I accept the incoming call after exchanging goodbyes with Mom. There’s a bustle of professional-sounding voices in the background before I speak.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is McKenzie Scott, EMS, and I’m calling for Mesa.”
My head turns as if I’ll see something in the room that will clue me in on what getting a call like this in the middle of the night might mean. I sit up straight and walk to the kitchen with my head down.
“This is she. What’s going on? Did something happen?”
“I’m calling because there’s been a single vehicle accident east of Westridge about thirty miles. Both individuals involvedare fully conscious and receiving a routine examination right now,” she explains with a soothing, even tone to her voice.
“What! Who?” I spin, again searching the room for answers.
“Montgomery Davis and Truett Lathan were in the vehicle.”
“Truett? Do you mean Tripp Lathan? And Montgomery Davis is a name I have never heard before.”
“Let me confirm the name,” she says, letting the line go silent for a moment. My lips roll into my mouth, and I bite down on them with my eyes closed. “I’m told he goes by Tripp. I apologize for the confusion. I had recorded the names from their driver’s licenses.”
“What in the world happened?” I choke out.
“I’ll be happy to provide more information soon, ma’am. I do believe the police will want statements from them after they are medically cleared, but again, no serious injuries are apparent at this time. Both parties show signs of being under the influence, which is why I’m calling Tripp’s emergency contact.”
“Emerg—” My breath hitches with panic, and a frigid chill clings to the surface of my skin. Where is Gage? Where are the rest of them? “Can I speak with Tripp? You’re sure he’s not injured?”
“I can try. One moment, and I’ll put you on speaker phone.”
I hear Tripp’s voice, but I don’t think he’s talking to me. It sounds like a paramedic is asking him how many fingers he’s holding up. Tripp answers with “Three.”
“Someone’s on the phone for you,” the EMS lady says.
The paramedic mumbles, and I barely make out his question. “Who is this on the phone, Tripp? Do you know her?”
There’s a pause like he’s looking at the caller ID on the phone. “Yeah. Mesa Riley. She’s just a friend.”
His last word is just a single syllable. But it lands like a punch to the gut.
“Hello, Mesa? Are you there?”
I hear one of the first responders addressing me over the line, but I can’t bring myself to reply because I’m choking on the wordfriend,and it’s hard to swallow.
“I’m getting a thumbs up right now from the man who performed the routine medical examination on him,” McKenzie cuts back in. “Take a deep breath, Miss Riley.”
As if mocking her calm request, a loud crash sounds from the side of my cottage. Muscle memory kicks in, and I duck my head. Glass shatters to the floor, and I stare wide-eyed at the bundle of wet green leaves attached to a thick branch hanging through the broken window right next to my bed.
My hand covers my mouth just before more terrifying sounds filter in from the backyard. I don’t know whether to rush to move my bed and temporarily handle the tree or find my keys.
With a sudden clarity and sense of urgency, I find my voice again.
“Can you please give me your location? He was supposed to be with his three friends tonight. Are they there?”
“Of course. I will text the exact location to you, so you don’t have to scribble it down or memorize it.”
The line goes silent for a minute, then a text comes through on my phone and she speaks again.
“I haven’t spoken with anyone else, and these two men are the only ones here who aren’t medical first responders or law enforcement.”
“Tripp is okay,” I state, begging her to confirm again.
