Page 110 of Skeletons in the Closet

Was he slurring?

“I’m just so tired.” He was definitely slurring. “My stupid migraine came back.” He whimpered. “I think I’m bleeding.”

My surliness vanished, and concern slid into my tone. “Tallus, you’re not making sense.”

“Something’s wrong, Guns. The pretty lady is having a nap, and I’m… Where are my glasses?”

“Tallus?” My spine stiffened.

“Help me.” Another whimper. “Help me, D. Something’s really wrong.”

“Motherfucker!” I killed the engine, snagging my phone as I exited the Jeep and slammed the door. I yelled as I ran toward the building. “Tallus, what’s wrong?”

No response, but I could hear him breathing, like his mouth was pressed to the phone.

“Tallus. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

I burst through the front doors, and it took far too long to orient myself and figure out where I needed to go to get to Natalia’s office. She was on the second floor and at the far end of the building. Of fucking course she was.

I ran, taking the stairs three at a time before bolting down multiple hallways, following signs for the administration wing.

When I got there, I didn’t knock and plowed through the doorway, adrenaline pumping, fists and muscles engaged and ready for a fight, but I didn’t find a threat.

I found Natalia unconscious in her reading chair and Tallus, face bloodied, in a heap on the floor, hugging his phone. His glasses were a few feet away, the lens on one side shattered, frames bent.

Instinct kicked in, and I scanned the room, checking every nook and cranny spacious enough to conceal a grown man. When I found no one, I dropped to a knee and pressed fingers to Tallus’s neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, pumping away. Was it weak? I couldn’t tell. I put a hand near his mouth and nose and soft exhales blew against my skin. He was breathing.

Then I checked Natalia. She was alive, and as far as I could see, she was uninjured.

Without hesitation, I called 911 and barked orders at the woman who answered, hanging up when she told me to stay on the line.

I returned to Tallus and heaved him into a sitting position. His head lolled on his neck. A gash along his forehead seemed to be the source of the blood. Not a fatal wound, but it was bleeding like a bitch. I patted his cheek and called his name.

He stirred momentarily, mumbled something incomprehensible, then rocked his face against my chest and zonked out again.

Panic surged through my veins. I knew an ambulance was coming, but they wouldn’t know where to go since I was an idiotand had hung up on the emergency operator. I didn’t want to leave Tallus, so I heaved him into my arms and aimed for the door. He was deadweight but warm against my chest. I took comfort and reassurance in how his soft breaths fanned my neck. I had to pause a few times in my descent to readjust his weight, leaning against a stairwell wall to maintain balance, but I got him downstairs and outside as a wail of sirens sounded in the distance.

I set him on the ground, propped against the wall, and he stirred, blinking with confusion at his surroundings. Squatting, I held his head upright since he didn’t seem to have much strength and moved my fingers to the pulse point in his neck, even though he was clearly alive. I couldn’t help it.

“Hey. Can you hear me?”

“D?”

“Yeah. It’s me. What happened?”

“My head hurts.” Tallus cringed, squeezing his eyes closed. “Stupid migraine came back out of nowhere. Everything was fine… then it wasn’t.”

Blood trickled down the bridge of his nose when he made a face, so I removed my exterior shirt—the fancier one I’d donned stupidly that morning for Tallus’s sake—and wiped at the mess, smearing the blood more than anything. Sections were drying, but the wound still bled vigorously. Most head wounds did. Even minor ones.

“Tallus,” I said, holding his chin so he would look at me. “What happened inside Natalia’s office?”

“She was out of it. I think she took pills. Said she wanted a nap. I was…” His mind seemed to clear, and he grew more alert, if not any less confused, trying to sit up. “I can’t see. Where are my glasses?”

“I left them upstairs. They’re broken.”

“God fucking dammit. I can’t go two months without breaking them.”

He groaned and slumped against the wall, closing his eyes.

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