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Chapter 91: Safety Net
Lucas's Perspective
The alarm clock blinked 7:00 when my eyes opened, but I didn't even need it. What did wake me, though, was a pair of bright blue eyes staring straight into mine.
Milo.
He was sitting right next to my bed, head tilted slightly, his stare unbroken. No growls, no whining—just that look that screamed, I'm hungry, feed me.
I rubbed my face and chuckled. "You sure adapted quickly. Just yesterday you were wild and shy, now look at you."
Reaching out, I patted his head. His tail thumped the floor like a drum. I got up, went to his food bowl, and poured in the kibble. Milo dug in like he hadn't eaten in years, his whole body vibrating with excitement. While he ate, I focused my senses on him. His wound was healing well—the infection already fading, the tissue knitting itself back together. Strong, resilient.
"Good boy," I muttered as he licked the bowl clean.
Afterward, I opened the door, and Milo bounded outside with me close behind. No leash. He didn't need one—he stayed close, circling the garden, occasionally pausing to sniff a bush or chase a falling leaf. I stretched and started running my laps, feeling Milo's eyes on me every time I passed by.
By the time I showered and headed downstairs, he was right behind me, paws tapping on the wood floor.
Susan and Jenny were already at the table. Jenny lit up when she saw Milo and immediately slipped him a strip of bacon under the table. He took it delicately, then wagged his tail so hard his whole body shook.
"Jenny," Susan's voice cut across the room.
Jenny froze mid-bite of her own bacon. "What?"
Susan folded her arms. "Don't overfeed him. You'll spoil him."
Jenny pouted but pulled her hand back. Milo looked betrayed for a moment before plopping onto the floor at my feet.
But I caught it—the faintest tug at Susan's lips, almost a smile. She reached down, brushed her hand against Milo's back, and then went right back to sipping her coffee as if nothing happened. For all her sternness, she was softening.
Breakfast passed in quiet comfort, the kind of domestic calm I hadn't realized I'd missed. When the plates were cleared, I grabbed my bag. Jenny, practically bouncing, followed me to the car with Milo padding after us.
At the door, Susan stopped us. "He stays here," she said, looking at Milo.
Jenny groaned, but Milo only wagged his tail and sat obediently beside her.
I smirked. "Don't worry. He'll keep the house safe."
Susan rolled her eyes, but she didn't argue. That was as close to approval as she ever going to give.
Jenny and I headed out to the car. Milo barked once, sharp and clear, as if to say goodbye. I gave him a quick nod before sliding into the driver's seat.
Time for school.
A few hours later.
Erica's Perspective
Gym class. The one period in the day that always made my stomach twist.
Coach had us doing rope climbs again. Just seeing the rope dangling there from the rafters was enough to remind me of last time—how pathetic I'd looked, wheezing, weak arms giving out halfway up. People had laughed. I pretended not to hear, but the memory never left me.
Not today.
I'd been training on my own, pushing through the fear, building myself up bit by bit. Today I was going to prove—to them, to Coach, but mostly to myself—that I wasn't the same fragile girl anymore.
"Erica!" Coach barked.
I stepped forward, heart pounding, palms a little sweaty, but my chest was full of fire. I grabbed the rope. At my side another boy started up his rope—someone normal, healthy. The perfect comparison.
I climbed. Hand over hand. Legs kicking. Muscles burning but holding. To my surprise, I was matching him. Step for step. My arms felt strong, steady. For the first time, I didn't feel like I was about to collapse. For the first time, I actually believed I could make it to the top.
And then it hit me.
The warning flicker, the static building inside my skull. My breath hitched. No, not now. Please, not now.
But there's no bargaining with it.
The seizure slammed into me like a wall, ripping the strength right out of my arms. My hands slipped. The world lurched, tilting violently as I plummeted backward. Gasps echoed from below, Coach shouting my name—
And then—arms. Strong, steady arms caught me before I hit the floor.
I blinked through the haze, disoriented, heart hammering. Lucas. Of course it was Lucas.
He held me easily, as if I weighed nothing. His face calm, eyes steady, like catching me from fifteen feet up was the most normal thing in the world.
I didn't understand how he got to me so fast, but right then I didn't care. All I knew was I was safe.
Coach was already yelling. "Idiots! Get out of the way! Lockwood, take her to the nurse's office."
Lucas didn't argue. He just adjusted his hold on me, carrying me bridal-style as if it were no trouble at all. The hallway lights blurred above me, the seizure still making everything swim, but the warmth of his chest kept me grounded.
By the time the nurse finished checking me over, the worst had passed. I felt drained, small, but alive.
And there he was. Still sitting in the chair next to the cot. Still steady, still calm, like he'd wait forever if I needed.
"You okay?" he asked, voice quiet, meant only for me.
I nodded, throat tight. "Thanks… for catching me."
His mouth quirked, just a fraction of a smile. "You're welcome."
My heart gave a strange little twist, one I couldn't quite explain. Gratitude, sure. Relief, definitely. But something else too—something warmer, something that made my cheeks flush.
Maybe I was imagining it. Or maybe… maybe I wasn't.
I looked away before he could notice. But the feeling stayed.