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‘Jet was stabbed. Riley’s Bar. Call me.’
Please, call me. Where are you?
Joel’s the one in control, the one in charge, the dependable one, the strong one. I need him. Hell, Jet needs him.
Tears sting my eyes as I finally reach my destination and park the car. I’m not angry at Jet anymore. I’m scared, so scared it takes me two tries to switch off the engine.
God, how did it come to this? Who stabbed him? Why? And why was Jet here, in a brawl, instead of home with me and Joel?
Drawing in a deep breath, I step out and head toward the bar. Brylee intercepts me on the way, looking pale, her eyes too wide.
“They took him away in an ambulance just now,” she whispers, linking her arm with mine. “They caught his attacker, too, the police are taking him in now.”
“I need to see Jet.” I’m panicking, trying to free myself of her hold, trying to turn back around.
“I’ll take you to the hospital. Come on.”
I let her haul me back to my car, let her get behind the wheel and drive me, too shaky to refuse her help.
And Joel still hasn’t called me back.
***
The ER is pretty quiet. Lots of people are seated in the waiting area. Brylee leaves me to ask about Jet, and I’m left standing there, lost.
This is wrong. Jet shouldn’t be here. Jet shouldn’t be hurt.
And I should be the one asking about him.
Turning, I look for her, but she’s vanished somewhere. This is surreal. Panic rises in my chest, clogging my throat. I’m two seconds from screaming.
A woman I don’t know pats my arm. “Have a seat,” she says. “Be patient.”
I jerk back, shaking my head, and pull out my phone again. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls.
Jesus, Joel. Where are you?
And where has Brylee gone, for that matter? Where is everyone? The walls are closing in on me. The air is stale. Not enough oxygen.
I turn blindly around, this time searching for the exit, when strong arms come around me and a familiar male scent envelops me.
“Candy.” Joel is rocking me in his arms. “Where is he? Is he okay?”
Joel is here. The tears suddenly overflow, seep into my lashes, slip down my cheeks. “I don’t know. Brylee went to ask. I couldn’t find you. You didn’t call back.”
“I was an asshole, and an idiot.” He pulls back and wipes my tears with his hands, then cups my cheeks. “The hospital called me.”
I frown. “Why would they?”
“I’m listed as his next of kin. But they only told me he’s in surgery.”
“Oh God.” More tears slip free. “What else did they say?”
“Nothing else. And it’s my fault.”
“Your fault? How is any of this your fault?”
He’s shaking, clutching me so hard it hurts, but I don’t care. It means he’s here, with me. With us. “I was so angry with you for putting up our photo and names on your blog, for not telling us about the story, about exposing us. I went home to tell Jet about it, and then… then things got heated between us. And I freaked out and left.”
