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22
Dylan
The phone ringsby the side of the bed, pulling me out of dreams about last night. Sky murmurs in her sleep next to me and pulls the sheets over her head. Smiling, I reach for the phone.
Jem.
What the fuck? Too early for him. Or is this the end of the night before?
“What?” I groan.
“I need your help, Dylan.”
Instantly, I’m on alert. He rarely calls me Dylan and his voice is higher, panicked.
“Who have you hit this time?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dylan. Shit. I don’t know what the fuck to do.” His voice continues to rise.
“Calm down, what happened?”
“I didn’t fucking do it! I found her like this.”
The blood freezes in my veins and I sit up, heart thumping. “Didn’t do what? Found her like what, Jem? Who?”
“Liv. I think she’s dead.”
I spring out of bed and grab my jeans, shuffling into them. “Holy fuck, Jem, what do you mean? Where the hell are you?”
“The hotel. I can’t remember. Shit, Dylan. What the fuck do I do? Do I call the police?”
“I hope you called an ambulance!”
“Of course I did—what the fuck?”
“Jem, where are you?” I repeat.
There’s a rustling and banging. “The Grosvenor. I have to leave!”
“No! You stay there. If you leave, how the hell do you think that’ll look?”
“I’ll wait for the ambulance and then go.” Now he’s talking to himself, swearing under his breath.
“No! Jem. Stay there. I’m coming.”
The phone goes dead and I stare at the blank screen. We’ve been involved in some fucked up situations, but no one has ever died.
“What’s going on?”
Unaware Sky has woken, I turn. She sits with the sheets tugged around her, face flushed from sleep with tangled bed hair.
“Jem. He’s got himself into a situation.” I can’t say the words.
“Why does he need an ambulance?” she asks sleepily.
“I’ll tell you later. I need to help him.”
Sky’s face tugs into suspicion. “Are you sure everything is okay? Don’t get dragged into something that will cause you problems too.”
