Not something that I would’ve predicted that she’d do because Karly is outspoken, but she’s pretty tightlipped about her personal life. Which is understandable.
I remembered my run-in with Ashton at the store last night. How manic he acted at just the mention of Karly. Feeling a little more investigative, I type Karly Dahl and Ashton Slade into the search bar on google.
The first headline that comes up is of Karly and Ashton arguing outside a bar in Nashville. That doesn’t look like a happy couple back together.
More trouble in paradise for Ashton Slade and Karly Dahl? Looks like she’s dressing for revenge.
My stomach starts to twist. She’d never take him back, right?
I close the tab and open my messages and type one out to Hanna. One that might not be returned.
Me: Listen, I know this is going to sound weird, but something is wrong. Have you talked to Karly?
Almost immediately, a text returns.
Hanna: Yesterday.
Me: Ashton is here. I saw him last night, and he said they were back together. He was on his way over there.
Instantly, a voice call comes through, Hanna on the other end.
“You saw Ashton? Like here in town?”
“Yes,” I respond.
“Shit.” She huffs, “I gotta find Karly.”
I begin to panic, with a sinking feeling that something bad might happen.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
Hanna sighs, “I’m not sure. Ashton and Karly are not back together, though. I can promise you that.”
I glance at the clock and feel my anxiety escalate, “Shit. I have to be in the OR in ten minutes. I’ll call you when I get out.”
“Okay, I’m going to go check on her. Thanks for telling me. Anytime Ashton is involved, it’s never good.”
We hang up, and I scrub into my twenty-minute surgery, trying to focus on the little girl on the table’s consciousness rather than Karly, but that proves nearly impossible. When I back the anesthesia off and finish up in the OR, I return to my phone.
5 missed calls.
All of them were Hanna, so I quickly tried to call her back, relieved when she picked up on the first ring.
“I can’t find her.”
“What do you mean?”
She becomes frantic, “I mean, she’s not home. Her apartment is trashed, though. I called the police.”
“Her car is there?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Suddenly feeling a wave of nausea, I end the call with Hanna still blabbing. Standing, it’s like my body is put on autopilot. It goes straight to the Emergency Room. Not giving a damn about anyone’s privacy, I rip the curtains back, exposing each bed.
After about eight beds, I find her.
I find her, and the sight completely shatters me.