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“Brother,” I greet him.
“Con—” His voice cracks.
“What’s wrong?” I sit farther up in bed.
“Listen, man. Marshall is on his way to your house. I need you to be dressed and ready. Can you do that?”
“Royce? What the fuck is going on?”
“Just do as I ask. Get dressed and be ready. Stay on the line with me. As soon as you’re with Marsh, I’ll tell you more.”
“Is it Mom and Dad?” I ask, standing to pull on some sweats.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Conrad. Just fucking do as you’re told.” There is more pain in his voice than heat.
“I’m up. I’m getting dressed.” I put the phone on speaker and toss it on the bed while I grab the hoodie I wore yesterday and pull it on. I ignore the tremble in my hands. Something is wrong, and I need to know what the fuck it is. “Royce?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s Sawyer and the baby?” My stomach sinks. Please, God, please don’t let it be Sawyer or the baby. Fuck, don’t let it be anyone we love.
“They’re with me.”
I pull in a deep breath. I need answers, but I know he’s not going to give them to me. Not yet. My mind races with what could be going on. “Why Marshall?” I ask.
“He was already en route to you.”
“Just tell me, Royce. What. Is. Going. On?” My tone is both pleading and demanding.
Racing to the living room, I pull on my tennis shoes just as headlights shine through the windows. “Marshall’s here.”
“Good.” He sounds relieved.
Grabbing my keys, I rush out the front door, tugging and locking it behind me. Pulling open the door to Marshall’s SUV, I climb in. “I’m with Marshall. What’s going on?” I still have him on speaker, so I set the phone in the cupholder.
I look over at my little brother for some guidance, and his face is grim, and he looks like he’s on the verge of losing his shit. “Buckle in,” Marshall tells me.
“Fuck. Fine, I’m buckling in. Can the two of you please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“Marshall?” Royce asks.
“We’re en route,” Marshall says, more serious than I think I’ve ever seen him.
“Conrad, I need you to listen to me.” He pauses. From the croak in his voice, I’m not sure if it’s for his benefit or mine. “There was a fire.”
“A fire?” My heart is beating wildly in my chest. Someone is hurt. My mind swirls as I start to put the pieces together. Everyone is keeping me in the dark, that can only mean one thing.
Aspen.
Oh, fuck no. “Where? Spit it fucking out, Royce!” I slam my hand against the dash.
“The bakery. There was a fire.” His voice breaks on a sob, and my heart stops. Making a fist, I have to pound against my chest to force myself to breathe. This can’t be happening. Not her. I just found her.
“No. No. No. No. Aspen?” I ask him. “Where is Aspen? Where the fuck is she?” I shout.
Marshall reaches over and places his hand on my shoulder. I don’t have the energy to throw him off. There is so much left we need to share. Marriage, kids, and the next sixty years. I can’t lose her. I won’t survive losing her.
“R-Royce—” I feel the first hot tear slide across my cheek. “Wh-Where is my girl? Tell me she’s okay. Say it, damn it! Tell me she’s okay.” I turn wild eyes to Marshall. He, too, has tracks of his own tears on his cheeks. “Marsh.” I can barely form words from the tightness in my throat. “Where is she?”
Royce clears his throat. “They took her to the hospital. That’s all that we know,” he says quietly.
“No! That’s not good enough. I need you to call them now. Right now. Royce, you have to call them. Tell them we have money. We don’t care what it costs. They need to take care of her. They need to tell her that I’m on my way. I need her!” I yell into the car.
“Marsh?” Royce’s voice is pained.
“Y-Yeah? We’re almost there,” he replies.
That’s when I notice we’re speeding. No, we’re flying through the streets of downtown Nashville weaving in and out of traffic as my little brother races to get me to my love. That woman is my fucking heart. My soul. I can’t live this life without her. I can’t. I can’t do it.
“Please,” I cry. “Please, God, please let her be okay. Please. Please. Please.” I close my eyes and rest my head back against the seat. I hear Marshall sniff, and if I’m not mistaken, a sob comes from my phone.
My brothers are torn up over this, which means it’s bad. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Running my fingers through my hair, I try to get my shit together, but it’s no use. I’m a basket case, and I will be until I can lay eyes on her. Until I can feel her skin against mine.
