Page 49 of Twisted Violet

And then -

DING.

The elevator chimes, and I bolt upright and nearly launch myself off the couch.

My bag of chips goes flying. The blanket twists around my ankles, and my heart punches out of my chest.

What the hell?

Heavy, frantic footsteps thunder through the hallway.

“Shit. Shit. Where the hell are my keys?”

I scramble off the couch and run to the hallway just in time to see Dallas tearing through the entryway, hair wild, face pale.

He looks up, eyes locking on me. “Ollie slipped his collar,” he says, out of breath. “He saw a bird and just… he ran.”

My stomach drops. “He ran?”

“Into traffic.” Dallas’s voice breaks. “I- I couldn’t catchhim. I came back to get my car keys. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Let’s go,” I say, already shoving my feet into sneakers. “I’m coming with you.”

Dallas doesn’t argue, he just grabs the keys and we rush out the door.

The elevator feels like it’s taking forever.

Dallas is pacing, muttering under his breath, and rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to hold himself together. I bounce on the balls of my feet, nerves vibrating through my whole body. The thought of Ollie alone in the street, scared and confused, absolutely guts me.

“He’s smart,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “He knows his way around.”

“But he’s reckless.” Dallas counters. “And this city’s full of fucking cars.”

His voice cracks, just slightly.

That’s when I realize… he’s not just worrying, he’s terrified.

If something happens to Ollie, I don’t think Dallas will ever be able to forgive himself.

The second the elevator doors open, we’re running.

The car peels out of the garage and into the city. Dallas is gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are white. I’ve never seen him like this. Stripped of all his usual charm. No jokes. No smile. Just raw, frantic energy.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” He mutters under his breath.

I glance over. “Don’t say that.”

He shakes his head, laughing without humor. “Why not? It’s true. Everyone knows it.”

“I don’t,” I say quietly.

“I didn’t even graduate high school,” he mumbles, eyes locked on theroad. “Can’t be more obvious than that.”

I bite my lower lip. “That doesn’t mean anything. There are tons of reasons smart people have a hard time in high school.”

“Yeah?” He says, voice sharper than before. “Like what?”

I swallow. “Like… trying to stay awake in class after cleaning up broken dishes all night. Or praying your dad doesn’t overdose while you’re at school. Or not having enough food in the house and being too hungry to focus.”