Page 14 of The Knight

I need your help with something. Can you head back here? Alone this time.

His response bubbles up faster than I expected, making my heart do a little gymnastics routine against my rib cage.

Sure. Are you in any danger?

Am I? I don't know. There's an officer standing outside in the hallway—not Officer Lopez this time—to make sure the men don't come back. And presumably once I'm back at Coleridge, security will keep me safe. But I don't know why those men were after me—or who they were. For all I know the cop in the hallway would be nothing for them to get by.

Still, Lukas deserves an answer that isn't speculation.As far as I know I'm fine. And there's an officer here. I just need you to do something for me.

Got it. On my way.

There's something comforting about knowing that he's headed my direction. Even though it stung that he wanted to get me away from Coleridge—still does, in fact—I'm starting to understand that it's because he worries about my safety, not because he hates me.

I just wish I knew what I'm in dangerfrom.Maybe Silas's laptop will help with that. It's certainly gotsomethingon it worth killing over.

Mom stirs as a knock comes at the door. My heart leaps—Lukas must not have left the building if he's back so soon—but it's not him. Instead it's Wally, two takeout bags in his hand. I can smell the French fries and burger patties from here. My mouth waters, and I realize belatedly that I haven't had much of anything—the little tray of food they tried bringing me after I was admitted just made me nauseous, so the nurse patted me on the knee and told me food could wait until more of the chloroform was out of my system. I'm hungrynow, though, so that's a good sign that I might get to leave this place soon.

"Brought these for you." Mom thanks him sleepily, and Wally smiles at her. "Didn't want you going hungry. You either, Brenna. Though I may have stolen a few of your fries."

I roll my eyes. "Of course you did. Here, give them over—before the rest are gone. I'm the sick one here, after all."

As he gives me the bag, I slide a meaningful look over at Mom, and surreptitiously pull my phone under the blankets. With a glance and a few quick swipes, I send Wally a message, and he glances at his phone without tilting the screen so Mom can't see.

"Got it," he murmurs to me, before heading over to where Mom has just taken a nap. "Hey, Mrs. Wilder, why don't we get you out of those clothes? I have your suitcase in my truck, and I got us a place to stay not far from here—a cousin of mine lives nearby, and she'll take us in for a bit."

Mom shoots a worried look in my direction. "But Brenna—"

"I'll be fine, Mom. They'll probably release me soon, even. And you look like you could use a nice shower and a nap in a real bed. Now that my phone is charged, I can call you as soon as anything changes."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Go take care of yourself."

As Wally takes my mom out of my room, her purse slung over his shoulder and bag of food in one hand, I'm struck again by the fact that we're the ones who have to take care of her instead of the other way around. It makes me resent her a little, and hate my dad a lot—he should be here for her to lean on, to use his money to get a hotel room and a warm meal.

Of course if he were here, comforting us is the last thing he would do. But he could send money home. Or call sometime.

He never will, I know.

So it's up to me to take care of Mom. At least I have Wally to help out. I don't know what I'd do without him.

Grabbing my fast food bag, I pull the hospital bed tray over and lay everything out, mouth watering. There's no fast food at Coleridge—at least, not unless you can pay for off-campus trips and fast food delivery just to get it—so this is my first cheeseburger with fries in forever. I intend to enjoy it.

Halfway through my burger there's another brief knock at the door followed by someone walking through. Yet again my heart jumps, but it's just the nurse on her rounds to take my vitals and note them on my chart. She smiles at my appetite and swipes one of my fries on the way out with a wink.

When the third knock at the door comes a minute later, I don't dare to believe it's him. It's not until no one walks through the door that I know it must be—I have to call, "Come in," before the impeccably polite Lukas DuPont will enter my room.

He no longer looks mussed and anxious. His hair looks like it's recently been cleaned and styled, and he has a fresh, clean shower scent to him. The uniform he's wearing is freshly pressed, its lines sharp and Coleridge-regulation. Unlike the other Elite, Lukas colors firmly inside the lines that the rules set out for him—even though he could gleefully break every single one.

His blue eyes and gentle smile make my heart race like I'm about to go over a cliff. I wish that I was past this, that I didn't feel so much when I look at him, but just the way he carefully takes a seat near the foot of my bed makes heat flush my chest and arms. It's undeniable that he's attractive, but on top of that we have a certain connection—one brittle, frayed, and with an end date, yet undeniable all the same.

I'll never forget the way he looks as he settles near me on my hospital bed, taking me in like I'm someone who matters to him, someone he wants to see whole and healthy. He doesn't seem to notice my messy hair or the ketchup I blot off the corner of my mouth, face roaring with heat. His eyes are taking me in like I'm a precious thing.

"You look better," he comments. "Last time I saw you, you looked rough."

"You too," I throw out. "I mean, that button-up looked like someone stepped all over it before they gave it to you."

"That was from running in the rain." His voice is mild, soft and gentle. "Running to find you, that is. When we didn't, I... well, I assumed the worst. So imagine how glad I was to be proven wrong."

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