Page 142 of Now Their Starlet

“Let me go, guys,” I rasp.

They do, despite their obvious reluctance. I jog over to Leo, my hands trembling.

“The firetruck has arrived, thank you,” Leo says to the dispatcher before hanging up.

“Why—why did they send a fire truck?” I ask him.

He turns his gaze down to me, the tightness around his eyes telling me that he doesn’t like that I’m out here, but he doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out to lace my fingers with his.

“Fire truck could get here faster. They’ve got medically trained people on their team. The ambulance is on its way,” he says.

Four firefighters jump out from the truck, their boots clomping against the ground as they jog towards us.

Two of them head towards Eli, who’s still doing compressions, while two head towards Leo and I.

“Hello, my name is Lieutenant Dunbar. What’s the situation?”

“We came home from work to find him in the driveway unconscious. We don’t know how long he’s been out,” Leo answers. “When we called, the dispatcher told us to start CPR.”

“Do you know of any prior medical history?”

“I—I do,” I say, holding up a trembling hand. “I’m his daughter. He—he and my mom had a chemical unbonding that I’m pretty sure went wrong, somehow. He doesn’t talk about it a lot.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Almost twenty years ago.”

Lieutenant Dunbar nods to the firefighter by his side, who jogs over to where my dad is still prone on the ground, to convey the information.

“We’re going to get your dad some help, okay? The paramedics are almost here; then we can get your dad transferred to a hospital.”

I try to peek past Leo, who’s carefully positioned himself between me and the sight of my dad.

Eli is sitting back on his heels, shaking out his wrists as the firefighters take over. It’s still pretty warm out, and he has sweat dripping down his brow.

With so many people around my dad, I can barely even see him.

More sirens wail in the background, and an ambulance careens around the corner of the street next.

From that point onwards, everything becomes a whirlwind.

There are so many people. Some names are thrown around, but I’m not in the headspace to remember any of them.

At one point, my dad’s shirt gets cut off, revealing for the first time the black bondmarks on his neck. There’s a network of black, spider-like veins radiating from the scar. I can see why he keeps it covered all the time.

It looks worse than Gina’s. Was that because he was left untreated after she severed the bond? Is this why he’s collapsed out of nowhere?

My dad is loaded onto a stretcher. There’s a machine that looks like some sort of torture device—an arc of menacing plastic and metal—attached to the bars of the gurney and held over his chest. It’s moving up and down in brutal, rhythmic compressions. His wrists are velcroed to the arcs, holding them out of the way throughout transport.

It’s a nauseating sight, seeing his body look so frail.

“Alright, who’s next of kin? We only have space in the van for one,” the paramedic—Nick? Nate? Nathaniel? N-something—yells.

Out of the small crowd of people here, all of my guys look to me.

“Me,” I say, raising my hand. My voice is surprisingly even, despite the fact that I feel like I’m crumbling to dust inside. “I’m his daughter.”

“Do you want to come?”