29. Hendrix
HENDRIX
Busy Bee or West End for lunch?
Dude, when did you start texting like Jamie?
What’s next? Me want food?
Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
Maybe if you’d fix things with Serena, you wouldn’t wake up pissed and alone.
Seriously?
Sorry, man. Too soon?
Meet me at the Bee in an hour.
—Text from Ryker to Hendrix
“Well, damn,” Ryker says as he breaks up a few more fries for Bodhi. “How’d you leave it? Are you guys in a better place?”
“Yeah, we are,” I say and sign as I look at my son and shake my head as he ignores the pieces of fries Ryker’s given him and reaches for the chocolate shake I moved away earlier. “I left early this morning, so I could be home when Bodhi woke up, but we’re good.”
“You going to ask her to marry you again?” He grins, and I swear to God if he wasn’t my best friend, I’d knock his teeth out.
“One day.” I don’t elaborate because some things aren’t meant for anyone other than Serena.
The bitch smiles and hands Bodhi the chocolate shake I don’t want him to have. “I’m happy for you, Hen. You guys belong together.”
“Dude, you gotta lay off the book club. You’re starting to sound like the girls.” I throw a fry at his head. “And just remember, one day you’re going to have kids, and I’m gonna feed them so much shit, they’ll puke all over your car too, asshole.”
Bodhi giggles and looks right at me. “Asshole.”
“Dude . . .” Ryker cracks up. “At least he didn’t sign it too.”
“Why are we friends?” I ask as the waitress drops the check.
“Apparently, because you were using me so you could nail my cousin.”
“I fucking hate you, man,” I laugh and throw cash on the table for the bill, knowing I’m completely full of shit though. In some ways, I’m closer to Ryker than my own brothers.
We walk out of The Busy Bee with Bodhi’s hand in Ryker’s, thick as fucking thieves.
“Not my fault he likes me better,” Ryker laughs as I look over to Mom’s dance studio on the corner and consider stopping by.
“You don’t have to tell him no. He’d probably like Barney the goddamned dinosaur better than me right now because I told him no more chocolate milkshake.”
“No way. Right, little man?” Ryker squats down in front of him and smiles. “You want to go see Delaney with me?” He looks over at the flower shop Delaney runs, a sappy newlywed smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Things going well with you two?” I ask, after spending what felt like the entire lunch discussing me and Serena. “You know . . . after everything with the asshole detective?”
It’s still hard to believe the shit Delaney and Ryker have been dealing with. But who the hell am I to be shocked by anything at this point?
Ryker stands and runs a hand through Bodhi’s mop of sandy-blond curls. “Yeah, man. It’s good. Better than good.”
Damn, it’s good to see him happy. “I’m happy for you, Ryker. Don’t fuck it up.”
He opens his mouth to say something but instead, gives me Bodhi’s hand and jogs across the street in the next instant. I stand by and watch as he slams his hand against the window of a police car.
Shit. He’s yelling something I can’t hear before something catches my eye.
Flames lick up the siding of the flower shop as a pot comes crashing down. “Hendrix,” Ryker yells, not bothering to turn back. “Call 911.”
Fuck. I pick Bodhi up and rush across the street into Hart & Soul, Mom’s dance studio, as Bodhi cries. “Mom,” I call out and rush into her office where she sits behind her computer. “I need you to take him and call 911. The flower shop’s on fire, and I think Delaney might be inside.”
“Hendrix,” she gasps and reaches for me as I sit Bodhi in her lap. “Where are you going?”
“To help Ryker. Tell the police the two of us are over there.”
“Be careful,” she calls after me as I run outside and into the chaos. People spill into the street, their phones raised, probably taping the whole thing as I search for Ryker.
“Ryker,” I scream, not knowing if his hearing aids will catch it as I run toward him, and try to stop him before he runs into the building.
I grab his arm, and he turns to swing, his eyes wild when they see me.
“Stop, man. Don’t fight me,” I yell without signing and see the confusion and panic rising.
“Delaney’s in there,” he yells over the crowd. “Tell the cops Brooks was just here. And keep Bodhi away.”
“He’s with my mom. Safe. You can’t go in there.” I slow down and sign as I speak all at once, overemphasizing everything because he’s freaking the fuck out.
He stares at me for a split-second and snaps, shoving me back. “The fuck I can’t.”
“The fire department is close,” I argue, trying to hold him back as the windows beside us explode, glass flying everywhere.
It’s fucking chaos.
He shakes his head and breaks my hold, adrenaline fueling him. “She’s in there. And I’m going to find her.”
That’s when it hits me. If the roles were reversed—if it were Serena—I wouldn’t let anyone stop me either.
I nod, grabbing his shoulders, needing him to understand me. “You go upstairs, and I’ll check the shop.”
Ryker stares at me for a fast beat and nods as he runs one way, and I go the other.
The door to the shop is hot and locked, but the window next to it is already blown out, so it’ll have to do. Covering my face with my jacket, I knock the rest of the glass free and throw my leg over the sill as I climb into the shop, hoping I don’t find Delaney hurt. Or worse.
Fire climbs up one side of the room while smoke stings my eyes.
Fuck. Where is she?
I try to look but can’t see shit. The smoke is too thick.
“Delaney . . .” I call out, my voice cracking and throat burning. “Delaney . . .”
I move as far as I can until I’m choking on smoke, and the fire gets closer. I can’t risk going deeper into the building that sounds like it’s going to collapse.
And that’s when I hear it.
The pained roar from the apartment above the shop.
No . . . That’s Ryker.
I cough again, looking around for an exit, but I can barely see a foot in front of my face.
My skin is too fucking hot by the time I break a new window to get outside and lean my hands on my knees, bent over as I suck fresh air into my lungs.
Before something explodes behind me, and a ball of flame engulfs a wall.
This isn’t good.
I rush around back to the parking lot as fast as I can, and the sight I’m met with guts me.
Ryker’s bent over Delaney, her pet pig by his side as she lays lifeless in his arms.
“Please, baby. Wake up. Come on,” he screams, tilting her chin and pinching her nose before he breathes for her because she’s not breathing on her own.
And holy hell, a vivid memory of holding Britt’s lifeless body flashes in my mind.
Knowing I couldn’t do anything to help her.
There was no saving her.
“Come on, baby. Come on. Breathe,” Ryker begs and laces his hands together over the center of her chest and starts compressions.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Her body rocks with each compression, her eyes never opening.
“Don’t fucking do this, Delaney,” he pleads.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
She’s not moving as I move across from Ryker, counting his compressions.
Nine. Ten. Eleven—
Sweat drips into his eyes as his arms shake. “Breathe, baby. Breathe for me.”
I lean in and check for a pulse I don’t find, and my heart breaks for my friend.
He loves her. He can’t lose her.
I grab his shoulder, getting his attention. “Let me help. You breathe. I’ll do compressions.”
Ryker nods, removing his hands. He breathes into her mouth, and I do compressions, trading off again and again with no change.
Tears mix with black soot as they stream down his face, his hands shaking with each breath.
“Please, baby. Breathe,” he begs again and pushes two more breaths into her lungs as we both watch to see if her chest rises on its own.
It never moves.
I turn away as he drops his lips to her face, wanting to give him privacy, but he yanks my hands back to her chest and starts again.
My wrists scream, and her ribs crack while Ryker demands she live.
“Breathe for me. Take my air. Take my breath. Take it all. It’s yours. I’ll give it all to you if you just breathe.” He presses his head to hers, and something inside me snaps when it looks like he’s ready to accept that she’s gone. “Don’t do this, Lane. Don’t fucking leave me.”
“Keep fucking going,” I demand between compressions. What kind of fucked up world do we live in that he got to have this for two fucking months before it was ripped away? “Don’t you give up on her.”
He waits for me to finish my count and pause compressions before he breathes two more times. And we do it again. And again.
We do it until Ryker freezes and gently touches his fingers to her throat, scared to hope.
Son of a bitch, she’s got a pulse.
It’s faint, but it’s there.
He did it.
He saved her.
Sirens grow louder as firetrucks and an ambulance pull into the lot.
EMTs rush over to our sides.
“No,” Ryker argues when they try to get him to back away. “I’m her husband.”
“Ryker, let them help,” I sign, trying to get through to him. Not sure I can. “Help.”
But after a minute, he agrees and climbs into the ambulance with Delaney, and I drop to my ass, the world fucking spinning.
“Mr. Sinclair.” One of the other EMTs moves in front of me. “We’d like to check you over as well.”
“I need to get my son. He’s with my mom in the dance studio,” I argue, suddenly fucking exhausted. Physically and emotionally. “I need to get him.”
“You need to sit here and let us look you over,” the EMT in front of me says as Max Kingston appears to my right.
What the fuck?
“Did I hit my head?”
“Did he hit his head?” Max asks, and I stare at him, trying to decide if I’m seeing things.
“We don’t know. He was busy saving someone’s life when we pulled up, but he seems to be disoriented, Mr. Kingston.”
“Bodhi . . .” I tell whoever’s listening. “He’s with my mom.”
Max rests a hand on my shoulder and squats down. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of, Hendrix. Let the team look you over. They need to make sure you’re okay.”