I walk out, Coke dripping off my clothes as I go. I spot Hillary rushing into the bathroom crying. Now this town has one more thing to talk about. One more bad thing to say about me. Good thing I don’t give a damn what any of them think of me.
Chapter Thirteen
“Slow down. I don’t understand a thing you’re saying.” Yara called me, sounding hysterical. I don’t know if it’s one of the twins or Whiskey. She’s a sobbing mess.
I’m not doing so hot myself. I seem to have picked up a stomach bug or something I ate has given me food poisoning. Everything I eat goes in one end and out another or back up. I woke up gagging at the smell of the coffee Jill made before she left for work.
“It’s our father. You need to come home, Sis. They think he had a heart attack.”
“What?”
“He was with Mom, and they were you know…and well the next thing she knew he was clutching at his chest and he kinda just fell over on top of her. She thought he was dead.”
“Oh my God.” I try to get the visual of our parents doing it out of my head and focus on the fact that my father nearly died. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m grabbing a bag and getting in my car now.”
“Drive safe, but hurry. I’m scared. We all are.”
“I’ll call you on the way.”
Shit. Damn. I dial Jill but it goes to her voice mail. “Hey, its me. The worst roomie ever. I’ve got a family emergency, and I have to go home. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. I’ll leave money on the counter for Cleo if you can take care of her while I’m away. I hate to up and leave.” The timer kicks off and I leave it at that. I’m sure she’ll call or text when she has time.
I stuff what I can in a bag and grab my toothbrush and deodorant. I give Cleo some scratches, pets, and kisses before making sure her litter box is clean and her bowls are full.
I fly out the door and into my car. I have to stop for gas and grab a thing of antacids to hopefully squash whatever this stomach shit is going on currently. Every time I think of drinking or eating anything I want to vomit or feel as though I’m going to shit my insides out.
I don’t have time to be sick.
My drive back to Hell has literally been hell. I’ve had to resort to driving with a mini plastic trash can between my legs because I grew tired of stopping at gross rest stops and gas stations. Besides, this way all I had to do was pull over on the side of the road and dry heave. I never thought I’d ever be happy to see the Welcome to Hell Sign.
It takes me a few minutes to find a parking space at the hospital. Its crowded, but I don’t see any motorcycles, which is strange. I’d expect all the brothers to be camped out, including Fisher and Death. I don’t see Yara’s car either.
My heart plummets to my feet. Surely, she would have called if something more happened. She was so frantic on the phone. Made it sound urgent. Like life or death.
I go to the help desk.
“Can you tell me what room John Crow is in? He’s my father.”
“Are you sure he was brought to this hospital?” The woman clicks on her keyboard and does something on her computer. “I don’t have him listed as a patient.”
“Maybe it was a false alarm and he’s home now,” I mutter.
I go back to my car and try my sister on my cell. There’s no answer. My best bet of finding anything out is to go to the clubhouse. As much as I don’t want to go there, I don’t have much of a choice. It’s the most likely place my father will be and he’s who I came here to see.
As I’m pulling up at the clubhouse, my cell phone pings with a text from Justin.
Justin:Any word on your dad yet? Did you make it there okay?
Freya:Hey, thanks for asking. I only got into town about thirty minutes ago and am trying to figure things out. I’ll call you once I get settled in.
Justin:Miss you.
His message should make me smile so why do I have this terrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach reading it? I can’t deal with whatever that means right now. It’s not like I’m dating the guy or owe him anything. I seem to always be hurting someone or letting them down.
I shut off my car and head inside. I’m freaking exhausted. I’ve spent practically two days in my car. I stopped off once at a motel and slept for like five hours. Like I don’t know how I’m still functioning. After being sick and unable to eat, I could sleep for a week. When I enter the Crow’s Nest I’m confused. My father is behind the bar pouring drinks, healthy as he’s ever been. Death is perched on a stool, his back to me with a clubwhore draped across his lap, his palm spanking her ass.
Ugh. Seriously not what I need to witness right now. The sight makes me hate him. I shouldn’t care. He’s free to live his life however he chooses.
My mother is playing pool with Gentry. Yara and Whiskey are nowhere to be found but Fisher…Fisher is sitting at a table by himself nursing a beer, wearing a grim expression on his face.