Ким Карр - Mended

When I wake up, I check my phone—four a.m. here, seven there, and still no call. My nervousness quickly turns to annoyance as I dial the number again. When did I turn into a chick? I ask myself and lie back down.

I wake up again to my cell phone ringing. Blurry-eyed and groggy, I can just make out that the screen is flashing RIVER. I answer it.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, sorry to wake you up so early, but Dahlia woke up and wants to go home this morning. The doctors cleared her. Do you think you could run by the house and pick up her car? Mine will be too uncomfortable for her. Her keys should be on the hook near the garage door. And Mom ran over to the house this morning and packed a bag for her. She left it in my bedroom, if you could pick that up too.”

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I throw myself back on the bed. “Sure, bro, I can do that. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I hang up and jump out of bed, shower, snatch my phone, and hop in my car. Bell’s car is parked next to mine and I have to get it back to her. With the sun blinding me, I search for my sunglasses and then squint at my fucking phone. Still no call from Ivy. I swing the car around the corner and turn onto Sunset Boulevard. Glancing down at my phone to call her, I look up and come to a screeching stop. Fucking LA traffic.

At River’s house, I park in front of the garage and wonder whose car is blocking the steps to the front door. I check my phone one last time and then squeeze between the concrete wall and the car. The door is ajar—cleaning lady maybe?

“Hello?” I bellow, pushing the door open with my foot.

A roar from the TV catches me off guard and my gaze shoots to the figure moving in the kitchen. A head full of long dark hair rises above the counter. Her slender figure is wrapped in an apron over a navy tank top. “Xander.” She smiles at me.

“Amy? What are you doing here?” She tries to kiss me, but I turn my cheek as she gives me a hug.

“I ran into your mother at the supermarket this morning and I told her to let me take care of the food so she could concentrate on your brother and Dahlia. She let me in and said she’d be back in a bit. I’m so sorry to hear about the baby.”

She glances at the door. “I left the door open because I burned the brownies.”

I stifle a laugh. “Well, it’s nice of you to do this. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

“We’ve all been friends for years. It’s the least I can do. It’s no big deal.”

I nod my head and take a step back, throwing my keys and phone on the counter. My gaze drifts to the TV, where the news is flashing a picture of two men being escorted in handcuffs to waiting police cars. The screen alert reads: OPERATION SHADOWDANCERS COMES TO AN END. It draws my attention because I think Caleb mentioned something about Ben Covington being involved with that case.

I focus on the woman reporting the news: “Two more members of the Mexican drug cartel have been arrested. Along with the bust—more than one hundred pounds of methamphetamine, ten pounds of cocaine, and half a pound of heroin were seized in the raid—vice squad detective Jason Holt said he estimates to have removed nearly five million dollars of trash from the streets. The almost five-year-long investigation culminated late last night when a long undercover operation targeting the remaining members of the Cortez family was executed. The Department of Justice said that they believe the trafficking organization run under this family is now completely shut down. In related news, Josh Hart, believed to be linked to the cartel, who was found guilty of aggravated assault and battery back in March, was sentenced to three years in prison today.”

She scans the stations and stops on Entertainment Today. “Oh, look, there’s your picture with Ivy.”

My head snaps back to the TV. It’s a picture of Ivy and me in Niagara Falls together.

“I didn’t know the band played there,” Amy comments.

I shrug, not clarifying that we didn’t play there. Then I focus on the banners scrolling across the screen. One reads: “Today marks the thirtieth anniversary of Dylan Wolf’s death. He was the prodigal son of Sheep Industries’ founder, Josh Wolf. His fraternal twin, Damon Wolf, now sits at the helm. Dylan’s life ended tragically when . . .”

“I didn’t know Damon had a twin brother.” I toss the comment off to Amy, ignoring the rest of the newscast.

“Yes, I think I heard he had a drug problem and overdosed.” She claps her hands together. “Okay, I’m all done in the kitchen.”

“What are you doing in town anyway?” I ask.

“The band has a few days off before heading to Bristow. Are you staying in town? Maybe we could go to dinner? You do owe me.”

I shake my head. “Actually, as soon as I make sure River and Dahlia are settled I have to get back. I’m leaving tonight, or first thing in the morning.”

I step around the counter and Amy crosses to the sink to rinse the bowls before loading them into the dishwasher. “We’ll catch up in Bristow, then,” she says with a smile.

I know I should tell her about Ivy, but I need to get out of here. “Listen, River’s waiting for me. I’m just going to grab some things.” I direct the statement her way, already walking down the hallway toward the bedroom. When I come back out she’s sitting at the breakfast bar drinking a cup of coffee.

“Pour a cup to go if you want. I just made it,” she says, motioning to the pot.

I do, then snatch my stuff off the counter, say goodbye, and jet.

My nerves are buzzing by the time I walk in my house well after ten. I’d picked River and Dahlia up at the hospital, helped him get her settled, sat and just talked to him while Dahlia slept, talked with my mother, with Bell, and with Jack when he came over after work with dinner in hand. At least Amy was gone by the time we got back from the hospital, so I didn’t have to deal with that guilt. The pain I feel for River and Dahlia, plus my mother’s crying, and Bell’s strange behavior, on top of not having talked to Ivy yet, are putting my temper into overdrive.

I flop down in a chair in my living room and run my hands through my hair. Then I decide to call Garrett. Fucking voice mail again. I’m the band manager—they should be answering when I call. I hang up and slam my phone down, then throw my head back, just closing my eyes.

I hear a faint ringing noise. Glancing at my watch, I notice I’ve been asleep for thirty minutes. It’s my phone. I quickly answer it.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, man, sorry I missed your call.”

I sit up and focus. “Anything going on I should know about? I’ve been trying to get hold of Ivy since I got home and she hasn’t picked up.”

He clears his throat. “I’m not really sure what’s going on. I would have called you, but I can’t find her.”

Standing up, I start to pace the room. “What the fuck do you mean you can’t find her? Did she do the show?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to say this, man, but Damon showed up just before the show and they disappeared into her room. She came out, did the show, and vanished. None of us have seen her since.”

“Did you talk to Leif?” I can hear the irritation in my voice.

“Yes. He doesn’t know either.”

The blood pounds through my veins. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you have called me the minute that asshole showed up?”

“Xander, you weren’t here and there was nothing you could do.”

“Just fucking keep looking for her and call me the minute you know anything. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I tell him and hang up.

I leave all my shit and just grab my keys. I peel my Porsche onto the street. The engine roars and the tires squeal. Slamming on my brakes only when I need to, I run every red light. I circle through the airport garage but find no empty spots, so I park in a handicap space. Fuck it—let them tow it. Right now I’m pissed as hell, and the last thing I care about is my fucking car. I hustle to get into the terminal and somehow manage to get on the red-eye to New York City.

“Sir, can I get you something to drink?” the flight attendant asks when I take my seat.

“Yeah, a Jack and Coke. No, make that two Jack and Cokes.”

Bars surround me. I’m wearing an orange jumpsuit. “I did it, Dad. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

His face fades in and out, but I can see he’s frowning. “You’ll have to pay the price for your sins, son. Your apology can’t help you.”

Fuck. I wake up in a cold sweat just as the wheels touch down at JFK. The effects of the alcohol have long since worn off; I push that dream far from my mind as I exit the plane and scramble to rent a car. It’s seven a.m. and once I’m flying down the highway, I call Garrett. The band is playing in Hartford and I’m humping ass to get there.

“Hello,” he answers groggily, obviously asleep.

“I’m just leaving New York City. I’ll be there in two hours. Did you find her yet?”

“No, man. I’m sorry. No sign at all. She didn’t come back to the bus. We waited as long as we could. Leif said she told him after the show she’d meet us in Hartford. We still waited as long as we could before pulling out of New York.”

“Did she say anything else to Leif?”

“No. He asked her what was going on, but she said she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Call me if you hear anything else.”

“You know I will.”

“Thanks.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hit the accelerator and pound my palms against the steering wheel. What the hell is going on?