Page 129 of Take Me Away

I know I should ask.

Then she stops me with a press of her mouth to mine, her hand sliding into my hair, the other gently cupping my jaw, and for a moment I forget about Vale and scandal, I forget about Peter and the storm and the way it felt as the current pulled me down.

I just think about her. The girl who’s always smelled of vanilla and salt.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

ISLA

The phone buzzes in the dark like an angry wasp.

I’m wrapped around Kit, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my neck. We’re tangled together in the white room that doesn’t feel white anymore – his leg hooked over mine, my hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart.

We’d been gentle with each other tonight. Slow. Moving through his heartbreak with careful hands and softer words. Not trying to fix anything. Just … being. Together.

He’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, exhausted, finally peaceful. The first time since they pulled him from the water that he hasn’t thrashed awake shouting Peter’s name.

The phone buzzes again.

I should ignore it. Should let it ring out, switch it off, bury it under a pillow and pretend the world outside this room doesn’t exist.

But Kit stirs slightly, makes a sound low in his throat. He needs this sleep. Deserves it.

The screen lights up again and I make a grab for it.

PIPER CALLING.

My stomach drops.

Piper wouldn’t call at two in the morning unless someone was dead. Unless something catastrophic had happened.

Unless—

A chill floods up my spine, ice water through my veins.

I slip out from under Kit’s arm as carefully as I can, trying not to wake him. He mumbles something, reaches for me in his sleep. I press a kiss to his shoulder, tuck the duvet around him, and grab the phone.

The screen’s still lit. Still ringing.

I pad out into the hallway, the floorboards cold under my bare feet. Down the squeaky stairs – Christ, I’d forgotten how loud they are – through the dark living room to the kitchen.

My thumb hovers over the answer button.

Two seventeen in the morning.

Nothing good happens at two seventeen in the morning.

I answer – heart a jackhammer in my chest.

‘Piper?’

‘Isla. Thank fuck.’ Her voice is tight, wound up, wrong. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you for three hours.’

‘I was asleep, my phone was on silent and I didn’t hear it vibrating—’ I stop. Doesn’t matter what I was doing. ‘What’s wrong?’

Silence. The kind that’s heavier than words.

‘Piper. What. Is. Wrong.’