“No!” Pa insists, his eyes roiling with anger and pain. “Tristan Rearden.”
I take a deep breath and bend my head down.
It’s no secret that I don’t like the man. He may be a cop, but he’d definitely not one of the good ones.
“But—”
“Fucking do it, girl!” he bleats.
Fine. So be it.
With my hands still shaking, I look around for the phone. When I find it, I have to take a deep breath before my hands are steady enough to dial in Tristan’s number.
Pa forced me to memorize his number a year ago.
In case of emergencies, he’d told me.
I suppose this qualifies.
“Hello?”
His voice is as sharp and clipped as I expected.
“Tristan,” I stammer. “This is Saoirse Connelly.”
There’s a moment of silence. “Saoirse Connelly. You’re the last person I expected to hear from.”
And with good fucking reason.
“I’m sorry to call but there’s been a… Something’s happened.”
“What happened?” he asks.
“Pa’s been shot.”
Silence.
“Did you hear me?” I say, very nearly losing grip of the phone. “He’s bleeding out on the living room floor. Please… He wanted me to call you.”
Silence.
“Are you still there?”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Make sure he stays awake.”
The line goes dead. I rush back over to Pa. His eyes are still open, but they keep fluttering closed every few seconds.
“Pa, you need to stay awake, okay?” I tell him. “Please just let me call the paramedics.”
“No,” he insists. “It has to be Tristan.”
I don’t argue with him. I don’t want him using what little strength he has left fighting with me.
I do the only things I can do at this moment.
I sit.
I wait.