“We can’t force someone to file a report. It has to be their call, in their time. You know this,” Brent added.
I did, but staring at the still ominously unread message on my phone, I couldn’t hear reason. All I could think was that inaction had once more failed someone I loved. I couldn’t lose Oliver too. Not in that way.
“Alright,” Paul said. “I’ll contact the outreach committee and the center’s board, make sure they understand the liability their courting. Given the nature of the program, I doubt they’ll take kindly to learning the attorney hired to support survivors is an abuser, reported or not. The allegation alone should be enough to trigger a formal review. Possibly more. In the meantime, are the rest of you heading with Luke to Brickstone?”
Shawn stood first. “I sure as hell am. Slay squad assemble!”
Brent rose next, grabbing his jacket off his chair. “Obviously, we’re going.”
Sarah squeezed my shoulder. “We’ve got you. And Oliver.”
“Thank you. All of you. I—”
“Ah-ah,” Shawn cut in, sliding an arm around my back and redirecting me toward the exit with a practiced herding motion. “You’d charge straight into a burning building for any of us, so guess what? We return the favor. One of ours is hurting, we mobilize. That’s how we roll. No thanks necessary.”
As we stepped into the hallway, he snagged the keys to the company-issued SUV off the hook.
“Hey, why do you get to drive?” Brent said, narrowing his eyes.
Shawn dangled the keys between two fingers. “Because Luke’s brain is currently juggling a catastrophic Cirque du Soleil of ‘what ifs.’ If he got behind the wheel he’d accidentally merge into oncoming traffic, and I for one am hoping to get to the center alive.”
Brent folded his arms. “That explains why Luke isn’t driving. Still not hearing why you are.”
“My stars, must you cross-examine every breath I take? People call me a brat, but sweetie, you? You debate like it’s your kink. I grabbed the keys; therefore, I’m driving. Cosmic law. The universe has spoken through my perfectly moisturized hands.” He leaned in closer to Brent. “But don’t stress that stoic littleheart of yours. I’ll let you ride shotgun, since we both know you get separation anxiety if I’m out of arm’s reach. And I’ll even let you front-seat dominate the ride. We both know how much you love bossing me around.”
Brent’s jaw tightened so fast you could hear his teeth grind. “That’s not... I just don’t trust your driving.”
“Mm-hm,” Shawn hummed, patting his cheek.
The entire walk to the lot, Brent kept up the grumbling—I caught something about reckless drivers, liability, and maturity—but when we got to the SUV he walked straight to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid in without a word.
Shawn didn’t gloat, but the satisfied curve at the corner of his mouth said plenty as he rounded the hood.
I got into the back, knee bouncing, my phone still devoid of a response from Oliver. Each second without those three little dots gnawed at me.
Shawn started the engine. “Alright, team. Buckle up. We’re going in with brains, brawn, and breathtaking beauty. And before anyone asks, yes, I’m all three.” His voice turned full work-mode as his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “We’ll get your man, Luke.”
The drive felt endless, an agonizing crawl, every red light an affront to urgency, every driver going the speed limit an accomplice to delay. My mind wouldn’t stop serving up horrific reels I didn’t ask for: Oliver in a hospital bed hooked up to machines I couldn’t name; his pale blue eyes, lifeless, looking up at me from a pool of blood; his body lying at a gross angle on concrete; the silence of a dead heartbeat under my palm. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the “oh shit” handle tighter.
“Can’t you go any faster?” I snapped at Shawn.
Shawn’s gaze flicked to me in the rearview, but before he could answer, Brent turned in the passenger seat. “Back off,” he growled. “He’s already doing ten over. Any faster and werisk getting pulled over, wasting the time you’re worried about losing.”
Under any other circumstance, the way Brent leapt to Shawn’s defense would’ve been prime entertainment. The man had his head shoved so far up his own repression he couldn’t see the damn sunrise of his feelings. But right now, humor couldn’t reach me through the endless scenarios of horror running through my mind
Shawn reached over, squeezing Brent’s shoulder. “Your knight-in-shining-armor routine is hot, but I can handle myself.” His eyes shifted back to mine. “I’m going as fast as the law and my guardian angel permit, Luke. We’ll get there.”
“It’s not fast enough. This can’t end up like Carrie. I can’t...” My voice faltered. “Do you know what it’s like? To see someone you love as a corpse? If that happens to Oliver, I’ll—” I stopped. Even saying it felt like inviting it into existence, and I refused to give that nightmare oxygen.
The SUV went still. Woods-after-an-epic-snowfall still.
Sarah slid her hand into mine and squeezed.
“Luke,” Brent said, turning in his seat, all gruff edge in his voice gone. “Nobody should have to go through what you did, and I know it’s not something that ever leaves you, but Oliver’s not going to be another ghost you have to carry. We’re gonna get there.”
“And if he’s had you in his corner this whole time,” Dean added. “I’m betting he can hold his own until the cavalry arrives.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, you’re right. Oliver’s tough. I’m just not able to keep my cool right now.”
