10 Years Later Part 15

"Can I help you?" I a.s.sumed they were looking for my dad, although his coworkers didn't usually stop by our house.

"Hi, Cammie. Is your mom at home?"

Curious, I squinted at them, wondering how in the world they knew my name. "I'll go get her," I said, then closed the door behind me and called out, "Mom, there's two cops at the door. I figured they were looking for Dad, but they asked for you."

I rounded the corner into the kitchen as the metal spatula Mom had been holding dropped to the floor. It clanged loudly on the tile, rattling for a moment as it rocked back and forth before finally coming to a stop. It's a sound I'll never forget.

Still confused, I asked Mom if she was okay.

"Turn off the oven and the stove, please, Cammie." She wiped her hands on a towel, an expression on her face I'd never seen before. "I'll be right back." Her voice cracked, and she was the palest I'd ever seen her as she headed toward the front door.

Mom's odd reaction made my stomach twist with worry; something was definitely wrong. I turned everything off as she'd asked and rushed to the door just in time to see her fall to the floor in a heap. Her legs folded, and she simply collapsed on top of herself.

"We're so sorry, ma'am."

I looked up at the men as I dropped to the floor next to my mom, cradling her in my arms. "What happened? What's going on?" My gaze traveled between my mom's face as she cried hysterically, and their stoic ones. "Someone tell me what the h.e.l.l is going on!" I shrieked.

"Cammie, your father was shot and killed during a robbery," the older officer said slowly. He looked extremely uncomfortable, as if he'd rather be anywhere than here at this moment. Sadness etched his features as he twisted his cap in his hands, and he averted his eyes as he added, "He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Wrong place at the wrong time?" I repeated, thinking how weird that wording was. Dad was a cop, of course he'd be at a robbery. "I don't understand. What happened?"

My body went numb. I completely understood in this moment why my mom had crumpled to the floor as if her bones could no longer support her. Mine felt as if they'd cracked beneath the weight of his words.

The younger officer glanced at his partner, and when the man gave him a slight nod, he cleared his throat and tried to explain. "As far as we can tell, he was on his way home for the day. He stopped at a mini-mart in the area to pick up a bottle of wine. While he was in the back of the store, a man we've since learned is a local gang member stormed in with a gun and tried to rob the place."

The officer paused for a moment and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "This is where the details get sketchy, but it looks as though the robber tried to take a young girl hostage, and your dad tried to stop him. The sc.u.mbag shot your dad three times in the chest."

My mind imagined the scene as he explained it, but my brain got hung up on specific details, specific words. It was as though I couldn't possibly be expected to process all of this information without having my questions answered.

"How do you know he was getting wine?" I asked in a voice I almost didn't recognize as the two cops stared at me. "You said he stopped for wine. How do you know he was getting wine?"

"He put the bottle down on the floor when the robbery started. He was the only person in the back of the store."

That made sense. More questions. In the midst of my absolute heartbreak and horror, I was consumed with the need to have answers. "What happened to the girl?"

"Your dad saved her life. Who knows what that guy would have done if he'd gotten her outside with him. A lot of gang members have to do crazy things during their initiation. Kidnapping can be one of them."

"Where's the robber now? Did you catch him?"

The younger cop avoided my eyes as the older one maintained hard contact. "He got away. But we'll get him, Cammie. We'll find this a.s.shole. I promise you."

"Thanks." It was a stupid thing to say. Thanks? Who the f.u.c.k cared about thanks at a time like this?

"The station will be in touch. We're so sorry for your loss. He was a good cop," the younger officer said, his tone sincere.

"And a great man. I've known your dad for years," the older one added.

Glancing down at my mom, I noticed she hadn't moved from her fetal position on the floor of our foyer. Her body shook violently as she rocked back and forth. I wanted to fall apart myself, but how could I come undone when my mom was completely unraveled?

"Thanks for telling us," I said, then closed the door, uncaring if I was rude to them, but I couldn't care less at this point. I needed to get my mom off the floor.

"Mom. Mom, let's get up. Please get up."

I'd locked my arms under hers as I tried to lift her, but she wouldn't budge and I hadn't been strong enough. By the time I'd finally gone to bed that night, she was still in the exact same place, in the same position as right after she'd gotten the news.

a a a "Okay," Dr. Patel said, nodding with understanding. "Well, that's most likely where the panic attack stemmed from."

"Was I dying?" I asked, because it sure as h.e.l.l seemed like it. "It felt like I was having a heart attack."

She patted my arm and smiled at me. "That's completely normal. Most patients who have them report those very feelings and emotions."

The doctor's voice and words were meant to soothe me, I knew that, but they did little to calm me. I didn't want to have panic attacks every time I worried about Dalton.

Kristy stood up from the visitor's chair and stepped toward the bed. "So, what do we do going forward? She can't go through that again."

Dr. Patel pulled a pad and a pen from the pocket of her white coat, scribbling away as she said, "I'll give you a prescription for something that you can take if you feel an attack coming on. I don't think you need to take this long term, or on days when you're feeling perfectly fine."

I nodded in complete agreement. The last thing I wanted was to get addicted to any kind of prescription medication. I didn't use recreational drugs, and on the rare occasion that I drank, it was only a gla.s.s or two of wine. The idea of having to take something every day to ward off potential anxiety attacks scared me.

"So, are the symptoms always the same?" I asked. "I mean, how will I know when it's happening again?" The thought of going through another attack like this made me shudder.

"You'll know. You'll recognize the feelings." Dr. Patel seemed confident in her a.s.sessment. "And as soon as they start, just take one of these and everything will start to level off again. But if this doesn't help"-she waved the prescription pad in the air-"or your attacks get worse, I want you to call me."

"Okay. Thank you," I said as I took the prescription from the doctor's hand and silently hoped I'd never have to call her again.

Where the h.e.l.l Is He.

Cammie.

I was released from the hospital that evening when my vitals had returned to normal and I felt confident enough to go. That whole experience had been terrifying for me.

After Kristy drove me home, walked me inside, and tucked me into bed with the TV on, she made a couple of phone calls and worked out getting my car back to the condo complex. She also had my prescription filled. She was an angel disguised as a sa.s.sy legal-interning devil.

"Thank you so much for doing that," I told her once she returned from picking up my car. "And thanks for staying here with me."

She tossed her overnight bag on my bedroom floor and hopped onto my bed. "Not a problem. But don't ever do that s.h.i.t to me again. That was so scary, seeing you like that."

I sucked in a deep breath, thankful that I now could. "I was terrified; there's just no other word for it. I never want to go through that again. I can't believe some people have those all the time."

"Not that I want to trigger you into another one, but any word from Dalton?" she asked hesitantly.

I glanced at my phone again, already knowing the answer. "No. Nothing."

"What the f.u.c.k?" she spat out as my eyes instantly teared up. "I don't understand this. At all."

Blinking back my tears, I shrugged. "The only thing I can think of is that something bad has happened. Why else would he disappear on me like that? He wouldn't, would he?"

"No, of course not."

"Then where is he?" I choked out as a stubborn tear slid down my cheek.

Kristy scooted closer and flung an arm around me. "I don't know," she whispered.

"I can't do this." I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that the darkness would numb the worry and the pain.

"Do what?" she asked as she leaned her head against mine.

"I just don't think I can do this with Dalton. a.s.suming, of course, that he's not lying in a ditch somewhere." I wiped at my tears. "I just don't think I'm the kind of person who can date a cop."

When my dad was killed, I had been forever branded. Death always marked those left behind, but when that death was a murder, it left additional scars. I'd dealt with those, and for the most part, been fine. But in all the years since, I'd never once been filled with such sheer panic and terror. I'd never really experienced just how emotionally messed up I could be because of my dad's occupation and the way he died.

But now, knowing that Dalton did this sort of thing for a living, I was shoved so deep into emotional turmoil that I didn't know how to dig myself out. Emotions I didn't know I was capable of came to life. Fears, concerns, general terror-all things I didn't have to live with on a daily basis because I had never dated a cop before now.

What happened tonight clearly showed me I couldn't handle it. For as strong as I was, I was not strong enough to deal with this; I just wasn't equipped. Panic attacks and the need for medication were pretty good indicators of my inability to take this all in stride.

My mind whirling, I'd almost forgotten Kristy was there until she spoke up.

"Remember when we put that sticker on him at the grocery store?"

"We?" I forced a small smile as the memory came rushing back. "That was all you."

a a a "Look, Cammie," Kristy had said way too loudly as we walked into the grocery store where Dalton worked. I'd glanced over in the direction she was staring and felt my insides soften and go gooey, just like they did every time I looked at him. He looked so hot in his white b.u.t.ton-down shirt and jeans as he stacked the produce.

"Hey, Dalton!"

When Kristy shouted at him, he turned around, wiping his hands on the front of the black ap.r.o.n his boss made him wear. "Hey, Kristy. Hey, Cammie." He smiled at us as we neared.

"You're always working," Kristy said with a mock pout.

Dalton shrugged. "And you're never working. Do you even have a job?" he shot back at my best friend, and I fought back a laugh.

"I do not, as a matter of fact, because I'm spoiled and my parents said I don't have to," she said with a head nod, and Dalton nodded back.

"Nice. Well, unlike you, I have to work." He looked between the two of us as the silence stretched out.

I shifted uncomfortably before practically stuttering, "Um, it was good to see you, Dalton, but we have to grab some salad dressing for my mom before she kills us." I stared into his green eyes, the color of them fascinating me like they usually did.

"Aisle eleven. See you girls later."

He turned to finish unpacking and stacking fresh produce as Kristy reached for a single piece of fruit. She peeled something from it, then gave Dalton a friendly pat on his back. He looked back at her and smiled, and she grinned at me as I squinted to see what the h.e.l.l she'd done.

When Dalton turned back to his work, on the back of his shirt was an oval sticker that simply proclaimed the word RIPE in all capital letters.

As in well done.

Ready for picking. And eating.

And I couldn't agree more.

Dalton Thomas was as RIPE as they came, and I wanted a bite.

a a a "Kristy, where is he? I know I keep asking the same question, but if something really did happen to him, how would I ever find out? It's not like I'm his girlfriend or anything. No one in his life even knows I exist." I threw my hands up in the air before running them through my hair. "No one would think to call me. What am I supposed to do?" Tears filled my eyes again and I hated myself for it, but not knowing Dalton was safe was driving me crazy.

Kristy patted my head, smoothing my hair to relax me. "I don't know where he is, but I'll make some calls. I can check the local hospitals to make sure he hasn't been admitted, and look online for news reports about incidents involving cops. I'll try my best, okay?"

I breathed out a small sigh of relief as I realized that wasn't something I could even fathom handling right now. In a matter of hours, I'd been reduced to someone who could barely handle the idea of being left alone with all of these questions and no answers.

"Did you take the pill the doctor gave you to help you sleep?" Kristy asked, her eyes fixed on the reality TV show playing.

"Not yet. Should I?"

"I think you should. It will stop your mind from racing and thinking all these crazy thoughts."

"They're not crazy thoughts," I said, wanting to argue with her, but then stopped myself. Grabbing my phone, I glanced at it again. Still nothing.

So I typed out another text to him: Cammie: I really hope you're okay. Please be okay.

"If you don't take it, I will," she teased.

"Oh, as if you need anything to help you sleep. You're the most sound sleeper I've ever met in my life."

She smiled as if sleeping through everything was a superpower. "Isn't it awesome?"

"Not when I'm trying to wake you up," I said, remembering all the times that Kristy simply refused to awaken from her Sleeping Beauty slumber when we were teens. I used to wonder how her alarm clock radio seemed to do the trick during the school week, but nothing else worked any other time. She claimed that her brain knew when she had to wake up and when she didn't, but I think she was full of it.

"I'll go get you some water so you can take the pill. It will help." She pushed up from the bed.

"And you'll make those calls?" I asked, wondering why she wasn't already pounding away on her laptop.

"I will once you're asleep. If I start doing it now, you'll stay awake pestering me," she yelled from the kitchen, where I heard her rummaging through the fridge.

She was right. And since I felt completely helpless, I decided that taking the sleeping pill was the best thing I could do to slow my brain down and attempt to give it some rest.

As Kristy set a gla.s.s of water next to me, I swallowed the pill and hoped for a night filled with only pleasant dreams, if any.

a a a When I woke up the next morning, I blinked my eyes once.

Twice.

Kristy was in bed next to me. Why was she here?

Three times.