Author's Note

In celebration of Amazon Prime Video's newest series Panic, I am thrilled to be teaming up with Amazon Prime Video and Wattpad to write this exclusive chapter that puts my characters from this story into the world of Panic!

I hope this chapter intrigues and inspires you to learn more about Panic. Visit the #PanicWritingContest on Wattpad for the chance to put your creative writing chops to the test and learn more about the show!

To find out more about the contest, prizes, and how to enter, check out the #PanicWritingContest here: wattpad.com/AmazonPrimeVideo

Don't forget to watch theseries premiere on May 28th, only on Amazon Prime Video, here:http://primevideo.com/

***

BONUS CHAPTER

Author's Note Part 2: Hey guys! I'm so excited to finally be able to share the FHKH bonus chapter I've been working on with Amazon Prime & Wattpad with you! Think of this chapter as a little teaser for the SEQUEL OF FIND HER, KEEP HER which will be coming to Wattpad VERY soon. This takes place 6 months after the last chapter in FHKH (aka 6 months after Elias let Jersey move back to New Jersey to work through things and figure out when she wanted to come back). I certainly hope you enjoy it! I've missed writing these two like crazy and I've missed being able to share it with you! Enjoy!

https://youtu.be/8YTSRUEttVo

NOTE: For all of you old-school audiobook fans check out kaelking12 fantastic read of this very special bonus chapter of FHKH! Happy listening!

***

Elias

It's been six months since I saw her disappear through those terminal gates. That's makes it 182 days, 4,368 hours or 263,160 minutes—not that I'm counting or anything.

I promised Jersey that I'd keep my distance. That'd I'd give her as much space and time as she needed to get back on her feet. To heal.

And I've held up my end of the bargain. Honest.

No social media stalking, no texts, no calls, no contact.

That was our rule.

But thirty seconds ago, she shattered it all to pieces.

Jersey's text is sitting at the top of my inbox tempting me right back into trouble. I could ignore it. I could put this phone back down, roll over, and go back to dreaming/fantasizing about her as usual. I've had a system in place ever since she left L.A. It's two parts pathetic, two parts raunchy, but hey, it keeps me sane. 

I go through her old texts and pictures every night before bed like it's a new religion. Not gonna lie, Jersey'd freak if she knew that my bedroom was and still is a place of worship for her. But as desperate as that might sound, thinking about her 24/7 helps me deal with the separation better than I used to.

Last time she was out of my life, I barely survived it.

This time, I figure I can go without seeing or talking to her for a while because I know she'll come back to me.

When she left for Jersey, I told her that us getting back together would be on her terms, in her own time.

I just didn't think she'd do it this soon.

My iPhone buzzes a second time like it's guilt tripping me for letting a minute and a half pass without reading Jersey's message. I sit up against my headboard, pop the pressure out of my knuckles, and let my thumb hover over her message in a last show of unsuccessful restraint. 

A cooler guy would shut his phone off, roll over, and let the message wait until morning. But I have no chill when it comes to this girl, so obviously, I give in.

I open her message expecting to see words, but a little black box greets me instead.

In all the time that I've known her, Jersey's never sent me a video message. She's a spitfire text only kinda girl, so saying this is unexpected is an understatement.

Then again, maybe I don't know her as well as I thought. It's 2:00 a.m. here and still dark out back east. Maybe she stays up nights like I do. Maybe she's lonely. Loneliness can be a good thing. 'Cause if she's doing what I do when I get lonely, this video might be the best thing that ever happened to me.

Real talk.

I hit the play button faster than I've ever hit anything in my life and wait for Jersey to make my night.

But the girl in the video doesn't look anything like the one I'm hoping to see.

I recognize her hazel eyes, that button nose, and her pillowy lips. But the panic scrawled across her face is completely unfamiliar. So are the cuts and bruises scattered across her cheeks, marring her skin. Her eyes are all over the place—wild, racing, and searching through the darkness she's surrounded by. I wait for her to sit up or stand tall like she always does, but instead she struggles like a caged animal while I struggle to breathe.

I can't place where she is. It's nearly pitch black aside from the dim light of her phone spilling across her face. My mind starts racing as the reality of what I'm seeing sinks in. I keep expecting her to turn to the camera and say that this whole situation's a joke. 

That she wanted to a have a little fun and scare me just to see if I still care about her. But the terror in her eyes doesn't waver for a second. I stare at the screen paralyzed as she thrashes around in the low light slamming her fists against three tight wooden walls that are surrounding her on all sides.

I've only ever seen a coffin once, and it was on a day that I don't like to remember. Dad banned me from showing up at Lacey's funeral, but I stood outside despite him. I hid across the street and bit my tongue until it bled so nobody'd hear me crying. I watched Lacey's dad and the members of the community carry her out of the church in a polished wooden coffin and drive her away. 

I remember never wanting to be near death or the idea of it ever again. I remember hating the funeral home for putting her in a box like she was just a body and not a person. Not a soul. I remember getting sick all over myself as I watched the pallbearers put her into the back of a hearse for the last time.

After that day, I never wanted to look at another person's coffin again. But I know what I'm seeing through my screen without Jersey having to say it, and the sight of it turns my stomach inside out. I pause the video, lean over the edge of my bed, and vomit onto the floor while shakes rack through my body in waves. 

I don't have the right to feel like this when Jersey's where she is, but my body's past the point of letting me take control. A minute passes, and I finally force myself to keep watching. She wouldn't have sent the video unless she needed me to. 

The playhead slides forward and Jersey's breathing picks up to the point where the panic feels too familiar. The same chokehold I felt in my lungs every time my anxiety used to rear its head comes rushing back with a vengeance. It's a feeling I never wished on anyone—especially her. 

But now I'm watching fear suffocate the life out of my girl, and I'm 6,000 miles away.

Once terror takes most of the fight out of her, Jersey stares straight at her phone camera like she's staring straight at me. Her eyes are glassy with tears that I can't even touch. Her voice is strained and shattered when it leaves her lips. But as terrified as I am to hear what it is she has to say, I'm hanging on every word.

"Babe, if you're watching this, I need you to promise that you'll listen all the way to the end, okay? Even if you can't stomach what I'm about to say—I need you to promise me that you'll listen. I know I said I wouldn't call you, but I don't know what else to do right now. I-I don't know—how I got here. I don't even know where I am—but I'm trapped and I—I don't think I have—"

She chokes on a mouthful of dust that drops down on her face from the ceiling.

"—I don't think I have much time, so I need your help, okay? I need you to find me. I wouldn't ask if I didn't trust you, but you're the only person I can call right now. I don't wanna tell my parents yet because they're the reason I'm here. My Dad paid for this stupid Texas retreat for me, and last night I went out with a few people from the program, had a few drinks, and woke up here. I remember being downtown, going to a few bars, but that's it. All of us w-were staying at a motel near the retreat grounds in this little town called Carp, and I was supposed to head back there after we went out. I was supposed to—"

Jersey breaks down but does her best to keep herself together on camera.

"—call my parents and tell them I got back to my room okay, but I didn't. But I don't want them to know what's wrong. If I call them now, they'll panic, and I don't want to do that to them. You know how they are. So I need you to help find me. I need you to call the police in Carp and see if they can trace the location of my phone as soon as you get this. I tried calling, but I think I'm—underground somewhere and the signal's not strong enough to get through. That's why I'm hoping this message reaches you, and that if it does, that you'll do what I'm asking without telling my parents. Please promise me you won't tell them about this for the next twenty-four hours. After that, you'll know for sure that I didn't—"

The video ends, and all I'm left with is a freeze frame of Jersey staring into the camera more terrified than I've ever seen her. This girl's been through hell and back, but she's never even looked anywhere near this scared. 

My heart's hammering away in my chest as I step out of bed, pull on the closest set of clothes, and sprint out of my apartment. It's barely daybreak in Texas, but I'm on the phone with the Carp Police Department as soon as my wheels hit the road in L.A.

The phone rings, once, twice, three times—wasting seconds me and Jersey don't have. Someone picks up on the sixth ring, and it takes everything I have not to lose it right off the bat.

Outgoing Call Connected at 2:45a.m:

CPD: Carp Police Department, Sheriff Cortez speaking.

EK: Hi, um, I'm calling with an emergency. My name's Elias, Elias King, and I think my girlfriend's in t-trouble.

CPD: Slow down, son. What's the problem?

EK: S-She s-sent me a video of her, and she doesn't know w-where she is. She's all beat up, and I-I think she's underground somewhere, and she told me to call you for help. I need your help. She sounds like she can't breathe, and I d-don't know how long she's been down there like that and I—

My throat collapses on itself mid-sentence as I nearly clip some dickhead driving a Dodge Ram who's blocking me from merging onto the freeway. I speed up and cut him off before shifting my attention back to the call.

EK: I'm sorry, I'm driving. Anyway, my girlfriend—

CPD: Hold on a minute, let me get your details straight. Your girlfriend's here in Carp, correct?

EK: Yes, I think so. That's the last place she mentioned before she ended up where she is now. She said she was out drinking last night, and I think someone must've spiked her drink and taken her somewhere in the area.

CPD: Were you with her anytime last night?

EK: No, we're long distance. I'm in L.A.

CPD: And she called you to tell you all this?

EK: It wasn't call. She sent me a video about forty minutes ago.

CPD: Okay, and do you know if she's involved with or aware of any hazing of any kind in the area?

EK: What do you mean?

CPD: We have a problem with some of the younger folk in this area getting themselves involved with some kind of yearly hazing ritual. Two kids died because of it last year and I—my department's doing our best to shut this situation down before anything else happens. How old is your girlfriend?

EK: Nineteen, but she looks seventeen. You don't think she got pulled into something like that, do you?

CPD: I don't know, son, but given your description of what happened, it sounds likely. Can I get her name please?

EK: Alex Summers. I wanna file a missing person's report for her as soon as possible.

CPD: Alright. Once we're finished on the phone, I'll file the report and send out a unit and begin an investigation immediately. Have her parents been notified?

EK: No, she asked me not to. She wanted to wait at least twenty-four hours before letting them know.

CPD: Son, if this situation turns out to be serious, we'll have to notify her family regardless of her wishes.

EK: O-okay, but can you at least wait until I get out there? I wanna help find her.

CPD: That's fine. We can talk in more detail once you're out in our neck of the woods. How soon can you be in town?

EK: I'll see you in four hours.

***

Four hours and four and half panic attacks later, I find myself struggling to keep my eyes open while driving down the sleepy stretch the Carp locals call Main Street. 

The entire town looks like it stopped being developed sometime in the sixties which drives my confidence in them finding Alex through the floor. Convincing a cab driver to take me forty miles into the middle of nowhere from Austin was hard enough. Even if I do find Alex, how we're gonna get back to civilization is beyond me.

I stare out the back window at a series of ghost town businesses scattered between empty store fronts. This place is night and day different from the buzz of L.A. Back in Studio City, nobody struggles. There's so much money floating around there's always new haunts being built to cater to rich housewives and studio heads. 

But Carp is the picture of America's forgotten towns. The places you see in pictured post cards stocked in gas stations hardly anybody ever goes to.

I wish I could say Richard and Evie's decision to send her here makes no sense, but looking at this place—it totally does. The two of them have a living room shrine of backwater souvenirs from their years of remote vacations in rural towns across America. 

When I ran away to Jersey two years ago, I told Richard I thought his trout refrigerator magnets were cool. It was a blatant lie, but he lit up like a light bulb. Him and Evie have always been fans of giving Jersey the chance to "get away" for the summer, but this place is too far. Too quiet. Too full of what feels like a million secrets swimming below Main Street's pavement.

I unearth my phone from my pocket and check to see if there's any word from Jersey as my driver pulls up to the police station. My stomach drops when I see that my inbox is as quiet as it was when I left L.A. 

I step out of the car, hand the cabbie a hundred, and sprint into the police department building. It's an unimpressive, 1970's style one-story that stinks of burnt coffee and backed up copy machines. I'm barely ten steps inside when a dark-haired cop with a southern drag in his step calls me over.

"King, right?"

He asks the questions between loud smacks of what may or may not be chewing tobacco. Welcome to Texas.

"Yes, sir. I'm here about—"

"The Summers girl, right?"

"Yeah, did you find her? Is she okay?"

My voice comes out so unsteady and desperate that the sound of it even rattles me. I told myself on the plane ride here that I was gonna keep it together, mostly for Alex's sake but also for mine. So much for that promise.

"We can talk about things in my office. Come on back."

Officer Cortez leads me through a maze of police desks stacked with case files and papers as far as the eye can see. He pulls out a rickety chair for me and then takes his time settling down into his desk. You'd think a cop with a missing person's report would be all business, but this guy comes off distracted. Like he's walking around with weight on his shoulders that he pretends isn't there. 

I know that act. People who've lost a lot pretend the same way. I glance around his desk and catch sight of him and a woman I assume is his wife, standing next to a guy and girl who don't look too much younger than me. I wonder if that weight he's hiding has something to do with one of the people smiling up at me in that photo.

"Alright, Mr. King, I'll start with the good news."

Sheriff Cortez leans back in his seat and kicks his feet up on his desk like he's sitting in his living room.

"Is she okay?"

"Well, I'll get to that. But we were able to trace your girlfriend's phone to the last place she made a phone call and strangely enough it's coming up as New York City, does that make any sense to you?"

Not at all.

"No. She definitely has texted or Facetimed her parents since she came out here. Can your records show where she did that from? She doesn't call people that often. Unless she's pissed."

"We're still looking into it, this is just a preliminary report, but so far, we haven't been able to place her in Carp."

"Then you're getting it wrong. She told me she was here. Don't you have guys out there looking for her right now or did you blow that too?" I say, but the words come out a lot louder and more aggressive than they should be.

I grip the back of my neck to try to calm myself down, but Cortez and his circus of a police department are starting piss me off.

"You are from L.A., huh? Look kid, I got some of my best guys on patrol trying to see if they can locate her, but we've got enough problems on our hands in this town right now. Your girlfriend's not the only one to go missing around here."

"So, what? You want me to just sit here and wait while she's stuck somewhere suffocating? That's bullshit."

The sheriff raises a warning hand in my direction, and I ease off my temper before I end up behind bars. Again.

"I understand you're upset, but we're doing the best we can. Trust me, if she's a part of the sick games the kids are playing in this town, we'll know about it."

I stand up when my temper will no longer allow me to stay still or seated. I'm exhausted, stressed beyond understanding, and already sick of this backwards town.

"Look, you can sit here with your feet up chewing cud for the rest of the day if you want, but I'm gonna go find my girl whether you help me or not."

***

I haven't had to pop any anxiety pills in over a year, but by the time I leave the police department, I'm a poor decision away from downing an entire bottle.

I scan the small strip of old western style buildings gunning to find a diner or someplace I can down the legal limit of medication with something in my stomach. I spot a diner right across the street from a classic movie theater that can't seem to find enough letters to advertise what's showing. "Dot's Diner" looks about as dated as the rest of this block, but I've gotta eat if I'm gonna figure out what to do. I open my backpack and fumble around for my pills as I step into the crosswalk.

My hands are shaking so badly I'm forced to take my eyes off the road just to get a hold of the bottle. Truck tires screech against the pavement, and I look up in time to catch sight of a old pickup slamming to a stop inches away from where I'm standing. My pills scatter across the road along with any patience I had left for this place and these people.

"Careful, Hollywood. Wouldn't wanna ruin that pretty face on account of you not paying attention!"

If it's possible for a person to piss you off at first sight, this guy has it down to a science. The dude has more curls than a designer dog and seems to think riding around in a cut-off jean vest is some kind of statement. Try hard is as try hard does.

I ignore his comment and go back to crossing the street like Billy Bob and his backwater bros don't exist.

"Where you going, Superstar? Bad manners won't get you far down here!"

Another one of his buddies tries to get a rise outta me, but I keep walking. I don't have time for their bullshit right now. Not with Alex out on her own. I pick up my pace and flip off Curls and his crew over my shoulder. 

The truck's engine shuts off and a couple pairs of feet hit the pavement behind me. I break into a sweat about as fast as I break into a sprint down Main Street. My lungs catch fire inside my chest as I round the corner into the first back alley I see.

It takes about thirty seconds for Curls to catch up with me. It takes half that time for him to pin me against a brick wall with his forearm and start spitting threats straight into my face.

"Why'd you run, Hollywood? Me and my boys just wanted to give you a proper Carp welcome seeing as you clearly don't belong."

"Step off, dickweed. I don't want any trouble."

"Then you should've showed some manners back at the crosswalk. What's your rush?"

He slams me backwards against the brick wall so hard all the wind comes rushing out of my lungs. Rory would love this guy. All muscle, no brains.

"My girlfriend's missing, but the boon cops in this town are too busy tracking down kids who are caught up in some bullshit game to help me—"

Curls eases off me all of a sudden and looks back at his two friends confused.

"He shouldn't know about that, Ray. Why the hell does he—"

"Keep your mouth shut, Adam. I'll handle it."

Ray snaps at the country-punk rock kid standing behind him with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I've been around bad tempers enough to know that this Ray kid could probably go zero to a hundred if you rubbed him the wrong way.

"Listen, Hollywood. I don't know who you've been talking to, but that game isn't for outsiders or cops."

He goes right back to keeping me in a chokehold in a blink of an eye.

"The—only reason why I know about it is—'cause I think my girl got caught up in it, okay? I'm only here for her. Nothing else."

"What's her name?"

"Alex. She's about 5'4", hazel eyes, a little bit of a spitfire. She was out last night in town with a few people. That's when she went missing."

"Come to think of it, I might know her. Maybe even better than you think."

He winks at me, and I lose it. Completely.

I've never wanted to be my dad. I've tried not to be the kind of guy who loses control to the point where he's sees red and makes other people bleed. But the second Ray mentions that he might be the reason Alex is missing, my blood pressure spikes, I cock my arm back, and send my fist straight into his jaw. His head snaps backwards, but he recovers lightning fast like I barely even grazed him. Like he's used to being hit.

"Well, look at that. Pretty boy's got a punch on him. Can't say I don't respect a man willing to stand up for his girl. I'll tell you what, how 'bout we take you to her?"

"You know where she is?"

"I know the game, and I also know what happens to people who go sniffing around where they don't belong."

"You know what happened to her, don't you?"

Ray slams his fists into my stomach over and over until I'm barely conscious enough to stand.

"Guess you'll have to find out."

***

I come to standing 100 feet above the ground on an old rusted water tower in the middle of nowhere. 

Ray's got my hands pinned behind my back while he riles up a huge crowd of people staring up at us from the ground. My lungs lock up in my chest, and I scramble to step back away from the thin, twisted metal plank linking this side of the tower to the other.

"Welcome to the game, Hollywood! All you gotta do is walk the plank, and I'll ask this lovely crowd of people if they know where your girlfriend is."

"Ray, stop. Please. Let me go. I told you I don't want any trouble, I just wanna find my girlfriend and take her home. Please."

"You can piss and moan and say please till kingdom come, but you're walking if you wanna get outta here tonight. Welcome to Panic, Hollywood. Outsiders edition."

Ray shoves me forward, I trip over my feet and don't get more than three steps out onto the plank before I lose my balance. I slip off the edge, the world blurs and tilts, so I throw my arms out to stop it. The metal cuts into my fingers as I scramble to keep myself from dropping one hundred feet to my death. 

The crowd gasps, but their reaction's drowned out under the screeching of police sirens cutting out into the night. The strangers on the ground scramble in different directions while I scramble to pull myself back up onto the beam from pure adrenaline alone. 

I crawl off the beam and onto the sturdier platform where Ray had me pinned minutes before. My body gives out, and I collapse face down onto the grating under the weight of everything. I don't know where Jersey is. How she is. Or if I've let her down. And I don't even have it in myself to stand. I couldn't keep fighting to find her now even if I wanted to. 

I roll my head to the side and catch sight of Ray scrambling down the ladder and disappearing like a cockroach into the dark along with whatever chance I had of finding Jersey.

I lift my phone out of my pocket and use the last of my energy to do the only thing that matters to me.

Outgoing call to Amada Mia (my beloved) at 9:29 PM:

Hey, J. I don't know if this'll get to you in time or if I'm too late for this to matter, but I'm here. In Carp. Looking for you, but uh—I think I messed up. Bad. And I know you needed me to get this right, but I fucked up. I tried asking for help—but I couldn't do it in time. 

And I wish I wasn't so tired, J. I wish I wasn't beat up like this so I could get to you, but I can't move. And I hate myself for it because I know you need me to get up right now, but I can't. I can't—and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for letting you down. For not getting to you myself. For letting you go six months ago. If I'd known this is where we'd be, I never would've let you get on that plane.

But since I did, all I can do at this point is tell you, I'm sorry. And that I love you. And that I'll keep my promise to tell your parents what happened as soon as I can. But I hope to God I won't have to. I hope that the next time I wake up that some cop will come and tell me that you made it. That your safe. That I didn't lose you. Cause if I did and you're really gone, I don't wanna wake up to a world without you in it. Real talk—"

You have reached the recording limit for your voice message. Press one to send message, press two to rerecord.

My screen blurs out of focus, I fumble to reach the right number, but black out without knowing if I even hit the screen.

***

Now, I don't know what dying is like when God ops out of sending you to hell, but if this is it, I owe the Big Guy, big time.

Jersey's hovering over me in a bright yellow summer dress, looking teary-eyed and all kinds of beautiful. She's combing her hands through my hair in that slow, lazy way she does that never fails to drive me crazy. I sit up, lean in, and try to kiss her because a) she's the most gorgeous angel I've ever seen and b) dying doesn't stop you from missing your girl.

But then she shoves me.

And it hurts which is weird because I figured the whole going to heaven thing meant no more pain. I blink the haze out of my eyes only to realize that my version of heaven looks a lot like a small town hospital room. 

I wait for Jersey to disappear or sprout wings or do something mystical or whatever, but none of that happens. Instead, she glares at me until I know that she is without a doubt very real, and very alive, and very pissed.

"Elias King?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you have any idea what you put me through over the last twenty four hours?" She asks, hands on her hips and Jersey accent in full swing. I opt out of telling her how sexy she looks and sounds when she's pissed for survival reasons.

I sit up in my hospital bed and scramble to find the balance between being completely confused and turned on at the same time.

"I mean, yeah. Kinda. I got your video and flew out here as fast as I could to get to you in time. I'm still trying to figure out how you're okay. Thank God, you're okay."

I half lose my mind and pull her into an extreme hug which she does not return or appreciate.

"Elias Alexander, I need you to stop and listen to me. Please. This is important."

I untangle myself from her and do my best to listen and low key check her out. It's been six months, she looks fantastic for a kidnapping victim, and I'm a man. Sue me.

"I'm all ears."

Jersey sits down on the edge of my bed and places her hands over mine.

Awesome.

"Please don't be mad—"

Not awesome.

"—but that video I sent you—was a mistake."

"Wait. Wh-What do you mean it was a mistake? You were in trouble, you reached out to me, so I came. I'd do it again if I—"

"I wasn't in trouble, Elias. I was—filming an audition."

"A what?"

"It was my audition video for my acting class—makeup and all. After I left L.A., my parents thought I needed a 'positive outlet' to deal with everything, so I take acting classes in New York on the weekends, and I'm actually doing really well. My teacher,—"

Better not be a guy.

"—Elliot James,—

Is a guy.

"—wanted me to submit an audition tape for a student film about a girl being buried alive, so I thought I'd sent it to him. Your names are one after the other in my contacts, so I didn't realize until I got your voicemail that I'd sent it to you. And I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry all of this happened. It was a huge mistake, and I don't even know how to make it up to you."

I sit up straighter than I ever have and try to get my mind to stop racing. The last twenty-four hours start playing out high speed while Jersey's words sink in in slow motion.

"First question, out of—I don't know—a lot. Elliot James...hmmm? Why's this douchebag in your phone? He's your teacher. Isn't that illegal or whatever?"

"He gave his number to our whole class."

"So he's into the group thing. Yep, still sounds illegal."

"Elias, he's gay!"

"Gay, huh?! As in actually gay or pseudo gay? Cause you thought I was gay, and we both know that's wasn't anywhere close to the truth!"

Jersey slaps her palm against her forehead and sighs at me.

"He's married. Very happily I might add, so relax about it, okay?"

"Okay! Fine, second question. So basically, what you're saying is—you weren't in trouble, right? As in no kidnapping or whatever?"

Jersey nods and squeezes my hand while I silently implode on myself.

"And, I got beat up, pulled into some psycho 'Panic' game, and nearly fell to my death just because some dickhead high schooler wanted to mess with me?"

"That's what Sheriff Cortez told me when I got here. But on the bright side, you really helped the police get one step closer to shutting it down."

Jersey slips into an unsteady smile that I don't return.

"Babe, I was literally gonna call your parents and tell them that you were—that I—"

"I know, and I'm really sorry."

Jersey pulls me into her arms for the first time in a half a year, and I almost cave. I'm not even mad—I just wanna tell her how much I've missed holding her and how grateful I am that she's okay. 

I bite back the very real possibility of crying and silently thank God that I was wrong about the whole thing. Jersey pulls away from me, and I take a few seconds just to take her in.

"Please say something. If you're pissed at me for the rest of forever, I'll get it, but please say something," she says.

I resist the temptation to smile at her and keep things serious for a little while longer.

"I want something from you. To make up for all this. You can refuse, but if you do, I'll take it personally," I say.

"Sure, anything you want."

Jersey nods her head like a kid and leans in close. My hands automatically find there way into her hair which is still unbelievably soft and a little more wavy than I remember. 

I let my hands slip down to her waist and pull her into the hospital bed and eventually onto me. Her cheeks flush wild red. Hopefully that won't be the last time I get that reaction today.

"I get that we're kind of on a break—"

I tug at the floral print string tied lightly around the middle of her dress.

"We are," she says, but her voice comes out less than a whisper.

"—and that I promised that we'd only get back in contact once you were ready—"

I trail kisses along the side of her neck and listen to her breathing pick up just enough to tempt me into trouble.

"You did."

I tilt my head up until my mouth is as close as it can be to brushing against hers.

"Let me break that no contact rule for the next twenty-four hours, and we'll call it even. Deal?"

She never even has to answer the question.

All I can say is, what happens in Texas. Stays in Texas.

#Quote me.

***

Thank you so much for reading guys! I certainly hope you enjoy the chapter! It should definitely give you a little taste of the Jersey & Elias antics that are coming up in the NEW SEQUEL TO FHKH. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you guys for sticking with this series over the years and can't wait to share more! This was an awesome opportunity presented by Amazon Prime x Wattpad and I'm proud to have been apart of it! Definitely check out Panic on May 28th via Amazon Prime! It's worth the watch ;). 

REAL TALK QUESTION OF THE WEEK (in light of the coming sequel):

1. If you could choose one location for Elias and Jersey to tie the knot where would it be and why? 

2. How do you think Elias would handle the proposal?