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“At the studio?” I shout.
“No. Somewhere in Culver City. The neighborhood is under police lockdown.”
My heart sinks. “What the fuck are you talking about, Linc?”
“I didn’t waste time gathering details. After Stephen called, I jumped into my car, drove my kid to Dad’s place and now I’m gunning down the streets towards the studio, praying the cops don’t stop me. I tried calling Jules…” his words trail. “I can’t get hold of her.”
I insisted on them exchanging numbers. Other than Sydney, Austin and me, Jules doesn’t have anyone in her camp.
“Wh—what?”
“Like I said, I don’t have all the details, but Stephen is pretty freaked out. So is the rest of the team. I thought for sure Jules would still be working since she just moved in––”
“She’s at the office. She texted me after she sent Alice home to let me know she was sticking around for another couple of hours.”
“I figured she’d be eager to get settled. Why isn’t she picking up, then?”
“Jesus,” I rub my hand over my face. “I’m on my way.” My voice trembles in fear.
“I’m sure she’s safe, Levi,” Linc says.
I’m surprised I can hear anything over the blood hammering in my ears. “You don’t fucking know that,” I snap.
“Whoa, little brother,” he cautions. “I understand where you’re coming from––trust me, I do––but you losing your shit isn’t going to help anyone.”
I ignore his comment. “I’m going to go find Jules. Keep me posted on what transpires at the studio.”
With that, I end the call.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My chest is heaving.
I place a hand against my thundering heart, the other grips my phone so hard, I’m sure I’ll fracture it into pieces. I have to coax myself to breathe.
I flashback to the day Annmarie’s tearful dad called me. His words wouldn’t come at first, but I knew from his broken voice it was pretty bad. I died a little that day when he told me what happened to my girl and our unborn child. Just like I died a little when Dad received the call letting us know Mom had been stabbed in the heart.
“Is everything okay, sir?” the valet asks.
I stare at him, a little lost.
It’s only when I look around, I remember where I am.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him truthfully.
“I can hail you a chauffeured car and take care of your car,” he says.
Mortification must be written all over my face for him to suggest that.
I’m just about to open my mouth to thank him and tell him not to bother, but think better of it.
“Yes, please,” I nod. I can’t manage much more because fear grips at my throat like a vice.
During the drive to Culver City, I call Jules numerous times. Each time, it goes straight to voicemail. As worry takes root in the pit of my stomach, I turn to Google for answers. Other than a smattering of amateur videos posted by passersby on news sites, this is still a developing story. One thing is certain, there was a shooting. And fatalities.
Fuck.
Panic nearly consumes me. This is my worst nightmare. The thing I feared the most, and the reason I’ve avoided a relationship for so long. With each passing mile, bile rises in my throat. The beat of my heart, keeping time with the pounding in my head.
