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I straightened and breathed out heavily when those thoughts went through my head again. She can’t be playing a game. She can’t be faking grief over Tate’s death, I told myself for the hundredth time since last night.
I was so confused, so torn . . . and such a fucking dick. I wanted to be with Kamryn so bad that I was now making up excuses for Liv’s behavior so I could justify leaving her without getting her help first.
The house phone rang, jolting me from the inner scolding, and I turned to grab it from the counter. I ground my teeth when the name I’d br
iefly seen on the caller ID registered, but I’d already pushed TALK.
“Hello?”
“Where’s my daughter?”
“How are you today, Mr. Reynolds?” I asked as I turned to walk out of the kitchen and toward Liv’s side of the house.
There was a pause before he huffed. “We don’t do small talk, Brody. Put my daughter on the phone and tell me why she wasn’t answering her cell.”
I rolled my eyes and suppressed a huff of my own. “I’m not sure, you can ask her when you talk to her. Liv,” I called out as I walked down the hallway.
Letting my arm drop so I wouldn’t have to play nice with my father-in-law anymore, I called out her name two more times as I let myself into her room and looked around for her. Rounding the corner into her bathroom, I froze for two seconds before I ran to where she was lying on the floor.
“Olivia!” I shouted and grabbed her limp body. “Liv!”
Pressing two fingers to the inside of her wrist, I grabbed the phone I’d dropped near her body, hung up on her dad, and called 911.
“Jeston Police Department, do you need fire, medical, or police?”
“I need an ambulance to 9709 Tuscany Way. Twenty-six-year-old female unconscious, I just found her with an empty pill bottle next to her. Breathing is very shallow, her body is still warm, though.”
The line beeped as Olivia’s dad continued calling me back, but he’d have to wait.
“Is this Brody?” the dispatcher asked cautiously.
“Yes. It’s Olivia . . . my wife.”
The dispatcher cursed softly. “Okay. What kind of pill bottle?”
I grabbed for it and read random things off the label. “Uh . . . duloxetine. It’s for thirty pills, the prescription was filled . . . four days ago.” I said the last few words with dread as I looked down at Liv. “Olivia, I need you to wake up!”
“Okay, the ambulance is already on its way. You said she’s still warm?”
“Yes, I don’t know when she took these. I walked in here to give her the phone and found her. Is there something I can do until they get here?”
“Are her lips or fingers blue?”
Grabbing her limp arm, I brought her hand closer before gently releasing it. “No. Come on, Liv!” Shaking her shoulders, I looked for some kind of reaction, but there was nothing. “I hear the sirens,” I said to the dispatcher. “I’m going to open the door. Thank you.”
As soon as he acknowledged my thanks, I ended the call and ran to the front door, threw it open, and waited for the EMTs to follow me back to Liv’s bathroom. They asked countless questions about her health, her mental stability, and if she’d shown signs of being suicidal in the past as they loaded her onto the stretcher and took vitals. Once she was loaded into the back, I got in my SUV and pulled out my phone as I followed behind.
“Hello?”
“It’s Brody.”
“You worthless piece of shit,” Mr. Reynolds growled. “Tell me where my—”
“She’s loaded up in the back of an ambulance on her way to Memorial because of you and your wife. Thought you’d like to know.” Without waiting for him to respond, I ended the call and focused on getting to the hospital. There would be time to yell at them later.
I STOOD AND held back an eye roll when Olivia’s parents walked into the waiting room almost two hours later. They lived fifteen minutes from the hospital, and they were both so dressed up, they looked like they were ready to go to a race.
“What have you done to her now?” Mr. Reynolds bellowed, and the other people in the large room looked between us.
