Faster We Burn

just a little before peeling out of the visitor’s parking lot.
    “Shit,” he said, trying to fiddle with the GPS. “Can you give me directions to the hospital?”
    “Yeah,” I said, and my voice didn’t sound like mine. It sounded like it belonged to someone else.
    “Are you okay?” Before I could answer he swore again.
    “I shouldn’t have asked you that,” he said under his breath as he took a corner too fast and almost hit another car. “Shit, shit, shit.”
    “Slow down,” I said.
    He was still muttering to himself, and every other word was a curse. I took my coat off and rolled down the window.
    “What are you doing?”
    “It’s hot in here.” I fanned my hands, trying to get some cool air into the car. I couldn’t breathe. My skin was on fire. I was on fire. “Why is it so hot in here?”
    “Katie!” he said, his voice cracking like a whip in the confines of his car.
    “What?”
    He blinked a bunch of times and slammed his foot on the gas to pass a car he perceived to be going too slow.
    “You have to calm down, because I’m freaking out, and I should be the calm one in this situation. Because I don’t know if I can handle this.” His voice was controlled; too controlled.
    “Pull over,” I said, feeling my stomach heave once.
    “We have to get there, we can’t stop,” he said, pushing the accelerator to the max.
    “Pull over!” I screamed, and he pulled into the breakdown lane. Even before the car stopped, I had the door open and was crashing to my knees, my body deciding it was going to be sick.
    I choked and coughed, but nothing came out. The sound of the highway was muted in my ears, as if they were stuffed with something. A hand touched my shoulder.
    “Are you okay?”
    No, I wasn’t fucking okay. How could I be okay?
    “You’re not supposed to ask me that question. Ever.”
    “Shit,” he said, rubbing my shoulder as he crouched down beside me. “Listen, we need to go. You need to get there. I need to get you to your family. I’m not the person you should be with right now. I suck at this. Anyone would be better than me.”
    His hands were finally steady, and he put them on my shoulders. They were strong, and his grip was firm.
    “I can’t believe this is happening. How come I’m not crying?”
    “I’m not a doctor, but I think you’re in shock.”
    “Oh.”
    That made sense, except shock wasn’t the right word. I didn’t feel shock. I didn’t feel anything, except for Stryker’s hands on my shoulders. They were the only things that felt real in this moment.
    “Let’s get you in the car, sweetheart. Come on.” His arms went under my armpits, sort of getting me partially to my feet before he swept one arm under my legs and another behind my shoulders.
    He tucked me in the passenger seat, rolling it down so I could lie back instead of sit up. He buckled me in again, this time more gently. I looked up to meet his eyes, which, I decided were exactly the color of a stone I’d seen in a ring once in a little shop Kayla had dragged me into. A color midway between green and yellow, if there was such a thing.
    My dad.
    I shouldn’t be thinking about Stryker’s eyes. He blinked and closed the door softly before getting in himself.
    “Thank you,” I said as he put on his blinker and waited for someone to let him get back onto the highway.

 
     
    Chapter Eighteen
     
     
    Stryker
     
    I didn’t freak out often. After everything I’d seen and been through, I’d learned freaking out was a waste of time and didn’t get anything done.
    I was freaking out.
    It was a struggle just to focus on the road and which exit I was supposed to take, and trying not to crash into the car in front of me.
    One word just kept repeating in my head. Fffffffuuuuuuuccccckkkkkkk.
    This was not my territory. I didn’t do grief. Yes, if I found out that my mother had died, I probably would feel a moment of sadness. My dad, not so much.
    I tried to find some words to say to break up the overwhelming silence in the car, but every single one I chose sounded stupid in my head, so it would sound even worse out loud.
    Even Trish, as tactless as she was, would have been better at this. Lottie would have been amazing. So would Zan.
    Not me.
    She was in shock, and I knew that could be dangerous, but I had no idea what to do about it.
    I didn’t know what to do except keep driving and try to get her to her family. Then they could take over and give her what she needed.
    She still had