Page 63 of From West, With Regret

“London, are you okay? Look at me.” His warm hands press against my face, forcing me to look into his eyes.

Blue eyes. Kind blue eyes. Eyes that are no longer black.

I swallow and look at West with tears ready to fall.

“Look at me, London,” he begs. “We need to get out of here.Right now.”

I’ve barely given him a nod before he’s wrapping my hand up in his and leading me out of the nightclub.

SEVENTEEN

WEST

I may have killed him, but I couldn’t stick around long enough to figure out if I had or not. All I know is that I needed to get London out of there as fast as possible.

She’s as pale as a ghost when we stumble out the back door of the club. My feet hit the pavement, and I take a few steps forward to stand in the middle of the alleyway, deciding which way to go.

“West,” London whispers behind me.

I frantically fish my phone out of my front pocket. I want to check on her, but I need to secure us a way home first.

“I rode over here with Holt,” I pant, unlocking my phone. “I’m texting Alden to pick us up at the end of the alleyway. He’s not far.”

“Alden?” she whispers again.

I snap my head up and drop my phone back in my pocket. “He’s never that far away unless I drive somewhere myself.”

A small, dim security light hangs above the back door of the club we just walked out of. London’s skin is even paler now, and she’s shivering, her vacant eyes spread wide with fear or confusion. Probably both.

I wrap my arms around her and hold her head against my chest.

Music from inside the club hasn’t stopped, but neither has the shouting and screaming. I pull London away and press my hands to her face again, trying to steady her. I can see it in her eyes, the panic and sheer terror. A trauma response, I think. Seeing her this way makes me wonder if her lost memories have anything to do with her behavior right now, because even if I beat that man within an inch of his life, she wouldn’t have this bad of a response.

Same could be said for me.

Seeing the man come up behind her and hearing him say vile shit into her ear instantly took me back to that day. For me, it’s impossible to forget the last day I saw London. Muscle memory took over.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

She inhales an unsteady breath, and I want nothing more than to be her anchor, pulling her fear away from her. “I don’t know.”

After pressing my lips to her forehead, I close my eyes and count to ten. London shivers against me.

Pulling back, I shrug out of my sport coat and drape it over her shoulders. She slips her arms inside and brings her closed fists to her chest.

Two seconds later, Alden sharply turns down the alleyway.

The headlights of my car are spotlights on us as he races toward us. The tires screech as he slams on the brakes. Wrapping my hand around London’s, I pull her toward the car and help her into the back seat before sliding in behind her, telling Alden to drive us home.

We ride in silence, but I can’t help staring at London. I haven’t stopped looking at her. Not when I showed up to Club Verona and saw her sitting on the couch in this fucking dressthat made me weak in the knees. The moment we shared yesterday had clearly been in her glassy, champagne-filled eyes as she stared back at me.

The room was suffocating, and when I watched her walk away, the need inside me to follow her was just as smothering.

Perhaps it’s the same damn foolish hope I have in believing she’s remembering me, but I could have sworn she’d recognized me then. She was looking at me the same way she used to when we were kids. Like I was her safe space. Back when we promised to be each other’s first in everything. The days we used to lay in the woods, before they were tainted by what happened, and we would dream of building a house on the lake surrounded by a white picket fence, and we’d adopt a black kitten.

I still clung to that hope even as she told me to let it go. Even as fear of the unknown took control.

But I can’t let her go. Ever.