The back passenger door of the Mercedes flings open, and a girl falls out on to the street. She has wild dirty blond curls tumbling around her and looks to be wearing what I would guess are last night’s clothes. A black dress that looks dirty and tights that are ripped and laddered.
She really does look a mess.
As soon as she’s clear from the car, her purse is tossed out, and the door is slammed shut. The Mercedes flies off as fast as it pulled up.
The girl tries to get up but stumbles, and falls back down, grazing her elbow. I’m unsure if she’s still drunk as she doesn’t look very coordinated. But not one person has stopped to help her. I push commando guy out of the way to go to help her. He grabs my upper arm hard and fast, and I wince before shooting him a warning glare and snatching my arm out of his grip.
I rush over to the girl, who’s now sitting with both legs at different angles, and her head hanging limply down, almost as though it’s too much effort to hold up. When I crouch and pull back the curtain of matted curls, I gasp.
It’s Tara.
“Shit.” I yell, “Jack! Get Denham. NOW.”
She looks up at me, her muscles are uncoordinated and her head rolls from one shoulder to another while she tries to focus. She tries to blink but finds it too much of an effort and her heavy lids open slowly, but she’s not really seeing a thing. Her makeup is smudged down her cheeks, and it makes me want to cry to see her like this.
“What have you done, Tara? Tell me. Is it drugs? What drugs?” I ask her anxiously, stroking her hair from her face. She’s unable to answer, her coordination doesn’t allow her to form speech, and I’m not even sure if she recognizes me.
Jack and commando pick her up carefully, and try to set her on her feet, but she’s too unsteady so Jack scoops her into his arms.
I grab her purse from the ground and follow them hurriedly back into the foyer. Jack marches through everyone, using his shoulder to move past the crowd of people as he strides on, not faltering or pausing for anything until he gets to the elevator.
“Shit, is she okay, is she gonna be okay?” I ask Jack, as we ride up to the penthouses.
“She’s fine. She’ll be fine,” Jack answers, trying to keep his face neutral but the deep crevice in his forehead, and the pain in his eyes gives his true emotions away. He’s worried. Really worried. And that worries me. I don’t really know much about the aftereffects of drugs, but I know enough to know that Tara has had more of something than she should have, and her body is struggling to deal with it.
“I think we should have gone to a hospital instead,” I suggest quietly.
The elevator opens, and Jack nods for commando to knock on the door to Denham’s suite. It takes a couple of attempts for Denham to open up, and when he does, the color drains from his whole body. His tan is not so prominent now. He holds the door wide open, and Jack takes Tara straight through to the guest bedroom. We all follow closely behind, there’s a quiet panic and the air is so damn heavy that it feels hard to even breathe. I’m nervous. I don’t know much about drugs. I don’t know how Denham will handle this. I don’t know what I can do to help.
“What the fuck is going on, Jack?” Denham’s voice is tight, pained. And it’s clear that he’s trying to reign in the panic.
Jack lays her on the large bed in the center of the room, and tenderly pushes her mop of curls from her face, brushing the back of his hand over her cheek bone and sucking in a sharp breath. Then he stops. It’s like he just remembered we’re all there watching him, and the tender way he treated Tara. He tears himself away and stands formally in the doorway with commando.
“Fuck. Fuck. What has she done?” Denham rubs his face with both hands, and looks torn between wanting to go to her, needing to have just a moment to himself, and wanting some answers.
“I’ll get a cool cloth,” I say quietly, and make my way to the bathroom. I hear Denham firing questions at Jack. Jack tries to explain the best he can what he knows, but as the conversation goes on, their voices hush and all I can hear is strained whispers.
“I don’t know, man. We’ll have Dom check the footage out front and see if we can get a hook on the car that dumped her off. Other than that, there’s not much we can do until she comes around.”
“Just you fuckin’ wait, she’s gonna be grounded for an eternity,” Denham growls.
“You can’t ground her, Denham,” I say on a sigh when I reenter the room. “She’s twenty-three years old. Let’s just wait and see what she has to say, shall we?” I try to offer the voice of reason when I return to the bedroom, and I sit next to her on the edge of the bed, to wipe her streaked makeup with a washcloth. Whether or not my opinion is welcome, is another matter. But someone has to think logically here, and although whoever brought her here should have at least seen her in the door, at least they brought her back, as opposed to leaving her stranded somewhere on her own.
“I think she needs to be looked over by a doctor.”
Denham sighs. “No, she just needs to sleep it off.”
“Denham …”
“No, Arianna,” he snaps. “This isn’t the first time, okay? Trust me to know what I’m doing with my own sister.”
The tone of his voice tells me not to argue. I probably would have retorted had I not been stuck on his last comment that this isn’t the first time. Tara is rebellious, yes. But drugs? I wouldn’t have called it.
Denham feels her forehead for her temperature, then strokes her cheekbone gently before removing her shoes and pulling a sheet up over her. “You don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” He looks at me with a stern expression. “No one. Not Lottie, not Spike, and definitely not my mom.”
“O-Okay. I wouldn’t offer the information freely anyway.” I try to reassure Denham of my loyalty, his defensiveness of his family is fierce, and although I feel a little hurt that he would need reassurance from me, I remember that it’s still early days for us. “What shall I tell Beth?”
He glances at his watch. “Shit. You’re only ten minutes late. I’ll call her and sort it out, you just go.”
