Page 219 of Call the Shots
“Don’t call,” King spat out. “I’ll go.”
“I’ll drive you?—”
Fuck it,I’d take him out through the backyard and around the gate, the entry way was too crowded. Fridge helped me with King—thank fuck, King was a bulky guy—and we staggered outside.
“I’ll put you in the back,” I assured him.
King twisted away from us. “Tell June it’s like—fuck?—”
“What? King?” I tried to lead him to my car, to take him to the hospital, but King barreled away, practically ripping his truck’s door open. My eyes shot wide. “What the fuck are you doing? No, King, wait!”
“It’s—it’s like my mom’s doctor’s appointments?—”
“No! Get out of the truck!” He couldn’t drive off, that was fucking insane. My stomach plummeted when I thought of the look on June’s face when she found out King drove away, bleeding heavily from his head. “King, get out of the fucking truck!Please! GET OUT!”
It didn’t matter. I stood in shocked silence, watching his truck veer off down the road.
“What the fuck?” Fridge whispered.
“What happened?!” I demanded. “What went down between them?!”
“I—I don’t know, Elijah said something about King breaking some guy’s arm and hitting someone with a car or something?—”
I stared at him, my ears ringing. More people rushed out of the house, everyone panicking about what happened, but all I could think about was where I’d heard that before. June told me those details in confidence.
The lines Montoya read in my notebook.
“No,” I muttered. “No, no,no.”
I scanned the yard, no sign of Montoya, and went through the house, searching for him. Elijah looked fucked up but where wasMontoya?I found the kid on the back stoop, his arms around his knees, his eyes on the ground.
“What did you do?” I shouted.
His face was so pale. “Bear, I—I didn’t mean to?—”
I grabbed him by the shirt collar, hauling him up. “What the fuck did you do?!”
“Elijah and I went—went to a party—” Montoya confessed, sucking in hard breaths. “And—and I was drunk and Elijah said he could take King in a fight, and I said he couldn’t because—because?—”
Holy shit.
I shook Montoya off, stumbling. My shirt had blood on it—King’s blood—King, my girlfriend’s best friend who I couldn’t stop from leaving with a head wound. This was my fault. All of it. Panic coursed through me, and I stumbled through the house, searching for June.
She had her arms around Willow. I broke June away from her when Denali confirmed King wasn’t taken to the hospital.
“Where is he?” June choked out.
“I—I don’t know,” I blurted out. “He said this is like his mom’s doctor appointments? I don’t know what that means?—”
June’s face cleared and she hurried outside, heading to my car. She held out her hand for my keys.
“This is my fault,” I said, my words jumbled. “I wrote it in my notebook and Montoya found it and I told him not to tell anybody but he and Elijah?—”
“Bear, I don’t care whose fault it is,” she interrupted me. “I need to find King and I didn’t bring my car.”
I almost gave her the keys before I motioned for her to take the passenger seat. I unlocked my door, sliding in. As soon as she shut her door, I peeled off down the road, taking the same route King did. “Do you know where he’s at?”
“No, but—but I’m going to figure it out.” June had her phone to her ear. “His mom’s doctor appointments—I used to tell our friends that when he had to go dark—” Her voice jumped. “King? This is June. Please call me back—you have to answer, okay? Please pick up.”
