Her inane babbling didn’t make any sense to her own ears, but somehow she managed to choke out the address and request an ambulance, running on complete autopilot as she watched Ghost try to find the source of Brian’s wound.
“Here it is. Fuck. Lower left back. It might be his kidney. Tell them to hurry the fuck up, Star, or he won’t make it.” He snatched his own T-shirt off over his head and wadded it up, his face a pale nightmarish image of horror. He’s scared—Ghost is scared, and that’s never good, she thought irrationally. “I’m putting pressure on it,” he said.
Her voice shaking, she conveyed all that information to the dispatcher, who kept her on the phone until the distant sound of sirens reached them. She thanked the dispatcher and hung up, her heart pounding in her eardrums.
Max had done this. Max had tried to kill Brian. This couldn’t be random, couldn’t be a coincidence. Because of her mistake, because of her not listening, because of her being a fucking idiot, her friend, her love—a husband, father, son, and brother—was dying in front of her.
When she found that goddamn motherfucking piece of shit, she would kill him herself. They wouldn’t be able to stop her. She would gladly face a life in prison to get her hands around his throat.
“Oh, Brian,” she said weakly, staring at his beloved face, so pallid now. At least he wasn’t awake to be in pain. She couldn’t think about the pain he’d just gone through pulling himself across the parking lot, the fear, the desperation he must have felt. How he must have been thinking about Candace and Lyric.
And Candace. What to do about Candace? Starla couldn’t imagine making that call.
No. No call. She needed to be told in person, but not by someone wearing a good portion of her husband’s blood. Starla looked up at Janelle, who stood with her head down and her arms crossed, sobbing with huge, gasping breaths. She’d never seen Janelle cry, ever.
“Jan?” As the ambulance rushed into the parking lot followed by two police cars, Starla found the strength to stand and go to her friend. Janelle all but collapsed in her arms, and somehow she held on to her without falling herself. After a moment of pointlessly trying to comfort her, she said, “Someone has to go tell Candace.”
Sniffling, Jan backed away and nodded. “I can do that.”
“Are you sure? If you’re not—”
“No. I can. I don’t—I can’t be here, seeing him like that.”
They were all in some kind of shock, no doubt. Starla wasn’t sure how she hadn’t gone screaming into madness herself. Maybe that would come later. Right now, this was the top priority. Candace. Not her own shock and devastation, but that of the one who stood to lose her entire world tonight.
“We need to get his family too,” she said, realizing she still clutched his bloody cell phone in her hand. Hell. She shouldn’t have removed anything from a crime scene, right? But all the contacts she needed would be right here. Even as she looked down at it, a text message from Candace popped up. She couldn’t help but see it right there on the display, the letters branding themselves into her brain. Good! Lyric has been smiling and laughing all day. We can’t wait to see you. :)
Starla might have lost it then, but Ghost came over to join them, shirtless, bloody, his fingers laced behind his head. His skin was, well, ghostlike against the obscene red and his black ink. The police had secured the scene, and paramedics had shooed him away to take over. “Janelle is going to get Candace,” Starla told him.
Ghost dropped his arms and shook his head. “No. The cops want to talk to us. I’ll call Macy and Sam. They can go get her and Lyric and bring them to the hospital.”
Why hadn’t she thought of that? Candace’s best friends in the world would surely be a better option. Even better than Candace’s family, who would probably throw a party if Brian Ross bought it facedown in a parking lot. Bastards, the lot of them.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s better.” She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to hear what was going on down there on the ground fifteen feet away from her. Her heart was a trip-hammer in her chest, skipping beats, and someone might have to do CPR on her if the unthinkable happened and they lost him. But she had to look. The paramedics were in the process of moving Brian to a gurney, one of them fitting him with an oxygen mask.
At least he wasn’t on the ground anymore. It was important somehow. “Oh God,” she muttered, fearing that breakdown fast approaching.
“Let’s keep it together,” Ghost said, his voice as thin as the night air. “I have to go call Macy. The cops want to talk to us.” It didn’t escape her that he was repeating himself. His thoughts were as fractured as her own.