Chapter 39: Sadie: Still In One Piece

SADIE

I can’t breathe.

It takes three or four useless attempts before I understand that. My back is pressed against the wall beside the kitchen door, dragging in air that never seems to reach far enough, nails scraping paint as everything around me smears at the edges. My palms slip against the wall, and stars burst across my vision every time I blink.

"Sadie!" Lola’s voice cuts through the noise in my head, and a second later she’s peeling me off the wall before my legs can give out. "Breathe. Take it easy."

Easy isn’t a word my body recognizes right now, but I try. Her hand moves slowly down my back, steady in a way I’m not. Air in. Air out. Again.

By the time I can actually see straight, I’m crouched on the ground, Lola beside me, the stars behind my eyes finally starting to fade.

"Do you need water?" She asks, already halfway to her feet. "No, wait, you probably need water. Stay here. I’ll be right back."

I catch her hand before she can pull away. "Lola, I’m fine."

"You were just gasping for air." Her eyes sweep over my face again. "Are you sure? I can get it in a minute."

"I’m sure." I don’t let go of her hand yet. "I don’t need it."

Another burst of noise punches through from inside and we both glance toward it, my hand tightening around hers.

She hesitates. "You’re sure?"

I nod. "Yeah."

She drops back into a squat beside me, her attention fixed on my face like she still doesn’t trust that I’m okay. After a moment, she pushes my hair back and touches the back of her hand to my forehead.

It’s probably a good thing she came after me. I must have scared the hell out of her in there, considering I scared the hell out of myself first.

Paige flashes through my head the second I look down at my hands. The blood. Her arm. The fear on her face.

I shouldn’t feel bad. Should I?

After everything she’s done to me, a broken arm and bloody nose barely qualify as repayment. A nasty part of me is almost offended that this is what finally has me feeling guilty.

But I still did it.

My hands did that before I even understood what was happening, and maybe Dr. Ngozi was right to warn me. I just wish she’d been a little more specific. Losing control, I can process. A nasty-ass wolf appearing out of nowhere and folding Paige like that feels closer to terrorism.

"What happened in there?" Lola nudges me. "I heard all that noise from upstairs and came down thinking somebody had started a fight. Next thing I know, Trey and Ezra are going at each other and you’re in the middle of one with Paige."

She pauses, then snickers.

"Actually, calling yours a fight is generous. You beat the hell out of her." Her smile widens before she catches herself. "Sorry. Probably not the best time to laugh when you look like this, but that might be the best thing you’ve ever done in your life."

My eyes drift toward the kitchen door. "Do you think they’re looking for me in there?"

Lola’s smile fades a little.

"What if Paige makes a big deal out of this? Or calls someone? I broke her arm, Lola." The words sound worse once I say them aloud. "There were phones everywhere. Everyone saw it. What if this turns into something bigger? What if she reports me or—"

"You need to chill," she cuts in.

I give her a look because chill feels wildly optimistic right now. She’s not the one who put someone on the floor. She’s not the reason Trey and Ezra nearly tore into each other.

Technically, all of this started in my corner.

And if this gets reported to student conduct, technicalities are exactly what will bury me. Rich people have lawyers, families and names that make administrators sit straighter. I have omega stamped all over me and very little else.

"There is no way Paige, or anybody in that house, is dumb enough to report this," Lola says. "It’s a frat party. Half the people in there are drunk, somebody’s probably doing something illegal upstairs, and there are phones everywhere. Nobody wants student conduct going through videos and asking who brought what, who drank what, or who started what. Paige would be snitching on half the house with herself included."

Her logic isn’t exactly comforting, but it’s enough to talk me down from doomed to merely spiraling.

Raised voices spill through the kitchen door again, and I glance toward the house. "Do you think they’re still fighting?"

Her mouth curls. "I might be beefing Trey right now, but please. That man will fold Ezra like a pretzel."

I push myself to my feet. "I should check on him. He might be hurt."

"No." She catches my arm before I get far. "Absolutely not. People are still losing their minds inside, and Paige is—"

"I just need to check on him, and—"

"I’m serious." She shakes her head. "Give it twenty minutes before you walk back into that mess. Just stay here and gist me. What even happened?"

Twenty minutes is a long time to sit here imagining Trey with a busted lip and no one to tell me if he’s okay.

I pull free of her grip and limp toward the kitchen door. It swings open just as I reach it, and I almost collide with a broad chest coming through from the other side.

Trey stops in front of me with blood spotted across his shirt, copper thick in the air between us, his broken silver necklace hanging from one hand.

His green eyes move over me slowly, assessing, and I take a step back, which he seems to read as a reason to close the distance instead.

"Kind of surprised you’re still in one piece."

I blink at him, a little thrown by how casually he says it when he was just inside throwing hands with Ezra. His timing is terrible, but that also feels very him.

My hand lifts toward his face, but he catches my wrist before I get there.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

"You’re bleeding."

His eyes drop to the front of his shirt before he lets go of me, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Not my blood."

"Are you sure?"

I don’t really wait for him to answer before touching his chest, my fingers moving over the stained fabric while I try to figure out whether any of the blood is actually his.

The corner of his mouth lifts while I’m still checking him. "If touching my chest was the goal, you really didn’t need all this."

I flinch back and glare at him, which would be easier to maintain if people weren’t already poking their heads through the kitchen door and crowding the nearest window for a better look.

"I was just making sure you weren’t hurt because of me," I mutter.

He reaches for my hand and closes his fingers around it. "Come with me."