Chapter 29

Chapter 29
Max

The call came just as he was about to get on the bus to take them to the airport.
Frowning, he glanced down at the screen, saw it was Anna, and hurried to pick up.
“Hello?”
“Max?” she said, breathing heavy. “Are you still at the arena?”
His gut twisted. “Yes.”
“You need to get out to Lot C. That’s where Angie and Brayden were parked, and there’s been . . . an incident.”
“What kind of incident?” he asked.
Bernard was right behind him in line but took one look at Max’s face and stepped to the side. “Go,” he told him.
Max nodded and started sprinting around the building, heart pounding. “Anna,” he snapped. “What happened—?” But by then he’d made it around to the front of the arena, saw the flashing lights, and the question stopped in his throat.
He barely checked for cars as he ran across the street. Anna was kneeling on the ground next to . . . Angie.
An officer tried to stop him when he ducked under the rope. “That’s my girlfriend,” he growled and rushed over to them. Angie was sitting on the ground, blood dripping down her face and when he met her gaze, her eyes were blurry.
“Max,” she said. “I—”
She burst into tears.
“Where’s Brayden?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I had him in the seat, and—” Her breath hitched, another sob rising. “I woke up, and my car was gone, and—”
Max’s world imploded.
“What do you mean your car was gone?” He knelt in front of her, gripping his thighs and trying to resist the urge to shake her. Where in the fuck was his son?
A paramedic came over, swapping the soaked-through bandage out on her forehead. Angie raised a trembling hand to hold it in place. “He’d buckled in. I checked! And then I closed the door, and—”
Her voice broke.
“Shh,” Anna told her. “Everything will be okay,” she said. “The police are already looking for Angie’s car. It has a tracking chip, and—”
“Everything won’t fucking be okay!” Max shouted, part of him hating the way she flinched back, the other gripped by pure terror. “Where is Brayden?” he asked. “Where the fuck is my son?”
“I-I don’t know,” Angie sobbed. “I—”
“Fuck.” He stood, paced away. “Fuck!”
“You need to get to the hospital,” the paramedic told Angie. “That head wound needs to be looked at.”
“No,” she said. “Not until we find Brayden.”
Max’s cell rang, and he scrambled to pick it up without looking at the number. “Hello?”
“Dad?”
Max dropped to his knees. “Where are you? Brayden?”
“I-I’m with Mom,” his son said, and the fear in his voice almost killed Max. “She took me to the old house, and—”
“Stay there. Don’t go anywhere.”
“But she won’t wake up.”
“Okay, buddy, it will be okay. Just stay on the phone with me.” He waved at an officer. “321 Turntree Circle. He was taken there.”
The officer nodded, lifting his radio and relaying the address.
“Just keep talking to me, Bray.” He said, infinitely calmer now that he could hear Brayden’s voice. “Some policemen are going to come to pick you up.”
“Why not you?”
“Because they can get there faster, okay? They’ll bring you to a police station,” he addressed the last as a question to the officer, who nodded. “And I’ll meet you there.”
“O-okay.”
“How long?” he mouthed to the policeman, who indicated five minutes. “Bray, you’re going to stay on the phone with me for a few minutes then they’ll be there. All right, buddy?”
Brayden’s voice was shaky. “Is Angie okay?”
He watched her push to her knees then up to wobbly feet, brushing off Anna’s help as she staggered toward him. “Is that—?”
He nodded.
She stumbled to a halt. “Is he okay?”
Max nodded. “Angie’s fine, too, bud.” He muted his cell, hating that she was wavering on her feet, that blood was once again soaking through the bandage. She wavered on her feet again, and he steadied her. “You need to go—”
“Dad?”
He unmuted the call, waved to Anna, who came over and grabbed Angie’s shoulder. “Yeah, bud?”
“There’s a police car here.”
“Let me talk to them.”
He spoke to them briefly, confirming their identities and which station he would meet them at. By the time he hung up, a good five minutes had passed.
Max turned around, wanting to find Angie. To tell her that—
She was gone.
Only Anna was there.
“Where’s—?”
Anna shook her head. “Hospital. She wouldn’t let me come.” She shoved him. “But, and here’s some real talk, asshole, I know you were panicked, but she was worried sick and hurting, and you screamed at her then ordered her to leave.”
“I—”
“Didn’t you tell me that you love her? Didn’t you tell her that?” Anna sighed. “You didn’t think that maybe couples who love each other try to work things out together? You didn’t think that maybe she might need some comfort, too?”
“Fuck, Anna. Brayden was gone, and I—”
“Acted like an asshole instead of a rational adult trying to figure out a terrifying situation.”
“You know what?” he said as an officer came over and told him they could take his patrol car to the station. “Why don’t you go home? Your priority should be Brayden. Not me.”
“Yeah,” she snapped. “Well, I think you demonstrated that fact very clearly to Angie.” A pause. “And maybe once you get your head out of your ass, you might find out how badly Angie was injured and make sure the woman you supposedly love is okay.”
“Fuck off,” he growled. He’d seen she was cut on her head and needed stitches.
He’d had more than his share of sutures. They weren’t the end of the world.
“No. I think you meant fuck you.”
And with that, Anna got in her car and drove away.