Page 17 of Tear Me Down
“No,” I cut in, as not to start an argument. “Zeke’s right. He has every reason to think that way.” My phone vibrates, bringing the awkwardness more to the surface, and I look to see it’s my dad calling. My heart drops as I answer it, making sure to keep my voice expressionless. “Yes, sir?”
“Hello, son. Is everything prepared for the arrival for the assets tomorrow?” my father says, sure to get straight to the point. I turn back to Carter.
“Is the Attic ready?”
“Yeah, everything from The Basement was moved during the party, and DJ’s shipment is coming in at five. Chris and Ezra are overnighting tonight to accept it and take inventory.”
“Yes sir, it’s ready.” I nod to Carter, giving my silent thanks.
“The men touch down at six and should arrive to you by ten.”
“Sounds good, Dad. Thank you. We’ll be ready.”
“They’ll be coming by HEMTT’s and they’ll have other supplies for you,” he replies blankly, like he hasn’t already told me the information five times today.
“Yes, sir. We’ve gone over your list extensively, and we’re prepared for intake.”
“Would it be alright if I come as well?” That takes me by surprise, and while I know he wants to come just to be nosey, and possibly try to coerce me to change everything, I can’t really tell him no.
“Yes sir.”
“Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow.” I hang up the phone and put it back in my pocket. The weight of the past week starts to press down on my shoulders, a haunted soul latching on to judge my decisions.
“D, listen, I didn’t mean…”
“You’re good.” I cut Zeke off and start walking upstairs. He’s right. His reason for not wanting to bring Taylor around is justified. Look at what my love did to Ashia. By bringing her here, and by putting her in my life, I did practically put a target on her. Anyone who wants to get to me can use her to do it, and the thought alone makes the staircase turn into a rippled mess, making me sway on my feet. The poison may not have been a direct attack on her, but she got hurt anyway, and it was a strike we didn’t see coming. I don’t blame Zeke for trying to keep Tay out of things.
Opening the bedroom door, I step in, halfway expecting her to be asleep, but she’s not even in bed. A nervousness washes over me again, causing me to look around in a panic to confirm her things are still here. Her phone is on the nightstand, her wallet is on the dresser, and nothing seems to be missing. The new pair of heels sit nicely beside her Vans in the closet, and her dress is hung up to be washed. Where is she?
A choked sound draws my attention, and I walk over to the bathroom to see Ashia leaning over the toilet, vomiting. My heart drops as my body runs cold, instantly taking me back to last week and shattering my already cracked heart.
“Fuck, baby.” I put the smoothie down on the dresser and run over to her. She has her hair pulled back from the party still, so I take a moment to grab a hand towel and wet it in the sink, all while I pull my phone out and dial the ER. I rub her back tenderly, trying to soothe her as I wait for the call to connect. It only rings once.
“Emergency room?” A tense woman answers.
“Is Dr. Derek Montow working?” I place the cold rag on the back of her neck, smoothing the small strands of hair away from her face.
“Yes.”
“Can you connect me to him?”
“Please hold.” The call clicks, signaling the transfer and I take the opportunity to place it on speaker phone to free my hand. I look over to see Ashia sit back on her ass and lean her head back against the wall. She briefly closes her eyes and the completely innocent act has me holding my breath until she opens them only a second later, looking up at me like she’s a lost puppy.
“I'm fine babe, you don’t need to call,” she says as I pat her face with cool water.
“Bullshit I don’t. You didn’t eat or drink anything at the party, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.” She gently takes the second towel from me and wipes her face. The call clicks again, and a stern, deep voice flows through it.
“This is Dr. Montow?”
“Doc, it’s Damien Hartley. Ashia is vomiting, I thought I should call.” I start rummaging through my cabinet to get my med kit out, secretly scolding myself for not confirming that we had everything she needed on hand. Once I locate it, I take out the thermometer and hold it out to her, but she gives me a smart-ass look, raising a brow and cocking her head to the side. “Open your mouth,” I demand, and those perfect lips morph into a sweet smile. She rolls her eyes at me before opening her mouth, and I know she’s trying to be cute and ease my worries, but I'm just grateful to stick the damn thing in there without a fuss.
“Is she running a fever?” Doc asks.
“Checking that now.”
“Did she ingest anything that could have been tampered with?” I know he has to ask that, but I can't help but grit my teeth.
