“Sav?!”
My head jerks back at the shrieking volume that threatens to pop my eardrum.
“It’s me,” I say.
“It’s you,” she cries. It’s Blythe’s voice. I recognize it even through her shaky and tear-filled response. “Oh my fucking god, you scared me. Are you okay? I mean, of course, you’re not okay. I’m so sorry. I miss you,wemiss you. Can I come get you? Where are you?”
“I’m—near the city. Is Warren?—”
“He checked out of the doctor’s office just a little bit ago. He’s got a little concussion but nothing serious.”
My heart drops into the pit of my stomach.
“Concussion? What?—”
“He’s just fine, don't worry about him. A few nights of no sleep and then the tussle at Emma’s house last night is all. He’s knocked out on meds for the moment,” her voice hitches while giving vague details about Warren and my eyes slam shut. “We’ll focus on that later, you’re what’s important right now. We need to get you home.”
“Okay,” I whisper through the tears.
“They’re going to take you to the hospital, okay? We need to make sure you’re alright but I’ll be right there with you.”
“No, I feel fine, I just want to?—”
“Savannah. I’ll take you to see Warren thesecondthe doctors give you the clear. I promise.”
Blythe met me at the hospital in the city, which wasn’t far from the house I’d been held in. I tried my best to protest, but it seemed like a necessary part of making sure law enforcement had every bit of information they needed about my well being after being found.
After eating, a few hours hooked up to an IV, and no visible bodily injuries to speak of, they couldn’t come up with a strong enough reason for me to stay any longer than an hour. Thankfully Blythe knew the nurses and assured them that I’d be taken care of at home.
She'd been on the phone with several people before we left. It nearly gutted me to hear her relay the well wishes from Gage and the boys, her parents, and a few other people. I hate that they were scared or worried and I can’t even imagine how Warren was feeling too.
I should have been feeling guilty that they were concerned about me. I hate what happened. But in a twisted way, I felt warm after hearing about their concern and relief. Even the fact that they went out of their way to check in . . . I felt loved.
It wasn’t lost on me that neither my parents nor brother had called. I know my phone was still MIA and they probably didn’t have Blythe’s number. But they could have figured out a way to make contact if they wanted to. I didn’t dwell on that for long because I knew I had the right people in my circle now.
I drifted in and out of restless sleep during the drive out of the city and back to Westridge. Several times, as we slowed toa stop for an exit or a turn, my eyes snapped open hoping we’d made it back already.
There’s a crick in my neck, dry tears stain my cheeks, and my body is beyond the point of utter exhaustion. But I’m holding onto the tiny reserve of energy that was unlocked the moment I was finally safe in this car and headed home.
I once considered the city that we just left to be my home. Now the very thought of it stirs up a painful cluster of emotions that I’d like to never experience again.
Now, home is no longer just a place to me. It’s my people. The same people that I had missed so dearly in that basement. Their laughs, smiles, hugs . . . even their jokes never once left my mind when I was coming to grips with the fact that if things with Emma went terribly wrong, I may never see them again.
More than anyone else, Warren had consumed my every thought. And I’m buzzing with anticipation knowing I’ll see him again in—I check the clock on the dashboard—twenty minutes.
The few minutes it took for us to stop for food on the way had slowed us down a bit, unfortunately. But that first french fry might have been worth every second. Maybe I was starving, but I swear it was the hottest, saltiest, and freshest golden fry of my life. I’d licked my fingers like a feral creature.
I perk up at the sound of the blinker in the car and lift my head from where it was resting against the window. Blythe eases her foot on the brake and exits the highway, coming to a four-way stop. I sit up in my seat, feeling a sudden rush of excitement as she turns right on a dirt road.
She turns her head and smiles in my direction when we pass a green road sign that says that Westridge is 18 miles away. Her right-hand reaches across the center console, and I meet her in the middle with my left hand.
Our palms squeeze together for that agonizing stretch of road until Westridge finally comes into view. My heart flutters as wedrive through town, past the places that I’ve grown to love. None so much as the ranch, though. And when we finally pull through those glorious gates, I almost open the door, get out, and kiss the damn ground.
My seat belt is already unbuckled when the bunkhouse is still a few hundred yards away. The tears start when I see them standing out front.
Heston with a hand in his pocket and his dog, Lucky, sitting obediently at his feet. Gage leaning against the front door. Tripp, all smiles, and holding a beer in his hand. Warren . . . jogging toward us.
“Stop the car,” I whisper. “Stop the car!” My voice grows louder and more desperate.
