I blink at her, my heart suddenly hammering for a completely different reason. “What?”
She winces, and that’s when I know.
Panic claws its way up my throat as my mind scrambles, trying to piece together what she just said, what it means.
Saying goodbye.
Goodbye.
No.
No, no, no?—
“What—” My voice shakes. “What day is it?”
Lyla’s eyes flick to mine, and she swallows hard.
“Lyla,” I snap, my pulse pounding in my ears. “What day is it?”
She exhales, her face softening. “Mads?—”
I don’t wait for her to finish.
I bolt. Barefoot, hair still damp, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and shorts—I don’t care.
I rip open the door and sprint down the stairs, my feet slapping against the pavement as I take off down the street.
Jaxon’s leaving.
He’s leaving and I didn’t say anything.
Didn’t fight.
Didn’t tell him I love him, that I want him, that I’m done running.
I can’t be too late.
I won’t.
The wind whips against my skin as I push harder, my lungs burning, my legs screaming—but I don’t slow down. I can’t.
His house comes into view, and my chest tightens.
His truck isn’t in the driveway.
My breath catches in my throat as I come to a stumbling stop in front of the house, my heart hammering against my ribs.
No. No, no, no?—
I sprint up the steps anyway, my hands shaking as I bang on the door.
Nothing.
I knock again, harder this time, my pulse roaring in my ears.
Please. Please.
Footsteps shuffle on the other side. A second later, the door swings open?—
