31. Damage Control

31

Damage Control

Dax

Monday, June 5 th

9:12 a.m.

"You caved." I yawn and stretch, grinning from ear to ear, failing to hide the excitement from my voice as I answer the phone.

And she does nothing to hide the worry from hers. "Dax?"

I spring up in bed, knocking off the sheets draped across my chest. "Brighton? Is everything okay?"

"Have you talked to Liam?"

My feet hit the floor, and I'm on the move before I get my bearings. I reach for my jeans, jamming my legs into them, hopping around until they're on. "Not since yesterday." What the fuck is going on? If something is wrong, why didn't he call me himself? "What's up?"

I tighten my belt and turn, finding the contents of my bag sprawled across the foot of the king-sized mattress, the sofa, and the desk.

If Brighton's calling to talk to me about his chemo appointment over the phone—bile climbs my throat—it must be bad. I stuff my keys in my pocket and yank my T-shirt over my head.

"I waited. Figured there was a good excuse." She clears her throat.

"Can I talk to him?" I knew he'd throw me under the bus because I didn't make it to his appointment today. I grab my toothbrush and cover it in mint toothpaste, running it under the tap before I stuff it in my mouth. I yank my suit from the back of the chair, scoop my dress shoes off the floor, and shove them into the duffel flayed open on the edge of the coffee table. I can't think straight with all my shit strewn across the room. My stomach churns with fear at what I'm about to hear. A sour taste coats my tongue, and I pull the toothbrush from my mouth to spit.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, refocusing my attention on the phone call. The silence on the other end causes a tightness in my chest. Why won't she tell me already? "Hello?"

"He. Never . . . um." She takes a deep breath and lets it out into the phone. "He's not here."

I hop on one foot while I slip on my shoe. "Did he go home? I'm leaving in ten. I can be there in like two hours." I knew I shouldn't have left him alone, whether or not he wanted me there. I race through the room, grabbing any remaining clothes from the desk and sofa, my toiletry bag, and my toothbrush.

"No. He didn't show."

"What?" I drop onto the mattress, letting her words sink in as I stop with my other foot halfway in my shoe.

"His appointment was at eight."

"Why didn't you call me earlier?" The alarm on the nightstand shows it's a little after nine. I try to keep my irritation under wraps, but I'm having difficulty figuring out why she'd wait so long.

"I figured he was running late. His voicemail isn't set up. I tried—"

"When?" I interrupt. "When was the last time you tried?"

"About fifteen minutes ago. I didn't want to get you involved if it was nothing."

Why won't he answer her calls?

"It's not like him not to show up," I half-mumble under my breath. "Fuck."

She huffs into the mouthpiece. "Look, I can send someone to do a wellness visit, but it could take a couple of hours, and you'll be home by then. I'd be willing . . ." She pauses. "If you want, I can run by your apartment and check on Liam myself. I don't want to cross any lines, but"—she clears her throat—"I'd do that for you."

I imagine her pacing the hallway of the hospital, her fingernails in her mouth.

What if Dani has something to do with this?

My heart plunges to my toes.

Fuck me.

I told him to stay home. But he never listens. I try not to focus on the disasters unraveling in my mind, but I can only picture him injured or worse. I shake my head, trying to distract myself. "It's not safe."

"What? Why?" Worry fills her voice. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Stay put. I'll call the doorman. I don't want you to go over there."

Hurt is evident when she replies. "What's going on?"

"It's a lot to explain. Let me call him. I'll call you right back."

"No, don't hang up." Her voice is shrill, unsure.

"Maybe he's not answering because he doesn't recognize your number," I say, doubting that's the reason.

"But why hasn't he shown up?"

I toss my duffel bag over my shoulder as I race through the door. I'm at the end of the hall, jamming my finger into the elevator call button before I answer. "I don't know. Let me call you back."

I don't wait for her response. I hang up and call Liam.

It rings and rings and rings.

No answer.

Fuck.

Why the fuck doesn't he have his voicemail set up?

"Anything?" Brighton asks, answering on the first ring.

"No."

Once the elevator dings its arrival, I pull the phone from my ear and put her on speakerphone as I step inside. I shoot a quick text to Bree.

Me: Family emergency.

The three dots dance along the bottom of the screen.

Bree: Haha. Funny.

Me: Not joking. Can't get a hold of Liam.

An incoming call pops onto the screen, accompanied by Bree's sneer and her middle finger.

"Brighton? Let me take this call. Don't hang up."

"Is it Liam?"

I shake my head, knowing she can't see me. "Give me a second." I don't wait for her reply before I switch calls to Bree. "Hey."

"Isn't he at the hospital?"

"He never showed."

"And you know this because . . . ?"

"Brighton called. Dr. Fields—Liam's doctor."

I can imagine the wheels turning in Bree's head. Why am I on a first-name basis with Liam's doctor? And why is she the last to know this information?

"His doctor?"

"Yeah." I hang my head in shame.

"Did you try his cell?"

"Are you serious?" How dare she ask such a stupid question. "Of course I called his fucking cell. I'm not an idiot."

"No one said you are."

"I'm headed home. I'll call you when I find him. I'm calling the police."

"Hey, slow down," she interrupts. "Aren't you jumping the gun?"

"What if it's her ?"

"She's not that stupid."

"You highly underestimate Dani's need to get back at me, especially after our recent run-in."

"Shit. You're right. I'll call the police. See if you can get a hold of him." She exhales, and I picture a stream of smoke flowing from between her lips.

"I've been trying."

" Fuck. I'll try him too. Call me back." She hangs up, and I switch the call back to Brighton.

"Hey. That was Bree, my manager," I say, feeling the need to explain. "She's gonna try Liam. Anything?"

"No. I—" A distant static interrupts her as the PA system crackles to life, "Dr. Fields, you're needed at the nurses' station. Dr. Fields to the nurses' station." Her rushed footsteps mask the sound of the page, and I can't make out the rest.

"I shouldn't have left him. I'm getting in the car. Like I said, I'll be there in a couple of hours. If you hear anything, call me."

"Please, don't hang up."

There's a commotion on her end of the phone. There's a woman's voice, and I assume she's placed her hand over the mouthpiece since a muffled conversation takes place. A door swings open, and more hurried footsteps follow.

There's a lot of silence.

Did she forget about me?

Then her voice cracks. "Liam?"