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“Hello?” Nothing came from the other side. “Saco, you there?”
A pained cry sounded, and I looked at the screen on my phone to confirm it was Saco, before I tried talking to him again.
“You there? What’s wrong?”
Silence greeted me for long seconds, and just as I started to say something again, his strangled voice came over the line. “He’s gone.”
“What? Who’s gone?” Panic filled me thinking about Parker. But I tried to calm myself, knowing Hudson or Reagan would have been the one to call me about that.
“He’s gone—it’s all my fault—he’s gone.”
“What happened, Saco, who’s gone?”
“Tate,” he finally choked out.
When he didn’t say anything else, and all that met me was hard sobs, I asked, “She took him from you? How can she do that?”
“No!” he yelled, and a groan that didn’t even sound human left him. “I killed him. I killed him—it’s my fault—Tate’s dead. Oh God, he’s dead! I killed my son!”
I almost dropped the phone as I struggled to find my couch to sit down. This had to be some sick, twisted joke because of last night.
Right?
“Fuck!” he roared until more sobs choked off his words.
Wrong.
“What happened?” I finally managed to ask.
“I was driving, and he died. I don’t—I don’t—why couldn’t it have been me?” he yelled, and somehow, I knew he wasn’t asking me that question. “This can’t be happening, he needs to be okay, I’ll do anything. Anything, you hear me? God damn it! Take me instead!”
“Brody, no. No, I’m so sorry. God, when did this happen?” I asked when he’d been quiet a few minutes.
“Early this morning,” he groaned. “Olivia sent me to the store, she said she just wanted some quiet time so I took Tate with me. It was icy, so fucking icy, so I was being careful. We were stopped at a red light, and the guy—the guy behind me couldn’t stop.” Brody didn’t say anything else for a minute as more cries filled the phone. “It pushed us out into the intersection and we got hit hard. I couldn’t stop the car from spinning—I swear to God I tried! I tried so damn hard! It just wouldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop us. We hit a median, but another car that had been trying to avoid us swerved into us. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in an ambulance, and Tate—he was—fuck! This isn’t real, Steele! Tell me this isn’t fucking real! Tell me he’s still alive.”
“I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t force anything else out. I couldn’t believe this was happening to him, I didn’t know what to say to help him. I was in shock and thinking the same thing. That this couldn’t be real. But the pain in his voice . . . you couldn’t fake that.
I listened to him break down harder than he had the entire conversation, and tears filled my own eyes when he continued to scream his son’s name over and over again. His son, who he’d fought so hard to be able to see, who wasn’t even a year old, who was taken way too soon.
My chest ached for my friend, and my body screamed at me to get Parker and hug him tight. To keep him safe from anything that could possibly happen to him.
I knew then that I’d made the wrong decision. That I’d been quick to act on the first insecurity that popped up—all because of some other guy’s experience—and had possibly ruined everything. I needed Reagan and Parker. They were my family . . . my peace.
“Don’t let them go,” Saco said minutes later, his voice hoarse.
“What?”
“My son is gone, St—” he broke off with a cry. “I can’t get him back. You can . . . don’t let them go.”
“Brody, what can I do? I’ll get on the first flight to Oregon, I swear. But what can I do?”
“Just don’t let yours go. Promise me.”
“I’m not. I can’t let them go.” I grabbed a shirt and threw it on over my head before searching for my wallet and keys. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get Hudson, and we’ll be out there as soon as we can, all right? I’ll call you when I know details.”
“He can’t be gone,” he whispered.
Knowing there was nothing I could say, and that he needed someone now, I kept him on the phone as I left for Hudson’s apartment, and continued to listen to him cry until he told me his brother had just shown up and ended the call. Hudson hated me right now, but I knew I’d fucked up and was prepared to do anything to make it right again. But right now I was fighting with myself over whom to go to first. Reagan, or Saco. I needed to see her just as much as I needed to get to Oregon.
