“Lawson,” I shout, jumping to my feet as there’s an ungodly crunching sound followed by the call disconnecting. “Holy fuck.”
“What is it?” my mom asks, her and my dad looking at me wide-eyed from across the living room.
“Phone,” I say quickly, holding out my hand as I redial Lawson with my cell, my feet bringing me quickly my parents’ way. “Phone, please.”
My mom hastily grabs her cell phone, passing it over. Lawson doesn’t answer, but I try again, putting my own phone on speaker as I dial 911 with my mom’s.
“I gotta go,” I tell them. “It sounded like Lawson was in a crash.”
“Oakley—”
“I know,” I tell her, already shoving my feet into my boots.
“We’ll follow you,” my dad says.
I don’t argue, simply push open the door and sprint toward my vehicle as the emergency services dispatcher answers my call.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“I think my friend was in a car crash,” I tell her quickly, starting up my truck, my phone ringing again and again on the passenger seat beside me. “I didn’t see it happen, but we were talking, and…”
I trail off, my breath stuttering.
“Do you know your friend’s location?”
“Um…” I will my brain to cooperate as I pull down my parents’ drive, my mom’s phone tucked between my shoulder and ear. “He was somewhere between my house and my parents’.”
I give the dispatcher our addresses, praying I come across Lawson quickly yet dreading what I’ll find. I don’t allow myself to think about it. I can’t.
Ican’t.
My voice shakes as I go on. “He’s not picking up now.”
“I have police and ambulance on the way,” the dispatcher tells me. “Sir, it sounds like you’re in your vehicle, so I’m going to remind you to please remain calm and follow all rules of the road. It won’t do anyone any good if you crash yourself.”
“I know,” I say, even as I speed down the paved backroads toward my house.
“Sir, can I have your name and your friend’s?”
I inhale a ragged breath. “Oakley Beaumont. That’s me. His name is Lawson. Lawson Darling.”
“Okay, Oakley. I’m going to ask you to keep our call connected. If you arrive before emergency personnel, I’ll have you tell me what you see.”
“Okay,” I say hoarsely, setting the phone on speaker before dropping it beside my own. I use my thumb to unlock my phone screen and redial Lawson, but it doesn’t connect.
Goddamnit, Lawson. Pick up. Pick up. Pickup.
Be all right. You have to be all right.
I try to be cautious as I drive, cognizant of my dad keeping up behind me and, yes, my own safety. But it’s hard not to skip every stop sign when I need to know if Lawson is okay. What if he’s not? What if—
I cut that line of thinking off at the head, refusing to go there. It’s another minute before I see a car askew in the road up ahead.
My pulse sprints, my gaze swinging about wildly until, finally, I spot a truck half in a ditch at the side of the road.
Lawson’s truck.
Upside down.
