Nine
The scratch of the key in the lock woke Carey from his doze.
He sat bolt upright on the couch, disoriented. “Jase?”
No answer, and when he glanced at his phone, he was shocked to see it’d been three hours since Jase had left. Had he really been running that long?
Carey headed for the front door. “Jase?” he called again. “You okay?”
In the foyer, Jase leaned against the wall, as if he couldn’t take one more step. Carey hurried to him, alarmed how hot and dry his skin felt when he took his arm.
Leading him into the kitchen, Carey got him seated at the table before wetting a dish towel with cold water, which he laid gently on the back of his neck. Jase hissed, his forehead pressed against his folded arms.
“How far did you run?” Carey asked, pulling him a glass of tepid water from
