She lies motionless on the bed. Her hands are cradled under her head. Her legs are bent in the fetal position near her chest. The only movement is the slight rocking motion back and forth. She sniffles again.
“Gabby, baby,” I say softly as I approach the edge of the bed. She doesn’t move or respond.
“Darlin’, can you hear me?” Her dead eyes meet mine and the tears start falling. “Hold on sweetheart, I’ve got you.” I step out of my shoes, drop the knife on the bedside table, and crawl into bed beside her. Pulling her onto my chest, I soothe her as best I can with one arm while the other reaches for my phone to send a text.
My phone vibrates as soon as I step out of the shower. Hoping it’s Bree, I quickly dry off and pick it up to find Miller’s name flash on the screen. He told me he was going to check on her when we got back. I was planning to go by later after he gave me the green light she was ready to talk.
MILLER
You need to get here.
Now.
The double text and urgency in his tone have me dropping the towel and moving to my dresser for underwear.
ME
Where?
MILLER
Gabby’s house.
I’m already moving, throwing a shirt on and leaving my bedroom, but I ask anyways.
ME
What’s goingon? What’s wrong?
MILLER
Not the time for questions, Rook. You care about her like you say you do, then get your ass over here in the next twenty minutes.
Fuck. This can’t be good.
I race through the condo, grabbing a hat and slipping on my shoes before running out the door to catch the elevator down to the underground parking garage. I jab the button five times hoping to speed it up. I’m debating taking the stairs down ten flights when it finally opens. I do the same inside, selecting the garage level and holding the door close button.
When I finally make it to the garage, I sprint to my truck and jump in, cranking it at the same time as I slam the door. I peel out of the parking space and up the ramp to the street level, gunning it when I see a break in traffic. I’m twenty minutes from Bree’s house on a good day with traffic. Today, I’m hoping to make it in fifteen or under.
A thousand scenarios run through my mind in the time it takes to reach Gabby’s driveway. Is she hurt? Is she alive? Is she mad?
I slam the truck in park and jump out as soon as the truck stops moving.
Miller meets me at the back door, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me from entering. “Hold up, I want to prepare you.”
“Prepare me for what? Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay!” I choke out the last bit because the look on his face tells me something’s wrong. I can’t lose her.
“Have a seat,” Miller points to the stairs.
“I don’t want to sit. I want to see her,” I protest, but he pulls me down anyway. I’m too weak to stop him.
“Just sit for a minute. I want to tell you something.”
“Man, just tell me if she’s okay.”
“Physically, she’s fine. Or at least she doesn’t look hurt in anyway. It’s emotionally and mentally that I’m not so sure about.” His expression doesn’t match his words. Something tells me she’s not fine at all.
“Spit it out so I can see my girl, Mills.”
