“I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m freaking out.”
“You think?” she asks as if we didn’t both just escape from a fucking burning building.
“Where are the guys?”
She shakes her head, her brows pinching.
“I-I don’t know. Aren’t any of them here with you?”
Taking her hand in mine, I double-check she locked the door properly and then drag her up the stairs.
“Seb pushed me through a window, gave me his car keys and told me to get my ass back here. I left him in the building,” I confess, my voice cracking with fear.
“He’ll be okay,” she assures me from behind, although her own voice conveys her true feelings. “They all will be,” she adds, as if just hearing the words out loud will make them true.
On any other day, I’d tease her for showing that she cared. But right now, that’s the furthest thing from my mind.
“You want a drink?” I ask when we get to the top of the stairs.
“Uh…” Emmie hesitates. “S-sure.”
I leave her to take a seat, pulling the freezer open and grabbing the bottle of vodka that I’d stashed in there a few days ago.
Twisting the top off, I bring the bottle to my lips and swallow down a couple of shots. Not enough to get wasted, just enough to hopefully take the edge off my fear.
Dropping onto the opposite couch to Emmie—the one I was sitting in when she scared the shit out of me—I curl up and wrap my arms around my legs once again.
“Anything?” I ask when Emmie checks her cell.
She shakes her head before silence falls around us.
“You should go and clean up.” She nods toward my arms.
When I look down, my eyes widen at the blood covering them.
“Shit, I—” Now I see them, I can admit that they do actually hurt.
“Your legs, too. Come on, do you have a first aid kit here?”
“No,” I bark, staying put. “I’m not moving until they’re back.”
“You’re dripping,” she says, glancing at the floor. “Theo will kill you for getting blood on—”
I raise a brow at her.
“What?” she snaps. “You know I’m right.”
“I know,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “I just… I need to know they’re okay.”
“I get that, Stella. But sitting here bleeding out in the process isn’t going to help.”
She pushes from the couch and comes over. Prying the bottle from my lap, she takes a swig before placing it down and reaching for my hand.
“Come on.” She tugs hard enough that I have little choice but to climb back to my feet and follow her down to our bedroom.
The second we step inside, Seb’s lingering scent hits me and I have to fight not to let a sob erupt.
The longer this goes on, the less I’m able to ignore the panic growing inside me.