Page 46 of Built to Fall
“Hey, you still haven’t sent me that podcast,” I remind her.
When we didn’t exchange numbers after our run, I got hers from Meredith. I even texted her, but never got a reply.
“Oh.” She looks surprised. “You were serious about that?”
“Why else would I have asked?”
“I’ll send it to you.”
“I’ll let you know what I think.”
The volume of the TV is suddenly turned up, ringing through the kitchen and entryway.
“That’s my cue,” Lina says, pointing behind her. “Thanks again for fixing the shelf.” This time she sounds a bit more sincere.
I open the front door and step into the hallway. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Goodnight, Grant!” Eden calls from the living room.
“Goodnight.” I reply. “I’ll see you later,” I then tell Lina.
“Bye,” she says, biting her lip as she closes the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GRANT
It’s been two weeks since I found Lina running near the facility, and every day since then, I’ve subconsciously looked for her as I leave.
And every day around the same time, she rounds the corner of the path leading back to our apartment. It’s given me a pretty good indicator that she’s not sleeping. Not as much as she should be, at least.
According to the time Braxton usually comes back from the girls’ apartment—where he tends to mention how he had to leave because the four of them are nowhere close to sleep—she doesn’t go to bed early.
And based on the sheen of sweat on her forehead and the way her hair is slicked to her head, she’s been out running for quite some time.
Today, though, I immediately pick up on how tired she truly looks. Her pace is slower, her feet are dragging a bit more than usual, and she looks pale—hollowed out.
Her sweatshirt is loose, swaying with every movement, and her running shoes pound against the pavement.
Like usual, she rolls her eyes when she sees me approach, but it lacks its usual edge. I can’t think of anything to say when my mind is fogging with concern.
“Lina…” It sounds more like a question as I approach, mostly because I don’t know what the fuck is going on with her, and it worries me more than I care to let on.
“Hi,” she says through a long breath, more winded than normal.
That’s another red flag. Lina never greets me casually when I see her on her odd, early morning run. For the past two weeks, it’s been some type of clipped, witty response.
My brain is moving a million miles a minute, my eyes scanning over her again and again, looking for any indicator that something’s wrong.
“What’s going on?” Is the first thing I ask her.
“I don’t know,” she gasps, sounding more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard her. “My chest hurts. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest. I think—I think I’m having a heart attack.”
Shit. I can tell her panic is real.
“Okay, okay. Sit down against the fence. You’re alright.”
Lina doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t listen either, but she sways a bit. Then, she makes a move to take her sweatshirt off, panting like she’s about to overheat.
