Page 84 of Pulse
My face heats as I consider, once again, calling him. The thought is a rock in my stomach, getting thrown around by the acid that’s burning holes in my organs.
I know I shouldn’t call him. I shouldn’t turn my phone on. Ford downloaded the data from it and let me keep it just in case but was adamant I keep it off.
Besides, I know the drill. We deal with this every day.
My fingertips strum against the table.
Even if Freddy knew where I was, I’m nowhere near Savannah. And with charges against him, he can’t even leave the state of Georgia.
The whole thing is overblown, anyway. He had a moment of empowerment and was going to scare me. But now that he’sgetting rung up on resisting arrest, assault, and whatever else, I’m probably the least of his problems.
I bite my lip.
So one quick call to Burt wouldn’t hurt, would it?
I press against my belly and feel it churn. It hurts. I probably have an ulcer already. And, most importantly, Burt is mybest neighbor. He’s probably lying in his hospital bed alone, with no one visiting him and no one giving a crap.
Tears roll down my cheeks.
I move quickly, before I can change my mind, and hustle upstairs to my bag. I find my phone. With shaky hands, I hold the power button.
As soon as the lights come on, I know I’ve fucked up. But I’m already in it this far. I might as well see it through.
Act now and repent later.
My battery indicator is red, so I ignore the missed calls and unread texts, find Burt’s number, and hitcall.
“Please pick up,” I say, glancing at the doorway. “Come on.”
“Hey, sweet pea.”
I stifle a sob at the sound of his scratchy, raspy voice.
“Burt. Oh, my gosh, it’s good to hear your voice. I heard what happened. Are you okay?”
“Don’t be sorry for me. I just got a broken rib or two.” He stops to cough, wincing at the end. “I got a couple of good shots in on that little sonofabitch. And he got arrested, I heard.”
“Are you in the hospital?”
“Yeah. Gonna keep me a couple of days. When you hit your seventies, they like to make you think you’re on death’s door. It’s a little game they play. But, hell, there’s three hots and a cot. I’ll survive.”
I laugh, wiping away my tears. He sounds good—weak and definitely groggy—but he still has his wit. That’s a great sign.
“So where have you been?” he asks. “I’ve been worrying. You’re never gone this long.”
“I know and I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon and I’m going to take care of you.”
“The hell you are.”
“I’m not scared of you,” I say.
“Well, you should be. Just ask Freddy Fuckface.”
I laugh. “Listen, I hate to get off here this fast, but I have to. I’ll be unreachable for a couple more days. I’ll be at your door as soon as I get home. Do you have my friend Morgan’s number? Did she give it to you?”
“Yup. You know, I think she’s hitting on me. She wants some of this grandpa juice.”
I laugh again, relieved that he’s still his ornery self, even if that last part was a bit nauseating. “You’re probably right. But if you need anything at all, call her. She’ll help you.”
