He walks around, with that same sad look on his face, pushing people out of the way, as he searches for Emily. It isn’t hard either. Everyone is strung out and too wasted to care.
The lights flash on and off, a sign that it’s time to stop fucking and groping and go home.
“Surely, no one is driving,” Coach says under his breath.
Not sure how these people get home. And right now, I’m not concerned about them. I catch a glimpse of a girl with hair like Emily’s in the far corner where I know Zach likes to hang out.
“Coach, I’ll be right back.” I don’t wait for him to answer as I rush in that direction.
If Emily is here and she’s fucking Zach, it will gut my insides out. But my bigger worry is I don’t want Coach to find Emily in that kind of situation.
It’s clear he’s about to lose his shit. Not only that, I want to be the first to throttle Zach if I catch him fucking her. I might just throttle him anyway.
But Zach’s hangout is empty, and the girl with the strawberry-blonde hair isn’t Emily.
Coach meets me in the middle of the warehouse, shaking his head. Relief floods my veins that we didn’t find Emily anywhere in the joint. But it’s short-lived, because it means she’s out there somewhere, and we’re running out of options.
Fear as bright as the runway lights on an airport landing strip glistens in his eyes, and his helplessness is palpable. His phone rings, and we trade worried looks.
I hold my breath as he answers.
“What?” he snaps at his caller. “Where are you? Is Emily home?” There’s a pregnant pause. “Then check her room,” he shouts.
I flick my head at the exit. We should get out of here.
“Fuck,” Coach barks in the phone. “She’s missing. Well, if you weren’t so busy with work shit, then you might notice your daughter is under a lot of stress. Did you piss her off?”
I can’t hear anything President Parker is saying, but that fear on Coach morphs into rage.
“Give me Zach McCartney’s address.” Coach’s jaw is stone.
By the time we get to my truck, he’s punching in Zach’s address on his navigation app. “Let’s try Zach’s next.” He squirms uncomfortably on the seat. “They seem close, or they were at one time.”
Nausea swims up my throat, but at this stage, I’d be happy if she was there. Once she’s okay. I can deal with my emotions after. All that matters now is finding her.
We’re halfway to Zach’s when Coach’s phone rings again. “Did she come home? Is she okay?” he immediately demands. “What?!” He roars. “Oh, fuck, no.” Tears sting his eyes, and I damn near stop breathing. “Is she…” His shoulders collapse in relief. “Thank God.” He lets a shuddering breath loose. “Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Coach throws his phone on the dash, the sound exploding in the small space.
He casts a pained look at me, and I stop breathing again. My foot slips off the pedal, and the truck swerves a little. Coach urges me to get a grip with his eyes, and I swallow back bile, clutching the wheel tight as I straighten the truck and beg my errant pulse to calm down. I don’t know anything yet and I’m already panicking.
“Where to?” I choke out.
“Cypress Memorial, son, and step on it.”
I whip my head at him, not seeing the stop sign up ahead.
“Adam! Pay attention.”
I slam on the brakes, and the truck screeches to a painful halt. We’re both thrown forward, but our seat belts do their job.
“What happened?” I’m trying like a motherfucker to stay calm. But my heart has other ideas, attempting to break free of my body. “Is Emily okay?”
“She overdosed.” Coach’s tone is crestfallen. “But she’s still alive.”
Motherfucker.
I gun the gas since the streets are desolate, but I’m barely holding it together. If she doesn’t pull through, I will never forgive myself for how I handled things with her last night. There are so many different ways it could’ve gone down. I should’ve done more to help her instead of pushing her into Molly’s arms.
The lights in the emergency room are burning my eyes as I storm in behind Coach fifteen minutes later or maybe it was five. Time has escaped me. How I got us here in one piece is beyond me.
