13
BLAIRE
Fifteen minutes later, Campbell’s Range Rover pulled up in front of me. My friends still hadn’t called me back. Though I’d relented and texted Honey to let her know that I was leaving. She’d sent back a series of frantic texts that escalated so much that after I told her I was okay, I muted my phone.
He parked and hopped out of the car. He was in black sweats and an old Panic! at the Disco T-shirt. His hair was mussed, and he hadn’t even changed into something more rockstar. He must have come here straight from home.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked.
His face was a mask of such unending concern that I burst into tears. I didn’t even realize that I’d been holding it all in until that moment.
“Blaire, Blaire, Blaire,” he said, reaching for me.
I fell into his arms withou
