Not knowing what else to do, I started to sing softly Paul McCartney’s “Jet”.
“Get her outta there,” Duke growled from somewhere close.
I skipped a bit of the song and went to the good part about wanting Jet to always love him.
It was then, Dad was gently pul ed away from my arms by a uniformed officer and I was helped to my feet by another.
a uniformed officer and I was helped to my feet by another.
I was turned and Duke’s arms were there, going round me tight.
We watched as the police worked, then the ambulance was there, then Duke helped me into Bobby’s SUV and Bobby took off behind the ambulance, fol owing close.
He was on his cel , listening to someone, then he said,
“It’s bad.”
Yes, he was right, it was bad. It was very, very, very bad.
Bobby angled into an il egal spot outside Denver Health but I was out of the truck before he came to a ful stop. He caught up to me and we entered the emergency room together.
The receptionist stared at me, her eyes rounding with horror and she began to stand.
“She’s unhurt, it’s someone else’s blood,” Bobby took over, talking to reception.
I pul ed my cel out of my back pocket and scrol ed down to Daisy and hit the button.
Daisy answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Sugar. We just picked up Ada and we’re headin’—”
I interrupted her.
“Fifteen minutes ago, Dad was flung out of a moving car on Broadway. He’s been beaten, stabbed and shot. I’m at Denver Health. Can you find a good way to break it to Mom and Lottie and get over here?”
Silence for a beat, then, quietly, “You betcha, darlin’.” I flipped the phone shut and saw Bobby take a piece of fabric from the receptionist, then he grabbed my arm and pul ed me in the direction where she was pointing. We went into the emergency ward, he opened a door and we went into an empty room with an exam table, a bunch of medical stuff and a sink. He took me to the sink.
“Shirt off,” he said.
“What?”
His hands went to my t-shirt at my h*ps and he whipped it over my head. I stood frozen and stared at the t-shirt in his hand. It was covered in blood.
“You don’t want your mother seeing you in that shirt. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He handed me the fabric, it was a green scrubs top. I put it on while he walked to a biohazard bag, opened the top and shoved my shirt in. He grabbed some gauze on the way back, shoved it under the tap, switched it on, wet the gauze and turned back to me.
“You’re f**kin’ covered,” he muttered, wiping at my neck, eyes on his task, face set like it was carved from stone.
I looked down. He was right, the shirt was gone but there was blood al over my arms, neck and jeans.
“Bobby…” I said and my voice broke on his name.
His eyes came to me.
“Don’t. Don’t do it, Jet. You’re hangin’ in there. Don’t break now.”
I nodded and swal owed.