morning. And his brother is…” I felt the blood drain out of my face.
“Fuck,” said Noah, wide-eyed. “He’s out of town.”
“Yeah.” I nodded as he began to understand the gravity of what I was so worried about. “We just left a recovering addict unsupervised on a bad day.” Without another word, I started to move. “I have to go.”
My feet carried me as fast as they could in six-inch heels and once outside, I sent a cowardly message to The Vixens.
Me: I need to go.
Me: I’m so sorry.
Hailing a cab, I jumped in and gave him my home address. He stopped in front of my house and I asked him to wait a moment. Once I’d retrieved what I needed to, I silently thanked God that Ricky had the good sense to leave me with all his spares. I gave the driver Connor’s address and we were off.
Part way there, my phone pinged.
Cherry: Dude! WTF? What’s wrong??
Then,
Cherry: Noah just told us. Go.
Beth: It’s cool, honey. Don’t worry about us!
Ettie: We’ll be fine. Let us know what’s happening.
Pearl: Goddammit. Sometimes I really hate Connor. But I love you. Call us x
The cab approached the first gate and I hit the button on the black remote. It opened, and then we were in the exclusive suburb Connor called home. A short while later, I pulled out the little white remote and the second the cab pulled into Connor’s driveway, I pressed it. When the big, black gates opened, my heart began to beat erratically.
My mind was going a mile a minute thinking of all the possibilities. And none of them were good.
I tried calling again as the cab crept up the long drive.
It went to voicemail.
Suddenly, my chest ached and it was hard to breathe.
All but throwing the cash at the poor cabbie, I rushed out and toward the front door. Shaking hands struggled with the key until finally I managed to get it into the lock and turn it. I pushed the heavy door open and peered into the darkness.
I took three steps inside and heard him. “Take another step and I’ll break your fucking arm.”
The hall was suddenly illuminated and Connor blinked at me before lowering the baseball bat and hurrying out, “Emmy, what the fuck?” His entire body slumped and then he was mad. “Are you crazy? I almost hit you!” His brow lowered and he asked a hoarse, “What are you doing here?” Then, “How did you get in?”
My hands shook and I let out a shaky breath, moving closer to him. Without stopping, I swallowed hard and framed his face with my hands, looking into his eyes. He looked tired and confused. His eyes were hooded. And I inwardly freaked.
Connor let me look at him and when my phone rang, I answered quickly. “Hey.”
It was Noah. “Are you there? Is he okay?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
“Check his pupils. Are they small?”
I did. “No.”
Realization crossed Connor’s face and he pushed my hands off of him. “Baby, are you…?” He looked wounded. “Are you checking if I’m high?”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Are you?”
He blinked a long moment, before uttering an outraged, “No!”
Licking my lips, I spoke into the phone. “Noah, I’ll call you back.” I didn’t wait for a response before I hung up.
We didn’t speak for a while. Connor broached the silence, averting his eyes. “Did Ricky send you?”
“No.” It was still hard to breathe. “You weren’t there tonight. Said you got bad news this morning,” I said in way of explanation.
His face was solemn and his tone was emotionless. “I had a panic attack that led to a migraine. You woke me.”
Okay. That explained his heavy lids.
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly but got no relief.
Connor jerked his chin at me. “Come on. Let’s talk.” He walked through the hall and into the kitchen, rubbing at the back of his neck. I took a seat at a stool, watching as he pulled out a container. “Take a load off. Have some cake.” He put a slice onto a plate with a fork then uttered, “Made it myself.”
It was then I saw that Connor was definitely not high and my organs began to work again. “You made this?” I looked down at the carrot cake, not quite able to picture Connor in the kitchen waiting for the oven to ding.
Connor began to nod, his expression still grim. “Yeah,” he spoke quietly. “It’s a therapy thing.”