Chapter 54 – Dylan
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
DYLAN
I’m restless as I wait for Emerson to answer my question: How is Grady ?
I pace the confines of my condo, phone pressed to my ear as the news drones on about the fires in the background, doing nothing to calm my irrational fears about his well-being.
It’s been four days since I talked to him. Four days of listening to the newscasters talk about the worst fire in California’s history and seeing the haunting images of burned-down houses, fire engines, and acres of scorched earth. It’s been four days of putting all the craziness in my life—contract negotiations, studio time for Jett, and then studio time for me—on the backburner because my thoughts are first and foremost with Grady. If he’s safe. If he’s alive.
Radio silence does this to you. It eats at your resolve when you think you’re strong. It dredges up doubts when you know you have nothing to worry about.
“Grant is using back channels to get information, Dylan. You know I’ll call you the minute I have more.”
She makes the statement, but there’s hesitation in her voice that causes alarm bells to sound off.
“What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Emerson, ask yourself this. If it were Grant, would you want me to tell you?”
“Christ,” she says, and the single word has my heart jumping into my throat. “There’s a crew up on the ridge they’ve lost communication with. The wind switched and cut off their access route. The last they heard, they were climbing down the backside from where they had been, but they haven’t heard from them nor have they seen them from the chopper.”
“Oh God.” My hand is on my mouth as I sink to the couch.
“That isn’t to say it’s Grady’s team,” she hurries to say. “Grant says crews lose communications all the time in rough terrain, lack of service. Hell, lack of being able to charge anything since there’s nothing to plug into.”
But I know.
Somewhere deep down, I know.
I told Grady a white lie to give him the courage to face his fear. In turn, regardless of how irrational it may sound, did my encouragement push him when he wasn’t ready?
And if he’s hurt . . . oh, God, if he’s hurt . . .
“Sure. I’m sure he’s fine.” My voice is hollow.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I know more.”
“I feel like I need to be there.” Mentally, I’ve already packed and am in the car driving to Sunnyville.
He’s going to be fine.
“I know you do . . . but if you drive here, you’re going to be passing where he is. He’s somewhere between Sunnyville and Los Angeles.” And yet, I walk into my bedroom and open my closet door to look at my suitcase. “You’re welcome to come here and sit and wait with us, but by the time you get here, we’re going to get the news that he’s fine.”
He has to be fine.
“Who’s taking care of Petunia?”
“Brody and Shelby.”
God, please let him be fine.
“Oh.” I try to think of another excuse for me to be there but can’t find one other than I didn’t tell him I loved him.
Because I do.