39. Dead End

39

Dead End

Dax

Friday, June 9 th

8:52 p.m.

Some things are better left unsaid. Unfortunately, I usually realize this after the fact.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Hot date?"

I freeze with my hand on the doorknob, my hoodie half pulled over my head. Guess my racing around the apartment is a dead giveaway I'm eager to leave.

Of course the woman of my dreams would have to be Liam's gorgeous forbidden doctor, who could be a possibility— but isn't —and it's too late to take back that I've let things get out of hand. I'll have to tell Liam what's going on with Brighton eventually, but now is not the time.

He wouldn't understand. And I don't think it's the time to explain.

"Grabbing dinner. Want soup?" This unexpected conversation is going to make me a little late. I said eight-thirty to tease her but wanted her to sweat.

The corner of his mouth twists in disgust. "Not interested." He turns the volume of the TV back up and settles into the cushion. That was close.

Guilt settles into the pit of my stomach. I hate to leave him, but he'll be out before I return, for sure.

"I'll be back in a little while. Text if you change your mind."

I wish I could take back what happened. What if she decides the kiss was a mistake? What if she changes her mind about treating Liam? I guess I wouldn't blame her. Why would she compromise her job? Dammit, I wish I hadn't mentioned going out tonight. I'm gonna feel like an idiot if she changes her mind and sends me away.

I shoot Liam a quick text as I jam my finger into the elevator.

Me: If I get soup, will you try to eat it?

Three dots bounce at the bottom of the screen. Disappear. And reappear. It's not hard to agree to my request. I don't know why he has to put more thought into a response than is necessary.

Liam: Sure.

I hate that word. Sure. It sounds so indecisive. Like yeah, maybe I will, maybe I won't. It's up in the air. Uncertain.

And I am kicking myself for not staying home. Not because I'm embarrassed by my decision to see her but because I'm scared to death by how Liam will react once he figures out what's going on. And I have every intention of explaining how my rash decision was a mistake and that it won't happen again. Even if that's the last thing I want.

My phone vibrates, and the screen lights up.

Liam: Don't forget the crispy things.

I should have let things between me and Brighton run their course, but now things need to go back to how they were before, and I have to remember to treat her as Liam's doctor. I wave for a cab and wait as one pulls to the curb.

Me: I thought they made you sick

I instantly regret pushing send. Liam acts like he's doing fine, but I've noticed the things he doesn't mention. Like the tufts of hair in the trash. His uneaten food. How he sleeps all the time. I wish I could take back what I texted him. It's too bad I can't erase our conversation.

Liam: Depends on if it's hot or cold

I can appreciate the effort he puts into trying to act normal. If he didn't have something smartass to say, I'd start to worry.

"This is as far as I can take you," the cabbie says, pulling me out of my thoughts as I push send on my last text.

Me: Be home soon

Liam: Don't wake me up if I'm sleeping

I stuff my phone in my pocket as we stop at the curb. I glance out the windshield and see we're a couple of blocks away from Brighton's place. There's a police officer with a flashlight directing traffic to a side street. That's when my eyes land on the yellow caution tape.

"What's going on?"

The cabbie turns in his seat to face me. "You're gonna have to ask him." He points at the cop and holds out his other hand as I reach for my wallet. I pay and slide out of the backseat. The cab flips around, heading the opposite way as I stop next to the officer.

"Is everything okay?" As soon as the words slip from my mouth, I know how stupid I sound. Of course things aren't okay. There's a freaking police officer and barrier blocking off Brighton's street.

His eyes scour over me, and his jaw flexes. "You're gonna need to keep moving." He shines his flashlight in the opposite direction of where I need to be and signals for me to go where he points. A crowd has assembled on the sidewalk, and I stop next to them, overhearing some of their suspicions.

"It's another body," says a woman in her bathrobe, large purple tube-like rollers in her hair. She tightens the belt around her waist, wrapping her arms around herself for extra protection.

"A female," someone else inserts.

"I called in the gunshots," a bald man in plaid pajama pants says.

"And the screams." The woman tucked under his arm adds.

A tall, slim man pushes his way closer to the caution tape. He stuffs his hands in his pockets as a woman approaches him. "They said she's from the hospital," she whispers. "Do you think this is related to the murders in the news?"

My legs turn to liquid, and I sink to the sidewalk, knocking into a couple of bystanders as I go down.

"Hey, man, you okay?" A guy stoops, resting his hand on my shoulder.

"Just need a sec."

Body.

Female.

Hospital .

This is not happening.

I drop my head between my legs.

Stars swim in my vision.

I stop listening.

Fuck.

No.

I can't go through this again.

What the fuck did I do to deserve this? How many people do I have to lose?

"Breathe in," someone says.

There's an expectant pause.

There are hands on top of my shoulders. "Breathe out." It's the same voice. I try to focus on it, not the rhythm buzzing in my ears.

Someone takes my arm, hoisting me to my feet. "Take all the time you need."

I can't do this. My eyes water. My tongue is heavy.

"I need in there." I point.

"Is he steady?" The arm around my shoulders disappears. "I think he's okay."

I dart toward the caution tape, ducking underneath it, stumbling around, searching for someone who has some answers.

"Hey!"

I glance behind me, but none of the others are brave enough to enter the blocked area.

"Stop!" the officer in the middle of the street yells. His light flashes like a disco ball as he runs toward me. "No one's allowed back here."

I need to get to Brighton. I pull out my phone, dial her number, and race in the opposite direction of the officer.

The crack of his radio echoes as he spouts off information. "Male, six-foot, black hoodie, jeans—coming your way. I'm right behind him."

His hand swipes at my back, and I stumble, falling to my hands and knees. My phone skitters across the pavement. He's on top of me in less than a second. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. You don't want to be in here."

"I have to get to her, please . . ."

He helps me to my feet and presses the button on the side of his radio. "Got him. He's not gonna be an issue." His Brooklyn accent is something to focus on as he leans over me, grabs my phone from the ground, and rubs it along the side of his pants. The screen lights up, the seconds ticking away at the top of the screen. "Looks like you got voicemail."

My call went through.

No answer.

He offers it back to me.

I take it.

I push end.

Try her again.

Nothing.

He stands over me, waiting.

There are footsteps, and I gaze over my shoulder. The crowd has grown, all eyes on me. A man dressed in chinos and a polo comes to stand beside me. He crosses his arms over his chest, and I spot the police department's emblem over his heart.

The radio crackles to life. "Sending the team now."

"10-4," the guy in chinos replies. "You okay?"

I gaze between the two men and their differences in attire. He directs me to sit on the sidewalk, the two flanking me on either side. They whisper above me, and my lungs compress. I fight to get them to open. It's like a vice grip keeps getting tighter and tighter.

Someone grabs me and directs me to lie back. A light shines in my eyes. An oxygen mask covers my mouth.

I pull it from my face, eyes blurry. "You don't understand, please—"

"Blood pressure: one forty over ninety-six." The gloved hand presses on my wrist, and the mask gets re-situated over my face. "Pulse: one thirty-eight."

"What did he say?" someone asks.

I remove the mask. "I need to get to her."

Their eyes meet and understanding passes between them. "Do you know the doctor in there? Is she family?"

I nod, my vision filling with black spots.

Doctor? The word confirms my worst nightmare.

My body shakes uncontrollably, and I clamp my hands over my ears as I rock back and forth.

No, no, no, no, no.

The sound of my heartbeat thrashes in my ears. My sole focus is on getting to her. I try to stand, and someone directs me back to sit on the sidewalk.

"Can you let them know he's here?"

The man in the polo stoops beside me. "Why didn't you say something sooner? We need you to identify the body."

"The body?" A ripple of nausea floods through me and up my throat. I try to force the burning acid down, but it comes on fast and violent, spewing out of my nose. Tears stream down my cheeks and drop to the cement each time my body heaves. My voice wobbles.

"Sorry, man, poor choice of words. Come with me." He plugs his nose as I empty the remaining liquid from my stomach.

The sympathy in his eyes makes my chest tighten.

He hooks his arm under mine and brings me to my feet. He avoids eye contact, leading me away from the paramedics and officers. I glance over my shoulder, watching them gather their things and stuff them in a black leather duffel.

We pass through several cop cars, red-and-blue lights pulsing against the buildings.

There's an ambulance parked cockeyed near the curb. The lights flashing against the brownstones lining the street captivate all of my senses. I go on high alert.

Men and women in uniform.

People standing at their doors.

Watching.

Tears. Worry. And fear.

I'm grateful for his grip on my arm, unsure if I can stand on my own. He heads toward her brownstone, pulling me after him.

The adrenaline keeps me from passing out.

It's too hot.

My palms are sweaty.

I come to a stop, trembling in place.

The detective directs me to the east side of the road, leading me through a less-congested area. We make it past a couple of cruisers and climb some steps.

A tidal wave of fear crashes into me as a stretcher with a body bag gets rolled out of the doorway. The tang of copper fills my nostrils. Two men lead the stretcher out of the doorway, and I whip around to my left, orienting myself with my surroundings.

I glance from doorway to doorway and down the block.

None of this makes any sense.