Infinite

Chapter 13: After the Storm- Part 1

Houston, Texas, at the Magnolia Ballroom, Friday, September 26th, 2030, at 8:30 pm

Rachel

I throw the doors open and run down the concrete steps. The air feels crisp against my skin and my heels are making clicking noises on the ground. I quickly head towards the parking lot as I focus on my breathing. My hands are shaking and I can't tell if my heart is beating really fast or not at all. I'm so incredibly angry at both of them, but more so with Sam.

I don't know the specifics of what they were talking about before they started fighting, but I have an idea.

"Rachel, wait," I hear Lucas call out from behind me.

My mind quickly makes the decision to turn around instead of ignoring him. He's jogging down the steps, skipping two at a time with his long legs to try and get to me faster. His face looks relieved that I stopped walking away, but his lip is swollen and bloody.

"I know you're pissed at me right now," he says, out of breath. "But please don't walk away." His voice catches in his throat as he holds his hand out, gesturing for me to wait.

That's when I notice his knuckles. There's a red circle of blood on each one, and they have already started to bruise. I hope he didn't break his hand. I couldn't even really look at Sam's face before I left, I just glared in his general direction.

"I am angry with you, Lucas, but I wasn't trying to get away from you," I exhale and cross my arms. The breeze coming in through the trees around us is making me shiver. It was hot inside the ballroom with how many people there were. "I was just trying to get some fresh air because I felt like I couldn't breathe." I look down at the ground and take another deep breath, pushing some of the anxiety out of my lungs.

I can see Lucas' shoulders drop out of the corner of my eye, drawing my attention back to his face.

"Are you alright?" His eyes study my face; his expression is a mixture of exhaustion and deep worry.

"I should be the one asking you that question," I say gently as I reach out and touch his forearm to get a better look at his hand.

He immediately drops the weight of his arm in my hand, as if my touch eased his stress.

"My hand will be fine," he says as he clears his throat, "I'm more concerned with how you feel right now, not me." His words are so sincere that my heart starts to swell.

He doesn't appear angry anymore, at least not how I saw him inside. He tentatively reaches out with his good hand and touches my elbow, unsure if I want him to. I drop my arm and smile at him weakly. He rubs the fabric on my sleeve and looks at me delicately.

"I'd like to go home, please." I press my lips together to prevent myself from crying.

"Of course, sweetheart." His tone is the gentlest it's ever been. He slides his hand down my arm and interlocks his fingers with mine. "Let's go home." He guides me to the far end of the parking lot and we get to his white truck.

"I'll drive," I say as I hold my hand out.

He studies my face for a moment before he hands me the keys. He holds them in my palm, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

"Thank you," he whispers as he lets go of the keys and hops in the passenger seat.