Page 67 of Over & Out

I want so fucking badly to tell her everything. To show up at the little house I’ve driven by every night like a fucking creep and knock on the door. Drop to my knees and tell her everything. How my father will destroy everything I’ve worked for. How it’s not my career I care about, not in the fucking least, but all the people who will suffer if he takes it all away. My team. The foundation. The kids.

Worst of all, her.

I’d give it all up—I’d even inflict suffering on all those people who’ll fall without my support—if it meant she’d be okay. I know that’s not right, but I’d destroy everything for her.

Jesus, I think that’s a line from the Duke. Even in my depression, I’m a fucking hack.

Which reminds me—I need to get on Adrian aboutnext steps for the Duke sequel. Even if she hates my fucking guts, I’m still doing that movie. I reach over to the side table where I left my phone to charge and idly swipe it open.

And then my heart fucking stops. Because there are texts from Chris. Not one, but several. I swipe them open, my lungs tight as fucking concrete I’m holding my breath so hard.

CHRIS: I know you’re on set and won’t see this but sounds like things are finally happening with Tru. Just so you’re in the loop.

CHRIS: She’s heading to the hospital if you want to text her and wish her good luck when you see this.

CHRIS: There’s an issue. Call me. ASAP.

CHRIS: 911

That was only ten minutes ago.

I swipe on Chris’s name with a trembling hand.

She picks up on the first ring, not bothering with hellos. “She’s in surgery.” Her voice is strained, but not hard like it has been.

But I’m too freaked out to be grateful for it.

“Surgery?” I choke out, standing up. “What’s going on?”

“There was some kind of complication. I’m not sure what. Kevin’s not being very clear; he’s emotional, understandably. She’s had to go in for a c-section, but something went wrong and they had to put her under.”

“Fuck, no,” I say, emotion clogging my throat. I’malready slipping on my boots. “I’m on my way. I can…ask Cindi to book the plane?—”

“Already done. They’re on standby.”

My heart fucking swells. Even hating me, she’s helped me.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“You’re a half hour drive.”

“Fifteen, then.”

“You’re no use to anyone dead, Hopper.”

She’s right, of course. “Fine. Tell them a reasonable time. And I know this is Cindi’s job, but do you think you could throw some clothes together for me? Whatever you want.”

“That’s an awful lot of freedom you’re giving me, all things considered.”

To my shock, I smile at the break in tension. “Not my clown suit.”

“Cindi’s had a go bag ready for you since I started working here.”

I’m blessed, of course. Fucking blessed without deserving it.

Normally Cindi’s here on set with me, but I told her to go home hours ago. She usually heads to her aerobics class at this time, I think, so she probably hasn’t seen the texts.

I yell at the first person I see. “Tell Toni I have a personal emergency.”

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