Code blue, p.18
Code Blue, page 18
Riko was inside now, standing back but close enough. Maddox and Roscoe too, both wide-eyed and wondering what the hell was going on.
“For me?” Jeremy shook his head and stepped closer. “You were supposed to be someone, Steve, but you can just walk away like it all means nothing.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jeremy,” I yelled, pointing outside. “You just told me to leave. I’m doing what you want.”
“You don’t know what I want?” he screamed back, rushing forward like he wanted to hit me, but before he could get a hold of me, Roscoe was between us.
I never moved a muscle.
Jeremy tried to shove Roscoe. Roscoe held him easily, but Maddox grabbed Jeremy. “Get your fucking hands off him,” Maddox said, shoving Jeremy off Roscoe. Jeremy stumbled back and Riko caught him, but Jeremy fought against him.
And I just saw red.
I saw nothing but Jeremy struggling.
My body was in motion before my brain could catch up. I pulled Jeremy from Riko and wrapped my arms around him and spun us both out of harm’s way, keeping my back to everyone.
Jeremy struggled a little but I held him tighter. “I got you,” I whispered. He sagged, giving up, his face in my neck. And we just breathed, the room dead silent.
“You,” Jeremy mumbled, his voice cracking. He slid his arms around my back, holding onto me so perfectly, and he sighed, a painful sound. He shook his head and his body tensed up, his arms letting go, and I knew it was over. “Shouldn’t feel so right.”
He pushed away and I let him go.
You shouldn’t feel so right.
Jeremy took a step back, unable to meet my eyes. He looked around, seeing Riko, Roscoe and Maddox, Robbie. He shook his head again and stumbled out the door.
Maddox followed him. “Jer.”
Fucking hell.
I wanted to go after him but knew it would do no good. He needed Maddox right now. Not me. I ran my hand through my hair. “Fuck!”
Roscoe shook his head. “Steve, he’s drunk—”
A loud splash cut the air. Then Maddox screamed. “Jeremy!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I bolted out the door in time to see Maddox diving into the pool, and I didn’t even take one second to assess the situation. I just ran for the pool and dove in.
Underwater, in slow motion, I saw Maddox with his arm around Jeremy, trying to pull him to the surface. Jeremy had his eyes closed, his mouth open, and a cloud of red billowed out from a split on the side of his forehead.
No, no, no.
I grabbed Jeremy’s other arm and we broke the surface. Maddox gasped for air and I heaved Jeremy to the edge of the pool. Roscoe hauled him out, and I climbed out. Riko helped Maddox, and by the time I got to Jeremy, Roscoe had him on his side and was patting his back.
Jeremy coughed and then vomited, but I could see the gash on his forehead was deep and wide. If his vomiting was from being drunk, from the knock to his head, or from swallowing pool water, it didn’t matter.
“Riko, call an ambulance,” I yelled.
Jeremy heaved again and I put my hand on his forehead.
“He fell,” Maddox said, kneeling down next to us. “He stumbled toward the pool and fell. He hit his head on the edge.”
Jeremy groaned and rolled from his side to his back. “Jeremy,” I said. Blood ran in red rivulets down his face and into his hair.
Fuck.
I pulled my wet shirt off over my head and balled it up, holding it to the cut. “Jeremy, can you hear me?”
He groaned again and opened his eyes slowly. “Hm.”
I leaned over so he could see my face. “Jeremy?”
His eyes took a second to focus on me. “Oh, hey,” he mumbled.
I wanted to throttle him and kiss him, hug him and kill him. “You’re a fucking idiot,” I said.
Maddox laughed and Jeremy tried to sit up, but Roscoe and I kept him still. “Just stay there,” Roscoe said.
Riko was talking on the phone. “Yes, he hit his head and fell in the pool. He’s conscious but he’s vomiting . . .”
God. What a mess.
Jeremy groaned. He let out a shuddery breath, heaved before he rolled onto his side, and vomited again.
“Ambulance’s on its way,” Riko said, his phone to his ear. “I’ll have to meet them at the gate . . .”
I nodded but my focus was on Jeremy. I took my shirt from his wound, and seeing it was soaked through, I re-balled it and put the pressure back on the cut.
“Jesus,” Maddox said.
“All cranial contusions will open up like that,” I said. “But he’s gonna need stitches or glue.”
Jeremy slumped onto his back again and tried to push my hand away. “Just stay still,” I said. “The paramedics are on their way.”
He mumbled something and his eyes closed.
“Hey,” Roscoe said loudly, giving Jeremy a bit of a shake. “Keep your eyes open.”
He turned his head and heaved again, so I rolled him onto his side and kept pressure on his wound and just murmured that he’d be okay.
He had to be okay.
It felt like an eternity, but soon enough, Riko brought the paramedics through. They ushered us out of the way, quickly taking over and assessing him and asking us questions.
Maddox was soaking wet, and both he and Roscoe were trying hard not to look at me. It was then I realized why. I was shirtless, my jeans and shoes dripping wet.
But my torso . . . my stomach.
My scars.
“Jesus, Steve,” Maddox murmured. “The fuck happened to you?”
“I should get changed,” I said, turning back to the house, but I was out of time.
The paramedics lifted Jeremy onto the gurney and strapped him in. “Who’s coming with him?” one of them asked.
“I am,” I replied.
“We’ll follow,” Maddox said with a nod.
“Here, boss,” Riko said. He took his own T-shirt off and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said quietly, pulling the shirt on. The rest of me was still dripping wet: jeans, socks, and shoes. But it would all just have to wait.
When we walked back through the house, I spotted my phone by the laptop. Thank god I didn’t have it in my pocket. I grabbed it and followed the paramedics out to where they loaded Jeremy into the ambulance.
I told Roscoe I’d call him when I knew where they were taking him. “And Ryan,” I added. “He’ll have all Jeremy’s insurance details.”
Roscoe gave a hard nod. “On it.”
The paramedics closed the doors and I was surrounded by those familiar and awful fluorescent lights, the clinical smell, the noises: beeps, the radio, and eventually the siren.
I hated ambulances.
Jeremy groaned and lifted his hand. I took it quickly. “Hey, you’re okay, Jeremy. I’m here. We’re just gonna get the doctors to look at the gash on your head.”
“Mm” was all he said.
The paramedic began the usual questions. He kind of spoke to Jeremy but also to me. How many drinks did he have? Did he have a history of alcohol abuse? Had he taken any drugs? How long was he underwater? Did he lose consciousness?
Same questions they’d asked back at the house. Maybe they were just checking to see if the story remained the same. I didn’t know.
Jeremy didn’t answer much. Just a few short words, mostly grunts. His blinks were slow but his grip on my hand never loosened.
“He rarely drinks,” I said. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately and he thought a cookout with his friends a few beers was a good idea.” I squeezed Jeremy’s hand. “Do you know where we’re taking him? I’m going to need to call people and it’ll likely be a security issue. If people or the press find out, if they haven’t heard on any emergency scanner already, we’re going to need to call the police.”
As soon as they were cleared to take him to Cedars-Sinai Emergency, I texted Roscoe. Then I went right back to holding Jeremy’s hand.
They wheeled him into the hospital, taking him straight through to the back, citing things like head trauma and alcohol and possible secondary drowning.
Christ.
A doctor assessed him, asking all the same damn questions, looking in his eyes with a penlight and she asked Jeremy a bunch of concussion test questions.
I got shoved in to some small exam room while they took him for scans, and I waited . . . and waited. I was still soaked through and now getting cold. My feet squelched and my jeans were sticking to me in all the wrong places.
Maddox and Roscoe arrived with Robbie. Maddox had a cap pulled down low, though he still had all his earrings in. Anyone with eyes could see who it was. Roscoe and Robbie also stood out in a crowd. We were going to get noticed at some point.
I gave them a brief rundown of what I knew. Which wasn’t much at all.
When Maddox handed me a bag of clothes, I noticed he was now dry and wearing Jeremy’s track pants and a long-sleeve shirt—at least his famous tattoos were covered. “These are also Jeremy’s,” he said, nodding to the bag. “He won’t mind.”
“Thanks.”
I found a bathroom and changed as quick as I could. Maddox had chosen some of Jeremy’s track pants for me too, a T-shirt I’d seen on Jeremy at least a dozen times, some socks, and a pair of tennis shoes that probably cost what I earned in a week.
I made my way back to the waiting room just as Ryan came running in. He looked like he might have run the whole way. “What happened? How is he? Where is he? Is he okay?”
Roscoe answered. “He was drinking. Fell in the pool and cracked his head on the way down. Maddox and Steve pulled him out. They’ve taken him for scans.”
“Scariest fucking thing,” Maddox whispered.
Roscoe rubbed his back. “He’ll be okay. You always said he had a hard head.”
Maddox managed half a smile and a bit of a nod. He looked at me. “Did he say anything in the ambulance?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
Ryan paled and ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus. How bad is it?”
I met his wide eyes. “We don’t know. Probably a concussion. He’ll definitely need stitches or glue.”
Just then, a woman in scrubs came in, asking about insurance and all that crap. Ryan switched into gear. “I can help you with that.”
“Did you call the others?” I asked Maddox.
He gave a quick shake of his head. “Not yet. Didn’t know what to tell them and didn’t want them—” He sucked back a too-short breath. “—to worry.” He took some measured breaths, the kind he took to stave off panicking.
Roscoe took his hand and led him to the chairs, kneeling in front of him. “It’s okay, baby,” he said calmly. “I can call them. Just breathe.”
Maddox inhaled deeply and nodded, exhaling slowly. He did that a few times with Roscoe holding his hands, and they never broke eye contact.
I hated seeing him struggle like that. It was hard to watch, but honestly, I thanked god Maddox had Roscoe.
I noticed belatedly that Robbie stood in front of the door, his back to us, guarding perfectly, should someone try to come in. At least he had the presence of mind to actually do his job.
I, on the other hand, felt as if I was outside my own body.
Roscoe called Wes first, on Maddox’s phone, and on speaker. Wes answered with a laugh. “Did you see the video? Two million likes in forty minutes—”
“Wes, it’s Roscoe.”
There was a beat of silence. “What’s wrong?”
Roscoe gave him a very brief rundown. “There’s no point in you coming here,” he said. “They won’t let you in, anyway. We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”
Next was a very similar call to Luke and Blake, and they took the news as well as Wes had. “No, they won’t let you in, and the last thing we need here is a full security operation to come rescue you. No doubt the media will be on this,” Roscoe tried.
When the call ended, Roscoe looked up at me and grimaced. “I told them not to come . . .”
Maddox let his head fall back against the wall. “Thank you for talking to them.”
Roscoe said nothing but took Maddox’s hand instead.
I checked my watch to find it had stopped. I tapped it and sighed. It was supposed to be completely waterproof. So I checked the time on my phone instead and saw two missed calls and three messages from Ambrose.
“Fuck.”
I hit Call. I didn’t need to put the call on speaker because he yelled loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. What the hell happened?”
I told him what we knew, and by then, Ambrose had calmed down a bit. “Can I ask how you knew?” I asked.
And he was back to yelling. “Well, first there was the social media meltdown over the video of the little impromptu concert you guys had with Robbie singing and playing the guitar.”
Robbie glanced at me and cringed.
“Nothing like having a video of the entire band drunk-dancing going live without any warning. So that was nice, thank you. PR team sends their regards.” Ambrose was clearly pissed. Probably out of concern. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care. “And then,” he barked. “Then there are the reports of paramedics being dispatched to Jeremy’s home address for head trauma. On top of this week’s FBI and stalking rumors, can I even begin to tell you how this looks?”
“Looks for who?” I shot back. “For you having to put out internet spot fires? Or for me and Maddox who had to drag an unconscious Jeremy out of the fucking pool with blood pouring out of his head? Wanna know how that looks?” I wanted to punch the shit out of something but swallowed it down. “Maddox is fine, by the way.”
I disconnected the call and threw my phone onto the seat beside me.
Maddox and Roscoe both stared at me.
“So that was probably my job,” I mumbled. “Fuck.”
Maddox smiled, then snorted. “No it’s not.” He was still holding Roscoe’s hand, but he had his head leaning back against the wall, looking at me. “No one’s getting fired. Jeremy wouldn’t let you get fired anyway. Neither would I.”
Jeremy wouldn’t let me get fired?
“Jeremy did fire me, remember? He fired me tonight.”
Maddox shook his head. “No he didn’t. He was drunk and in a bad mood. He’s been in a weird mood for weeks, before this stalker bullshit. And, for some reason, he wants to take it out on you.”
My gaze shot to his.
“Last person in our whole company whom I’d pick to misdirect some anger at,” Maddox said with a smirk. “But Jeremy never was the brightest.”
I narrowed my stare.
Maddox just smiled wider. “That’s the same reaction Jeremy gets when we mention you.” He sighed and shook his head slowly. “Never thought for a million years I’d see the day Jeremy—”
Roscoe tapped Maddox’s leg. “Maybe this conversation can wait,” he murmured, nodding to Robbie’s back.
The conversation ended anyway when Ryan returned. “Have we heard anything?”
We all shook our heads.
Did I tell him that Jeremy had fired me? Because after tonight, if Jeremy didn’t, maybe Ambrose would? God, they’d had enough to deal with tonight without me adding to it.
“You okay?” Ryan asked me.
I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be better when we hear he’s okay.”
“Steve did a forty-yard dash faster than Usain Bolt,” Robbie said proudly. “Then dove to the bottom of the pool. Didn’t even stop.”
He was trying to lighten the moment with his big grin and gentle tone. Before I could tell them that Maddox was in the water before me, a medical team came in, pushing a bed.
Jeremy.
But as they wheeled him in, the doctor called us out of the room so he could speak to us. My heart damn near stopped. “Mr. Dalton’s team, I assume?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied, but gestured toward Ryan.
He raised his hand. “Well, me. I’m his manager, but honestly, these guys—”
Maddox stepped forward. “I’m one of his brothers. Doc, is he okay?”
My stomach was so knotted, I felt queasy.
The doctor looked at each of us. “He’s got himself a decent knock to the head. There’re no fractures, swelling, or internal bleeds, so he’s very lucky in that regard, but we’re monitoring him for concussion.”
I almost sagged with relief. Pretty sure Maddox was the same. Roscoe put his hand on Maddox’s shoulder.
“His high blood alcohol doesn’t help,” the doctor added. “We’re waiting on tox results. That’s standard. He’s having his wound seen to right now and he’ll need to stay until he clears the concussion test.”
“Can we see him?” Ryan asked.
The doctor held up two fingers. “Two minutes. Then I’m going to have to get you all to clear out. Figure out between you who’s staying. One person only. This isn’t a hotel.”
Maddox went in first. Ryan no sooner had his phone back to his ear, talking to who I could only assume was Ambrose.
Speaking of phones . . . I found mine and shot Riko a quick message.
Scans all clear. Be a few hours yet.
His reply of good news was almost instant, and I felt bad that he’d had to wait.
Roscoe was a wall of patience and calm next to me. “Good news so far.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He studied me for a second. “When did you sleep last?” Before I could answer, he added, “More than three or four hours?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”
He gave me a look that called bullshit.
Then Ryan waved to get my attention, making a face, but he spoke into the phone. “Yeah, Steve’s here. . . . Yeah, sure.” He put the phone to his chest. “I’m on hold for a second. What the hell did you say to him?” he hissed. “Fucking hell.” Then he put the phone back to his ear. “Yep, sure. Got it. Okay, thanks.” He disconnected the call and gave me another wild look. “Well, you’re not his favorite person right now.”
No surprises there. I glanced at Roscoe and he smiled at me. It was probably wrong to laugh, but fucking hell. I chuckled and Roscoe did too. It was either laugh or cry. Then I scrubbed my hand over my face.
