Finding Strength (The Searchers Book 5)

by Ripley Proserpina

  This one purred.

  People probably didn’t know it was coming until it streaked by them in a blur of red. “Hold on!” Matisse called over his shoulders, and she wrapped her arms around him.

  Then she shut her eyes and prayed.

  Matisse didn’t hold back. She could feel them gaining speed, and she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter.

  “Relax!” he yelled, and she shook her head.

  No. There was no relaxing. This was a death trap and the only thing between her and road rash was Matisse.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you!” He pried her hand from its death grip around his waist and lifted it to his chest. She felt his heart beating, slow and steady. “Trust me.”

  Nora let out a breath and opened her eyes. The sun reflected off the Gulf, turning the water a brilliant blue.

  It was better with her eyes open. They weren’t going nearly as fast as she thought they were, and Matisse wasn’t taking risks. She’d imagined him weaving in and out of traffic, angling the bike so close to the ground around turns that she was an inch from the pavement.

  Instead, he left distance between them and the traffic in front of them. And he wasn’t running stoplights. He slowed down and put both feet on the ground as they idled and waited.

  Eventually, her heart stopped pounding, and her stomach went from her throat back to its rightful position.

  “Better?” he asked at the next light.

  “Yes!”

  They took off again. It would have been nice if she didn’t have to be crouched so low, but she loved the way the wind whipped around them.

  They went over the bridge that separated Matisse’s hometown from the next and they were surrounded by water on either side of them. She could smell the salty air. It was like summertime in November.

  Matisse slowed and sat up. She stretched as he did, gripping the seat with both hands to see over his shoulder. Red taillights lit up the road, stretching ahead of them as far as she could see.

  Eventually, they came to a full stop, and Matisse placed his feet on the road to balance them.

  Nora flipped her visor up. “What is it?” she asked.

  “I can’t tell,” he answered, reaching back to rest his hand on her leg. Remembering her outfit, Nora made sure she wasn’t flashing anyone. It was in place, thank God.

  They were fully in the sun now, and the leather seat heated. Along with her shoulders.

  Nora leaned forward to tell Matisse she’d forgotten to put on sunblock when suddenly, a horn blasted behind her.

  The next thing she knew, the air was filled with the sound of screeching brakes, tires dragging against pavement, metal slamming against metal… and she was flying.

  In the moment before her mind blanked, she wondered how Matisse had managed to get his bike in the air. She saw the water and the sunset, and then: nothing.

  5

  Ryan

  Ryan twisted his wrist, glancing down at his watch. Guillaume, Nicole, and Genevieve had gone inside to secure their table, but he wanted to wait outside. He wanted to see Nora when they drove in on the motorcycle.

  He’d gone once with Matisse, but on a bigger, restored bike. He’d even driven it without ditching it. Dragging his hand down his face, he stared at the traffic roaring by. Maybe he should get a bike. But then he remembered that in Vermont, he’d probably get two months of bike riding. It wouldn’t be worth adding that debt to what he already expected to have to owe law school, so he dismissed the idea.

  “We should have gone behind them,” Seok said. He studied his phone.

  “What are you doing?” Ryan asked.

  “Looking up the directions from Matisse’s house to the restaurant. It will show me if there’s traffic. I thought they left only a few minutes after us.”

  “They could have turned around,” Cai said. He took his sunglasses off to wipe the lenses on his shirt. “The outfit.” He added by way of explanation.

  “Good point,” Seok said. “Let’s go inside and wait.”

  Ryan checked his watch again. “Did you see any traffic?”

  Seok nodded. “Traffic is stopped. But it’s rush hour. Bad planning on our part.”

  “Yeah,” he replied, but it rang a little hollow. It was more likely that Matisse decided to take Nora on a sightseeing tour. He probably took her to some romantic beach and they were watching the waves.

  Selfish, but a great idea. Ryan made a mental note to research beaches before they flew down again.

  A blast of cold air shot out of the restaurant behind them. Ryan turned, but before he could ask what was happening, Guillaume spoke. “There was an accident. We have to go.”

  He tried to get his feet to move to follow Matisse’s family as they rushed to their car, but his brain seemed disconnected from the rest of his body. Move. It wouldn’t.

  Everything seemed to get quiet and hazy, like the world was offline.

  “Ryan!” He heard his voice through the fog, and then, “Ryan!” Seok grabbed his arm, his dark eyes wide and worried. “Let’s go.”

  Nicole stood next to her car, staring at the door before her gaze cut to his. “I can’t drive.” She held up her shaking hands. “I can’t.”

  “I have it,” Seok said, taking her keys. “Get in the car.”

  Guillaume was gone. Ryan assumed Genevieve was with him, but really, he didn’t care.

  He got into the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window. This was too close to what had happened with Beau. All he could think about was the last time he’d been driven to the hospital. He’d walked inside and was hit by a wrecking ball. Beau’s girlfriend was dead. Beau had driven drunk and wrecked the car.

  That day had changed the course of his entire life.

  Would that happen again today? Would he find out Matisse was dead? Nora?

  How could he have woken up this morning with no idea that this was in store for him? What an oblivious idiot he’d been.

  “What do you know?” Cai asked from the backseat.

  Nicole shook her head. “Um…” Her voice trembled. “Matisse and Nora were brought by ambulance to the hospital.”

  “Did—” Ryan had to stop and start again. “Did you talk to them?”

  “No,” Nicole said. “The police.”

  Ryan shut his eyes and leaned back. Matisse would have called them. Nora, too, if she’d been able.

  “Someone call Apollo,” Seok commanded.

  “We should wait,” Cai replied. “When we get to the hospital and know what’s happening, then we call. If we call now with no information, he’ll drive himself crazy.”

  “He’ll need to get here.” Ryan wasn’t certain how he knew, but he did. Whatever had happened, whatever they walked into, Apollo needed to know about it, and he needed to get his ass on the first flight out of Brownington.

  “I don’t know,” Cai said. “He’s going to get on a flight, and we won’t be able to contact him. He’ll have hours to worry. They may be fine.”

  May be… It was so nebulous. Maybe they were fine. A broken arm, bruised ribs. Ryan would take those. He prayed for the type of injuries that healed in a few weeks.

  “I think Ryan is right,” Seok said. “Get him moving. We’ll get him updates as we get them. Keep him in the loop as much as we can.”

  Ryan shifted, reaching for his wallet. “I’m going to book him a flight.” His fingers shook as he opened the airline app he’d downloaded before they left Vermont. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t do what he needed to. He couldn’t remember what day it was, or what airport Apollo would have to go to. “I can’t do it.”

  “Here.” Cai took the phone and in a few moments had done what he’d been physically unable to do. “Who’s calling him?” he asked.

  All Ryan could think about was that Apollo didn’t know. Like Ryan, he was going about his day with no idea what was about to happen.

  Apollo was oblivious, just like he’d been.

  6

  Ap
ollo

  Apollo took a hit from Otis right on his chin, and it made him see stars. The guy wasn’t as big as he was, but damn, the bastard packed a punch when he got the right angle.

  Marco yelled from the corner as he shook his head, trying to get his wits about him. “Two days in a mother-fucking row, Apollo! God dammit!” He yanked on the ropes before jumping down. As he strode away, Apollo could hear him swearing under his breath.

  “You okay?” Otis asked.

  Apollo put his gloved hands on his hips and stared down at the mat. “Yeah,” he said around his mouth guard. It had taken him by surprise, that was all.

  He spat the guard onto the mat and ripped the tape off his gloves. “Take a break,” he told the other man. He needed to hydrate and drink a shake or something. For having stayed up all night, he thought he was doing pretty well. But he knew it was nowhere near good enough. His cardio was shit and his muscles twitchy.

  Hopefully, he’d have his act together when it was time to fight.

  His phone started to ring as he pushed the ropes apart and ducked beneath them. He’d set the alarms this morning before leaving the house, and the first thing that came into his head was that the security company was calling.

  But Ryan’s name was on the screen when he picked it up. “Hey.”

  “There’s been an accident. We booked you a flight to Mississippi.”

  The world shrunk, and his vision tunneled. Those were the four worst words in the world. They held the potential of ripping away everything he cared about and changing his life forever.

  Somehow, he ended up sitting on the floor. “What happened?”

  “Matisse and Nora. We don’t know yet, we’re on the way to the hospital.”

  He didn’t understand. How could they not know? They were supposed to be all together. Taking care of each other. Taking care of Nora.

  He couldn’t breathe. He got to his knees and dropped his head low. The phone ended up on the floor, and he stared at it, watching the seconds pass by as the line remained open. “I’m coming,” he said, and from far away, he heard Ryan answer. “There’s a ticket waiting for you.”

  Forcing his body to move, he got his feet under him and grabbed his bag and phone. “What airline?” he asked. He sounded like he’d run a race.

  Ryan told him. All Apollo could hope was that he remembered when he got to the airport. With his bag under his arm, and his phone still in his hand, he barreled through the gym, out the door, and to his car.

  It had started snowing, but he was impervious to the cold. He may have stepped in a puddle or walked through a snowbank, who the hell knew. Forward momentum was what he needed.

  The car started, engine revving as he threw it into drive and peeled out of the parking lot. The roads were slick, and if it hadn’t been absolutely imperative that he get to Nora, he’d have gone faster. But he didn’t have time for an accident.

  Everyone was going slow. On another day, he’d have appreciated that people weren’t driving like assholes. Not today. Today he wanted everyone to stay off the roads, or if they had to be on them, stay the fuck out of his way.

  Apollo dragged his hand down the back of his head before pounding on the steering wheel. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  He deserved this. If he hadn’t been so selfish and demanding, he’d have been with her. And if he’d been with her, maybe he could have stopped whatever happened.

  The airport wasn’t far from the gym, but it seemed to take an hour to get there. Finally, he pulled into the parking garage, shoved it into park, and jumped out.

  Phone. Bag. Shit. Wallet. He hurried around to the passenger side of the card. No way could he handle a drive back to the gym and then back again. He’d go insane. Ripping into his bag, he found his wallet tucked beneath a sweatshirt and—where the fuck was his phone?

  He searched the car before realizing he’d had it in his hand the entire time. Waste of fucking time.

  Had he ever been so aware of the way time passed? Of how it could slow to a crawl or speed up faster than he could track?

  The parking garage was freezing, and he shivered. Pulling the strap of the bag onto his shoulder, he realized he was still in his workout clothes. Not that it mattered, but rather than walk through the airport like some kind of douche in a tank, he took out a sweatshirt and got it on.

  The airport was busy, which he should have expected since it was Thanksgiving break. The line to the counter was long, snaking between the straps fixed between metal stands. Apollo got in line and tried not to look like a maniac.

  What he wanted to do was pace, or bounce, but if he acted weird, then he’d be a target of the cops patrolling the entrance. He needed to blend and get through the line as quickly as possible.

  He removed his ID from his wallet and stuck it between his teeth before stowing the wallet in a pouch of his bag. Then he pulled his sweatshirt on and awkwardly stuck his arms and head through it.

  “Next?”

  He stepped forward, ready. “There’s a ticket for Apollo Morris,” he told the counter agent.

  “ID?” the woman asked. He handed it to her, and in a matter of minutes, he had his ticket and was on his way.

  Forward momentum. The phrase kept running through his head. He just had to keep moving, checking off boxes that would get him closer to Nora.

  The line to get into the gate was as long as the one to the ticket counter. Shoes off. Phone out. Couldn’t people read the damn signs? It literally couldn’t be any clearer.

  When the man in front of him didn’t take his computer out of his bag and place it in its own bucket, sweat dripped down his back. It took every ounce of his self-control not to scream aloud.

  The TSA agent glanced at him, and he forced himself to take a breath. Soon, he was through the X-ray and shoving his feet into his shoes.

  Thank God Ryan had bought him a ticket. And thank God the flight would leave in under an hour. He looked at the itinerary and winced; the layover was going to kill him, but he should land in Biloxi late tonight.

  He glanced at his phone. There were no new messages, so he dialed Ryan’s number.

  His stomach dropped when it went to voicemail. Cai was next. Then Seok. And then, because he figured he had nothing to fucking lose, Matisse.

  Each call went unanswered, and Apollo rocketed out of the chair. One of the people next to him cut a glance his way. The man narrowed his eyes, scanning him from head to toe.

  Let him look. Let him think he was crazy. Just… don’t tell the TSA.

  Bag on his shoulder, Apollo tried to walk like a normal person to the window. Biloxi was an hour behind them, but it was dark outside. Gripping the railing mounted along the windows, he leaned forward until his forehead touched the cold glass.

  Anything could have happened. They could have been walking down the street and been hit by a car. Or swimming in the ocean and dragged out to sea by an undertow.

  Anything. Anything.

  For the rest of his life, he’d carry the burden of not being there for Nora. Apollo shut his eyes. Another weight on his shoulders. Another loss to blacken his soul. Another regret.

  Another time he hadn’t been strong enough to save the woman he loved.

  “Flight 712 to Biloxi, now boarding at gate eight.”

  Apollo jerked upright and strode to the gate. He read his ticket, waiting for his group to be called.

  Children and families. People who need assistance. Priority customers. Priority Red Customers.

  What the hell was a Priority Red Customer? Brownington was a smallish airport. The planes weren’t departing to London. How important was it that fourteen people get on the plane before the other twenty-eight?

  But he stood in line, taking deep breaths that he hoped didn’t make him sound like he was having a panic attack.

  Finally, his group was called. He had to hunch his shoulders and lower his head through the door. His seat was way in back, but it was next to the window. No one sat next to him, and for that he w
as grateful. The idea of being in close contact with another human would drive him crazy. His entire body felt supercharged, and he was afraid of what he’d do if someone accidentally brushed his arm or impinged on his leg space.

  Phone in hand, Apollo stared out the window. He couldn’t see anything except the airport lights. Everything else was black, and empty.

  His phone pinged and his heart stopped. It was from Ryan. Matisse awake. Nora in surgery.

  What happened? His fingers flew across the keyboard. Where are you?

  But that was it. Though he willed the phone to ping again, it remained silent. A voice came over the speaker, telling him to turn off his phone during take-off. He stared at the screen a moment longer, hoping his message would be answered.

  “Sir.” The flight attendant had stopped next to his row. “You’ll need to turn off your phone and fasten your seat belt.”

  He nodded while struggling to get the belt around his waist. The flight attendant waited. He could feel her eyes on him while he fumbled with the belt and then his phone.

  When it was off, she walked away, shutting the overhead compartments as she passed by.

  The flight from Brownington to New York was close to an hour, but anything could happen in that time.

  He’d be in the air, unaware of everything on the ground. Apollo dropped his head into his hands. Nora could die in the time it took the plane to take off and land.

  He could be too late.

  7

  Cai

  Matisse had woken up for a moment, eyes unfocused before he fell unconscious again. He had a concussion. A broken arm. A dislocated shoulder. Broken collarbone. Road rash. And twenty stitches along his calf from where he’d hit a guardrail.

  But he would live. There was no internal bleeding, and though his brain had been shaken, he’d recover with time.

  Cai sat, staring at his friend. He’d never seen Matisse so motionless. The man was constantly moving. When he sat, he drummed his fingers on tables. One moment his long legs would be splayed out, and then next he’d be jiggling his knees.