Page 15 of Press Play

“If you’ll fucking listen, I can finish!” she snaps at me.

I run into the living room and search for my keys, keeping my mouth shut.

“She’s in her room, staring at the wall. She keeps asking, ‘What if she comes back?’”

I snatch my keys from the kitchen counter and bolt into the hallway, not caring about locking the front door. “I’m on my way. Give me ten minutes.”

“Make it five.”

We hang up at the same time, and I run down the stairs because it’s faster than the elevator. When I burst through the door into the garage, I unlock my car and settle in the driver’s seat. Starting the engine, I don’t bother waiting for it to heat up. With it in reverse, I press on the gas, and the tires skid as I peel out of my parking space.

Chapter Eight

Wren

I never noticedthe slight crack in the wall until now, its jagged line splinters upward, like a frozen lightning strike. It’s all I can focus on, as if the fracture in the wall mirrors the one inside me, the one I try so hard to keep together. Brandy keeps checking on me, I know that much, but her words are distant, muffled by the storm in my head.

She was here.

That thought won’t let go. It circles over and over, tightening its grip until I can hardly breathe. My safe haven—this apartment, my space—isn’t safe anymore. She took it from me, like she’s taken so many other things. What gives her the right?

My skin crawls. The blankets that were soft this morning are now rough and suffocating. The four walls around me seem darker, closing in with every breath. I can’t shake it—everything is unraveling and pulling me under.

I grip the blanket tighter, but it’s not enough.

The door creaks open, and the familiar sound of careful footsteps moves across the floor. His presence is always steady, grounding, like he knows when I’m on the edge of falling apart.

“Wren,” he whispers, his voice muffled by the fog in my mind.

I can’t answer. My throat is tight, and my chest is caving in. I want to respond, but the words are stuck.

He steps closer, his movements slow and cautious. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. Theo’s always known when to give me space, when to simply be there. I feel his presence before I see him fully—he’s standing just a few feet away now, waiting for me to let him in.

“I’m here,” he says, his voice a gentle anchor pulling me back to the surface.

Theo kneels beside the bed, his eyes searching mine, waiting. He doesn’t touch me yet, but his hand hovers near mine, an offering of support without pressure.

I want to take it, but I’m frozen, caught in this spiral of panic and dread.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, and those words break something inside me.

The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over, and a sob rips through me, raw and jagged.

Theo doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his hand around mine, solid and warm, and pulls me into him. He brings his arms around me, holding me close as I bury my face in his chest. The steady beat of his heart grounds me when everything else seems like it’s slipping away.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against my ear. “You’re safe.”

“She... she was here,” I manage to choke out.

“I know,” Theo says, tightening his arms around me. “But she’s gone now.”

I shake my head, my body trembling as the tears fall faster. “She wasn’t supposed to come back. What if she comes back?”

Theo pulls back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his eyes locking onto mine with fierce intensity. “She didn’t break you,” he says firmly. “You’re still here. You’re still Wren.”

I blink up at him, struggling to catch my breath, the weight of his words starting to break through the haze.

I’m still here. I’m still me.

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