Guarded

  “Down here!” I shouted, panting hard. “We’re down here!”

  Footsteps had never sounded so fucking amazing. A second later, three paramedics exploded into the room, and thank God, one of them had what I hoped was a defibrillator.

  “Here, we’ll take over.” One of them dropped beside Daniel, opposite me, and as soon as I stopped compressions, he took over.

  I struggled to pick up my phone, my arms almost numb with fatigue, but I finally got it off the floor. “They’re here,” I said to the dispatcher. “Thank you.”

  “Sir, do you mind waiting out here?” One of the medics gestured at the hallway.

  “No problem.” I didn’t hesitate—I couldn’t watch them working on Daniel. Just the whine of the defibrillator put me on the brink of puking.

  I stood on shaking legs and hurried out of the room. Out in the hall, I took a few slow, deep breaths and tried not to listen to the commotion in the room.

  My shoulders burned. My hands wrists and elbows ached furiously. By tomorrow, all the muscles from my waist up would be sore as fuck, and my wrists hurt like a motherfucker, which made maneuvering my cell phone a challenge.

  But I still found Milo’s number and, once I was well away from the bedroom and all the noises and voices within, called him.

  “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  “Hey.” I swallowed. “Listen, are you and Jordan going to be there for a while?”

  “Uh, yeah. We’re kind of on a roll here. Why?”

  “I… I need you to keep him there.”

  Milo was quiet for a second, though there was movement on the other end. In a hushed tone, he said, “Is everything okay, man? What’s going on?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Damn it, my voice wouldn’t stop shaking. I was fucking shivering now, my teeth on the verge of chattering. “I’ll be there soon, but I need you to keep Jordan there.”

  The activity in the bedroom was getting more and more frantic. I couldn’t understand what the medics were saying—or maybe my brain had blocked it out—but the urgency was palpable in the air. I needed to get the fuck away from here.

  “We’re not going anywhere, buddy,” Milo said. “But are you—”

  “I’ll explain when I get there. Just promise—”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re good. No one’s going anywhere.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hung up, and managed to slide my phone into my pocket. The adrenaline was crashing now, and it was crashing hard. Jittery. Cold. Queasy. Fuck.

  Upstairs, there were more voices, so I followed the sound. Apparently the dispatcher hadn’t just sent in paramedics—a pair of uniformed cops stood by the entryway.

  “Hello, sir.” One extended his hand. “I’m Sergeant Hailey, and this is my partner, Sergeant Byers.”

  I reached out to shake their hands, but my wrist screamed in pain, so I drew it back, rubbing it gingerly. “Sorry, I…” I nodded toward the stairs. “CPR. Kind of fucked up my wrists.”

  “Understood.” Hailey withdrew his hand as well. “You’re the one who called 911?”

  I nodded. “I’m the homeowner’s bodyguard.” I exhaled. “I found him like… that.”

  He gestured downstairs. “So the homeowner is—”

  “No, no. That’s his roommate.” I cringed inwardly. “He’s, uh, out for the afternoon. At a friend’s place.”

  “I see.” Byers glanced at the notebook in his hand. “Does the individual”—he tilted the notebook toward the lower floor—“have a history of drug use?”

  I nodded. “He’s been in and out of rehab for a while now. Meth, coke. I’m not sure what else.” I paused. “This isn’t his first overdose.”

  The cop pressed his lips together and nodded as he jotted some information down.

  As we stood there in the foyer, Byers’s pen scratching on his notebook and not quite drowning out the commotion downstairs, I tried to hug myself against the adrenaline crash’s shivers, but my arms and shoulders hurt like hell. Reminding me… oh God…

  “Listen, uh, I need to ice my wrists.” I started toward the kitchen, gesturing for them to follow me. “Can I get you guys some coffee?” It seemed like an insultingly mundane thing to be concerned about, but I needed to do something.

  “Sure.” Byers and Hailey followed me upstairs.

  As I walked into the kitchen, my mind superimposed Daniel standing at the counter writing in a spiral notebook with crumpled papers all over the counter.

  Except the notebook wasn’t an illusion. Daniel was gone, and the balls of paper were gone, but the notebook was still there.

  And it wasn’t closed anymore. It was open to the first page.

  Holding my breath, I approached it warily.

  And then I looked at the page and Daniel’s angular printing.

  Jordy,

  Please don’t ever blame yourself.

  You’re the reason I made it this far.

  I love you.

  Danny

  My hand went to my mouth. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Something wrong?” Byers said.

  “It’s…” I gestured at the notebook and then quickly stepped as far from it as I could get in one go. “Fuck…”

  Byers read the page, and beckoned Hailey over it. They both scanned the words before exchanging a look.

  Hailey took a breath like he was about to say something, but then more footsteps came down the hall. When the medic appeared in the kitchen doorway, sweat beading on his forehead and turning his latex gloves almost transparent, my heart stopped.

  He made eye contact with Byers, and the two of them disappeared into the hallway.

  Nausea coiled in the pit of my stomach. I could hear them speaking in hushed tones, and though I didn’t understand the words, I… I knew.

  Byers returned to the kitchen. His expression was grim, the practiced, professional sympathy telling me everything I already knew.

  “I’m sorry. The paramedics did everything they could, but”—he slowly shook his head—“he didn’t make it.”

  The entire world dropped out from under me. I’d known it was coming, but hearing the words threw me. I grabbed onto the counter as all the air left my lungs at once. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “What happened?” I swallowed hard. “Did he…” I glanced at the suicide note. “Fuck. Fuck…” I tried to make sense of it, but there was no making sense of it. No comprehending that in the time it had taken for me to drive down the road and come back, he’d gone downstairs and… and done this. He must’ve taken it in the bathroom and expected to lie down in bed before it took effect, but he hadn’t made it that far. He hadn’t made it at all.

  And I’d tried. God, I’d tried. My hands and arms and shoulders still hurt with the effort, and I’d never felt so fucking useless in all my life.

  I glanced at the note again.

  Jordy.

  Oh God.

  I forced some air unto my lungs. “I need to tell Jordan.”

  “Jordan?”

  Hailey cleared his throat, then said, “Jordan Kane. The musician. This is, uh, his place.”

  “Oh.” Byers glanced at the suicide not. Yeah, Jordy is Jordan. That Jordan. “Where is he now?”

  “Rehearsing with the band. Over at another member’s house.” I swallowed hard. “I should…” I pulled out my phone and stared at it. “Fuck. Jordan needs to hear this in person. He…” I looked at the officers. “I need to go see him. Now. He deserves to know right away.”

  “Maybe we should drive you,” Hailey said gently. “After this kind of a shock…”

  “I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

  Byers glanced at Hailey, then me. “We still need statements. From both you and Jordan.”

  “I know, I understand. Is there any way I can give my statement in the car? I really need to see Jordan and tell him what happened. Sooner than later.”

  Hailey nodded. “We’ll need to talk to him anyway.”

  I
eyed him. “Is he a suspect?”

  “We just have to rule out everyone.” Hailey patted the air. “It’s standard procedure, even when all the evidence points to a suicide.”

  I winced. Jesus, Daniel…

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Thank God, we slipped out of the house before the paramedics had left with…

  I couldn’t even think about that. Byers stayed behind, and I rode in the passenger seat beside Hailey, directing him to Milo’s house. I balanced a clipboard on my knee and wrote out my statement as best I could—I was shaking badly, and my hands still hurt from trying to bring Daniel back.

  I glanced up, and as the cruiser reflected in the window of another car, my gut tightened. I turned to Hailey. “Would it, uh, be too much to ask for me to break it to him and give him a chance to absorb it before you come in the house? We’ll all cooperate, I just… I need…”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks. And…” I cleared my throat. “Listen, uh… would you also mind parking a few doors down? I think I should tell him. Gently. If he sees you, he’s going to freak.”

  “I don’t see why not,” he said as he turned down Milo’s street.

  “Thank you. Just, uh, park here.”

  Hailey pulled the car up to the curb and left the engine idling. “I’ll wait for you here.” He handed me his card. “You give me a call as soon as he’s ready to see me.”

  It’ll be a cold day in hell before he’s ready to see anyone.

  “I will.” I stepped out of the police cruiser and headed up the sidewalk. Every step reminded me of the aches and twinges in my back and sides. There was no pretending any of this hadn’t happened. There was no escaping. Part of me wanted to just sprint up to the door and get it over with, but I didn’t walk any faster. Every few seconds I could keep this from Jordan seemed like a small but worthwhile mercy.

  Legs numb, body aching, I climbed the steps up to Milo’s door, and I paused there to take a deep breath. Then I knocked.

  Footsteps on the other side made my heart pound harder. No turning back now.

  Milo opened the door, and his eyebrows jumped. “Hey. What’s going—holy shit, man. You are white.”

  I gulped. “I need to talk to Jordan.”

  He studied me for a few seconds. “Does this have something to do with Daniel?”

  “I need to talk to Jordan.”

  Milo’s lips parted. Whatever pieces he’d put together in his mind were probably closer to the truth than either of us wanted to think about.

  “He’s in the living room.” Milo stood aside, and I headed upstairs. If he hadn’t told me where to go, the voices and gentle strumming would’ve led me in the right direction. Steeling myself, I turned the corner into the living room.

  The whole band was there, aside from one conspicuously absent member, but my gaze went straight to Jordan. He was sitting on the couch, feet tucked under him and his arm slung over an acoustic guitar, his face the very picture of relaxed contentment. When he turned, the light caught on the buckle and padlock at his throat. He did a double take, and as our eyes met, he sat up straighter. The relaxed contentment disappeared, and I doubted it would be back any time soon.

  “Jase, are you okay?”

  “We—” My voice cracked, and I coughed to cover it up, but it didn’t do a damned bit of good, and the words were still unsteady. “We need to talk.”

  His eyes were getting wider. As he sat straighter, he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple pressing against the black collar. “What’s going on?”

  I gestured for him to come with me. He glanced at the other guys, and then followed me into Milo’s kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” he asked again.

  “Jordan, I am so sorry. I—” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t fucking say it.

  Panic flared in his eyes. He stepped closer, reaching for me, but hesitated. “What? What’s wrong?”

  An ache rose in my throat, cutting off my breath and my voice. I dropped my gaze, fighting the threat of tears. More than ever, I needed to be Jordan’s anchor, and I was flailing in search of an anchor of my own. Struggling to breathe. Speak. Think. To understand what had happened and somehow put it into words that wouldn’t break him, wouldn’t crush him.

  “Fuck…” I wiped my eyes, a motion that was far too difficult than it should’ve been because every muscle still ached, reminding me of what had happened and why I was here.

  “Jase, you’re scaring me.” He touched my arm. “What the hell’s going on?”

  There were no words. None. No way I could tell him without destroying him. I hadn’t wanted the police to break it to him because it felt like I owed him this much, but now that we were standing here—

  “Jase.” His hand moved from my arm to my face, and his gentle contact and even gentler eyes almost broke me down completely. “My God. What’s… talk to me.”

  I swallowed. I tried like hell to keep it together, to be the rock he needed me to be, but the tears were falling freely now. I couldn’t stop them. Jordan’s eyes widened. He paled, barely breathing as he watched me, and I knew there was no collecting myself, but the longer I drew this out, the worse it would get. The only thing I could do was tell him the truth.

  And nothing I’d ever experienced had been anywhere near as difficult as holding Jordan’s gaze as I whispered two words:

  “Daniel’s gone.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jordan

  The world tilted, and suddenly Jase’s arm was the only thing holding me up. “Wh-what?”

  “Jordan, I’m so, so sorry. I talked to him right before… but I didn’t think he’d—”

  “But, but…” My mind was in gridlock. I couldn’t get the fucking words out. “H-he was fine last night… he was fine…”

  The rest of the band was crowding around, but they moved aside as Jase led me to the front door. Milo opened it for us, something wet and shiny gleaming on his face, his hand landing on my shoulder for a second before Jase and I stepped outside.

  A dark blue Chevy was parked at the curb two houses down—and leaning against it, a uniformed cop. “Oh my God,” I whispered, my knees folding under me.

  Still, Jase held me up. “The sergeant’s going to drive us home, okay?”

  I nodded and climbed in the backseat.

  The coroner’s van sped past us on our way back to the house. I twisted around in my seat. “Jase—”

  His hand skimmed down my arm. “We’re almost there.”

  He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to. Of course I couldn’t go running after the van. Couldn’t do much of anything, including putting one foot in front of the other. He’d practically had to carry me out to the car.

  The gate opened, and we started up the hill. My stomach went rigid at the sight of Daniel’s red Ferrari, Jase’s SUV parked next to it. No ambulance. No sign of anything wrong, except the patrol car we were riding in, and the cop driving it.

  Shakily, I slid from the backseat, Jase looping an arm around me as we walked to the door. He wrestled his key into the lock and it swung open. Hard to believe just last night I’d stood here in the hallway talking to Daniel...

  I thought you wanted me to get well. This is what ‘well’ looks like on me.

  “Mr. Kane,” the cop said gently, “I realize this is a difficult time, but my partner and I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Partner?” I asked.

  “He’s in the kitchen,” Jase said.

  “Oh. Okay.” I started upstairs, clutching the bannister in a death grip. Felt like I was trying to march through fucking molasses. The air had somehow grown both thicker and thinner, hard to breathe, making me dizzy. I barely registered another uniformed police officer sitting at the table before Jase’s hand closed over my arm again as he helped lower me into a chair.

  I didn’t get the cops’ names. Seemed like decent guys, though. Calm and professional. They asked the same questions other officers
had asked every other time Daniel had OD’ed, until, “Did he give you any indication he was considering suicide?”

  “Suicide? No, he’d never…” I glanced at Jase. He looked away, and... oh, sweet baby Jesus. The coffee I’d had at Milo’s rose in the back of my throat. “W-was it?”

  “He left a note,” one of the sergeants said, pushing a spiral notebook toward me, one page tagged with a yellow Post-It.

  I leaned forward, read the few words written there in Daniel’s familiar block style—

  Christ on a fucking crutch, Daniel. No, just... no.

  I ran to the sink, barely making it before everything in my stomach came back up—coffee, cereal, the apple I’d eaten on the way to Milo’s. I heaved and heaved and heaved, until there was nothing left inside me but bile and cramping.

  Jase rubbed my back, pulled my hair away from my face. Wiped my mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kane,” the first cop said. “I know this is painful, but—”

  “N-No, sergeant. He never mentioned suicide. Not once.”

  They asked more questions, and I answered on auto-pilot. Anything to get them out of here.

  At long fucking last, they were done. Jase escorted them downstairs. Three pairs of footsteps thumped down the stairs, voices growing more indistinct the further away they moved. Then came the creak-bump of the front door as it opened and closed.

  More footsteps, and Jase was back. “Jordan, I’m so sorry. If I’d known what he was going to do, I never would’ve left—”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  His forehead crinkled. “Didn’t you hear me tell you I ran into Daniel up here before I left?”

  Hard to concentrate on what he was saying. My mind kept spinning back and forth between last night and now, and suddenly something that should’ve been plain from the start popped into focus. “He’d planned this, probably even before he came home.” The air shuddered in my chest. “Last night was all about saying goodbye to the band. And to me.”

  “Jordan—”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing that made me think he—”

  “Then why did you come back?”

  “I don’t know.” He made a helpless gesture. “I just had a feeling. Reminded me of…”