take it off and given up.
“Find Heath too,” I shouted after Ellis. He nodded before scurrying out of sight.
I’d never seen Bella so weak. In all the years we’d known each other, that bitch had never even caught a cold, and now she looked like she was dying. She’d been fine an hour before.
Hadn’t she? I reassessed the past several weeks—her oversleeping, her listlessness, her lack of appetite. All the symptoms I’d assumed were due to stress from our punishing training schedule, theuncertainty of Heath’s recovery. More than once, I’d had the uncharitable thought that Bella had no right to be so exhausted, when we were the ones doing the real work.
Heath jogged around the corner. When he saw us, he broke into a sprint.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I found her like this.”
He knelt beside me, dust blurring the knees of his black pants.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, cupping Bella’s sallow cheek. “You’ll be okay.”
