I’m crying and snotting, but I know he’s right. This is a medical emergency. We both grip handfuls of fabric and tug it up.
“I h-hate you,” I sob.
“Yeah,” Zach says as the shirt goes over my head. “I know.”
ChapterFive
ZACH
I just yelledat Greta and ripped her shirt off. She could legit press charges.
I’m filling a glass with crushed ice and water, and I think I can still hear her sniffling on the couch.
She’s my best-friend’s girl. My business partner. I made her cry. She hates me. I’m so fucked.
I find a straw in the pantry and carry the glass back to her. When I step into view, Greta quickly swipes her eyes. She’s on her back, her bare feet propped on one arm of the couch. She’s wearing just the skin-tight leggings and a powder blue sports bra. I force my focus to her red-rimmed eyes and hand her the water. She takes it, and by some miracle, she doesn’t fling it in my face.
At least her color is a little better.
She freaked me the hell out.
I watch her take maybe two sips of the water before she tries to set the glass down on the coffee table with shaking hands.
“Drink some more.” The words come out like a command, and I wince. I’m not proud of it, but I get bossy when I’m stressed. “If you can,” I tack on more gently.
She gives the slightest shake of her head before closing her eyes. Damn. She looks wrecked.
I soften my tone. “Should we get you to the emergency room?”
“I’ll be okay.” But her voice sounds far away. “Where’s Josh?”
At least when she asks this time, it isn’t through tears.
I grab my phone out of my back pocket. “I’ll call him.”
I’m tapping his number when she mumbles, “He won’t answer.”
I frown at this and pan around the lodge as the call connects. He should be here. He was going to start priming today. But the space looks just like it did this morning at breakfast. No primer. No drop cloths. No smell of paint in the air.
I scan the near three-sixty view through the lodge’s windows while the phone rings. Maybe he’s on a supply run? We’ve been using his truck all day, so he would have had to take Greta’s car. I walk back toward the kitchen, expecting to see the empty spot on the driveway where she parks her Subaru. But the car is there.
So Josh has to be here.
Except where the fuck is he?
His voicemail picks up and, keeping my voice low, I leave a message. “Hey man, Greta’s in a bad way. We’re at the lodge. Where are you?”
I hang up and stalk back over to the couch. “You said he wouldn’t answer. Why?”
She opens her eyes, and they are so washed out, it’s like I’m looking at someone who’s on life support.
Shit.
I drop to my knees and grab her wrist. “You look fucking awful.” Scowling, she tries to pull away from my grip. “Hang on,” I bark. “I’m checking your pulse.”
She stops fighting with a defeated exhale and shuts her eyes.
It takes a second. Mom taught me how to do it as a kid, but I don’t think I’ve ever had to find someone else’s pulse when it mattered. But there it is. Fast. Light.
