The Runaways

Chapter 18

        "Why are you still standing there?” He shouted.

I couldn't move. It didn't matter that I wanted to, something bigger than fear hid behind my hesitation. A thousand angry butterflies beat their wings fast enough to kick up a hurricane in my stomach. It paralyzed me. Caleb was quick to pick up on the change.

Whether he felt it or not, he'd changed too. Over the course of an hour, he’d switched from pity-full to purposeful one minute to the next. I thought I'd gotten good enough at reading him to know what was coming, to assume he'd understand why I wouldn’t help him push himself over the edge.

I was wrong.

He turned towards me, enough so I could see live wire rage explode across his stormy blues. Liam's reach hadn't left either of us. No matter how far we'd run from the house, his anger lived and breathed through Caleb's desperation.

        "If you wanna die here, Hailey, keep standing still."

The low groan of old, tired metal cut into the tense quiet between us. Caleb lifted the tunnel door off the ground on his own. The long lines of veins in his hands and arms bulged to the point of bursting out from underneath his skin.

The bottom corner of his t-shirt flooded bright red. The blood was too new to be Cillian’s.

        "Caleb, stop!”

His knees buckled and the door tilted backwards towards him too fast for him to dodge it. I panicked—pushed my feet off the ground and shoved him out of the way before the weight of the slab crushed the both of us.

The rusty hinges screamed across the sky and the hollow echo of the crash ricocheted down into the tunnel. I pulled myself up off Caleb, and found him lying under me covered in blood.

        "Don’t look at me like that, Hailey. I’m fine. The cop only grazed me a little. It’s not too bad, right?"

I'd spent most of my life pretending, putting on an act when things were everything but okay and everyone believed me. Not even my parents could call my bluffs when I got good enough at it. Caleb needed to believe me tonight.

I molded my trembling lips into a smile, and plastered on a mask made of little white lies to keep him calm. I nodded at him like things were fine, like he wasn't bleeding pools into the dirt, and that his gunshot wound wasn't as raw and ragged as it looked.

I lifted up his shirt higher—the cops had shot him clean through his side and I held my breath hoping the bullet hadn’t hit anything important. I needed help. We needed help. But there was nothing but a storm coming.

        "You never answered my question,” he said.

Caleb tried to keep focused, but his eyes fluttered shut when the pain rippled through his body. My heart stood still every time he slipped in and out of consciousness.

       "You'll be fine if you stop talking. It’s gonna rain, and you'll drown if you keep that mouth open," I said.

He hid a grimace behind a half smile and slipped his fingers between mine.

        "Let’s get you home, Hailey. Just give me a minute."

His head fell forward, loose and heavy and my spirit died away in my chest. His rough and careful hands sunk towards the ground and pulled mine down into the dirt along with them. I didn’t let go. I still couldn’t.

        “Caleb Evans, don’t you think for a second that you’re getting away from me that easy. You’ve got a job to do.”

Lightening split the sky in two and I snapped along with it. I sent my free hand sailing into the side of Caleb’s face with all the force I could manage. His eyes rolled open and found mine. He wasn’t going to die for anyone. He wasn’t going to die tonight.