Another beat of silence. Then another cry, more broken this time. “Nate… he’s gone.”
Chapter Seven
JORDAN
My pulse spikes.“What do you mean, he’s gone?” I ask, nerves rising fast, my heart suddenly pounding in my throat.
More sniffing. “Nate,” Matt chokes. “He… had a heart attack.” A shuddered inhale. “He’s… he’s dead.”
A guttural sound rips out of him through the speaker—one I’ve never heard from Matt. It breaks me wide open and sends me to my feet.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “What? How?” I’m already moving, making my way to the closet and grabbing the first pair of sweat shorts I see. I yank them on, then shove my feet into a pair of sneakers.
“They don’t know. It was sudden. Happened fast. And Cole… God,” he cries out. “Cole was there.”
Silence.
Then a rough, broken, “Fuck.”
Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I grab my keys and glance at the oven clock.1:31.
“Where are you? Home?” I ask, already walking out the door.
“Yeah… I was asleep.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.” I stab the elevator button with a shaking finger. God, my whole body’s trembling. And I’m cold, like shock is crawling through my veins.
More broken silence.Come on. Come on,I silently beg, pressing the button again.
“Thanks. I would have called Jensen, but…” He trails off.
Oh, God.My chest fucking hurts. Jensen and Alley lived a few floors down from him before they moved. He has no siblings. His parents suck. It’s just Jensen’s family now… and me.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you called. I’m coming. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”
“No… no, that’s okay.”
“Alright. Ten minutes.” The doors finally slide open and I step inside, praying a cab will be waiting outside.
He hangs up. Or the elevator cut us off. Hard to tell.
I don’t even remember leaving the building, but the second I’m outside, I rush to the curb, scanning wildly as I run toward the West Village. I clutch my phone tighter, searching, hair flying, heart pounding, boobs bouncing.Shit.I didn’t even put on a bra.
I bring a hand to my chest, trying to hold myself still as I slow to a jog. I can’t run to Matt’s, it’s too far, and there’s still no cab in sight.
I pull up the Uber app and type in his address.
“Shit,” I mutter, winded. It’s five minutes away. I order it anyway. It won’t be faster by much, but it’s better than running.
I come to a complete stop and try to catch my breath, my mind spinning.
What the hell? Nate?
He was young. Two years younger than Matt and me.
Way too young to have a heart attack.
Way too fucking young to die.
