Nothing.
By now, they should’ve definitely made it to Seattle. Hell, Asra’s appointment should be well underway if not finished by now.
Hoping no news means good news, I shoot off a quick text to Breckin checking in with him, then continue my inventory.
After half an hour, he still hasn’t replied. The pain in my stomach persists, like a tingling sixth sense. I call him, then Asra.
Neither of them answer. It goes straight to voicemail for both of them.
I shake my head, that feeling that something’s wrong growing. Rushing through my inventory check, I wait fifteen more minutes before I try calling Breckin again.
Still nothing.
The pit in my stomach expands, sinking like a dead weight.
It’s not that curvy of a drive. But part of it is right along the coast.I scrub my hands over my face, feeling the tiny scars hidden by my facial hair. My heart beats like a heavy bass drum in my chest.
I glance at the clock on my phone. It’s been over an hour since I sent my first message. He’s never taken this long to get back to me, even if he has a big meeting.
“Fuck.”
It takes all of ten seconds for me to call the big, big boss and explain that I have a family emergency I need to leave for, lock up, and head north.
The drive to Seattle flies by in a blur. Three and a half hours, my ass. I should slow down, I know the risks.Instead, I press the gas pedal as hard as it will go, cursing when it barely reaches triple digits as I race up I-5.
I still haven’t heard from Breckin. Even after two hours. That pit in my stomach morphs into a giant, sour knot. As each mile passes, I scour the sides of the road on the long drive. I don’t spot a single wreck.
I keep telling myself that’s good news. Yet, that foreboding keeps growing.
As I near Seattle, my phone rings. I jump in my seat, fumbling to answer it.
“Breckin?” I blurt, without even glancing at the screen.
“Yeah.”
Just hearing his voice calms my gut, but his tense undertone has my heart constricting. “What’s wrong?”
“She had another attack.”
“Where are you?”
“The hospital.”
I glance as I pass a road sign and nod, even though he can’t see it. “Give me half an hour.”
I don’t ask for more details. I’d rather get them in person. Tossing my phone on the passenger seat, I grip the steering wheel tighter as I navigate through the busy downtown.
By the time I park my truck, I’ve almost broken the steering wheel in half with as tight as I’ve been holding it. I park and hurry to the entrance. Breckin greets me right at the door. I almost sigh with relief, except for the serious look on his face. It’s a look I’ve seen too much. One I promised myself I’d make damn sure he never had again.
“How is she?”
He runs his hands through his hair, ruining the slicked back style he normally sports. “A little better. Sleeping. They have her hooked up to a transfusion.”
A transfusion? Fuck. That’s serious, way worse than anything I’ve seen before. The knot in my stomach turns tighter, threatening to strangle my lungs. “What happened?” I ask as we head toward the elevators.
He glances away, shaking his head. “I don’t know exactly. One moment we were driving, and she was fine. The next, she started gripping her head and stomach. Then she was puking . . . She said something about it being the sun coming through the windows and stress over the appointment.”
“Damn,” I stare at the mirrored reflection of the elevator as he pushes the button for her floor, “that’s . . .”