he noticed a tub. But it wasn’t a tub. It was more like a Jacuzzi.
It was the fanciest bathroom Getty had even been in.
Next he explored Donnchadh’s bedroom. It was just as amazing as the rest of the apartment. The color design in there was blacks, grays, and whites. There was a city view, a huge bed, a couch at the end of the bed, and in front of that was a flat-screen television.
Nope. Donnchadh was not a deadbeat. Far from it. If anything, Getty suspected the guy was loaded. That didn’t matter to him. Getty made damn good money at what he did. But it was nice to know Donnchadh wouldn’t be bumming money from him, which would’ve been a huge turn-off.
Then he heard his phone ringing. Getty ran back to the living room in hopes it was Donnchadh calling him. His excitement deflated when he saw it was his father. The second-to-last person he wanted calling him. Bimbo would be the last person he wanted to hear from.
Getty started to ignore it, but images of his house on fire or Bimbo destroying everything he owned in a hissy fit made him take the call. Dread filled him, and he prayed his dad wasn’t calling to ask for money.
It wasn’t as though Getty could get it to him, anyway.
“Hello.”
“Getty, this is Amanda.”
For a moment Getty had no clue who that was, then he recognized her voice. Crap. Why was she calling him from Richard’s phone? “Yes?”
“Your dad is being taken to the clinic by ambulance. He was complaining of chest pains. I think he might be having a heart attack.”
Her voice was high-pitched and frantic, and she’d spoken bullet-fast.
“I think you need to get here,” she said. “He keeps asking for you.”
Getty’s chest felt tight, and his heart was thundering. “I’m on my way.”
He hung up and headed for the door, only to realize he wasn’t at home. How the hell was he supposed to get back to Maple Grove? Getty glanced at the pad of paper on the coffee table with the numbers scribbled on it.
He didn’t even know who Drake and Casey were. Why would they help him? Why should he trust them?
The Black River. Donnchadh had said that a person could go anywhere just as long as they had a destination in mind. There was one slight problem. The building didn’t have a front door. How was Getty supposed to get out of there?
Donnchadh’s apartment was too high up to use the windows, plus they didn’t open. He wanted to call Donnchadh, but the conversation in the hallway had sounded serious.
Yes, Getty had eavesdropped through the door and then run back to the sectional when he heard Donnchadh say he was coming back into the apartment. He wasn’t sure who Cadeym was, but he didn’t want to interrupt Donnchadh’s search for him.
But damn if Getty didn’t want Donnchadh with him, needed the support and comfort the guy always seemed to supply without even knowing he was giving it.
The strength that Getty just now realized he’d been leaning on, borrowing from. The deep timbre of his voice that always seemed to soothe Getty’s worries.
He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and looked at it then decided he could do this on his own. For all he knew, his dad could have simple indigestion.
It wasn’t as if his father was the healthiest eater. He lived off fried foods and sugar-loaded soft drinks.
And alcohol.
Getty went into the hallway and looked around. There were sets of steps leading up and down. It wouldn’t hurt to see what was at the bottom of the stairs.
He was in the demon realm. For all Getty knew there could be a troll down there. But so far Serenity City seemed peaceful and nice, a contradiction to what he’d thought it would be.
As he passed apartment doors, he heard noises on the other side. Music played or a television. He heard someone talking behind one of them, but Getty didn’t tune into the conversation. It wasn’t any of his business.
Shock vibrated in him when he got to the bottom and saw a doorway. But…there hadn’t been one on the outside. Getty waited a few beats and then pushed the door open, stepping onto the sidewalk.
He spun and inhaled sharply when the door disappeared. There was no way to get back inside, even if he wanted to go.
The night seemed darker, less friendly as Getty walked down the street. The Black River wasn’t that