Page 77 of One Spicy Summer

“No, thank you, sir.”

“Alright.”

Grabbing my jacket, I head down to my truck. Once inside, I crank the radio, letting the ride loosen the knot tightening in my chest.Justin Bieber’s"Come Around Me"blares through the speakers, and before I know it, I’m singing along.

"All that I want for you is perfection..."

The words gut me.

That’s all I ever wanted for Presley.

She was perfect.Still is.

Even now, broken or not, she’s still my perfect girl.

The song fades just as a news alert interrupts:"Breaking news: There’s been an attempted murder-suicide on the 300 block of Canal Banks Circle. One confirmed fatality, another in critical condition. No names have been released yet."

Panic slams into me like a freight train.

My hands move before my brain does, emergency lights flashing, tires screeching, truck fishtailing across lanes as I race toward Canal Banks Circle.

“Please, God," I whisper. "Don’t let it be her.” I make a hard right onto Main Street, heart hammering out of my chest. Sirens flash up ahead, cops, ambulances everywhere.

Parking haphazardly, I leap out of the truck and sprint toward the scene.

A cop steps into my path, hand on my chest. “Sir, you can’t go any farther.”

“Get your fucking hand off me," I snarl, "or I’ll move it for you.”

“You wanna go to jail?” he growls.

“You wanna end up in the hospital?” I growl back.

He mutters something under his breath but turns his back, giving me just enough space to slide under the yellow caution tape.

I don’t care if I get arrested. I need to know.

A stretcher is wheeled out of the house I cornered Presley in, sheet pulled over the body, and my blood runs ice-cold.

Shoving through the crowd, I stumble toward it. “Is it a man or a woman?” I plead with the EMT.

“Sir, you need to back up, ”

“Please.”

She sighs. “Man.”

My knees nearly buckle from relief. I whisper a thank you and head for the house, needing answers.

Cops cluster in tight circles, their faces grim. “Fucking shame what he did," one says.

"Yeah, I went to school with her," another mutters. "Hope she pulls through."

Her.

“Who? Where is she?” I bark.

One of the cops, his face vaguely familiar, looks up.

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