Tone Deaf(67)

Jace blinks at me a few times and squints, like he can’t figure out what I’m doing in his RV. “What? How . . . how many of what?” His words are slurred, and it’s nearly impossible to read his lips.

I let out a frustrated sigh and guide him toward the couch. He’s totally, utterly smashed. Tomorrow morning is so not going to be pleasant . . .

“Drinks,” I answer. “How many drinks did you have?”

He frowns deeply. “Drinks? None. Never.”

“Come on, Jace. You’re beyond drunk. How did you even get back like this?”

“Taxi,” he murmurs. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut as he leans back into the couch. “Light.”

“What about it?” I ask.

“Off.”

I roll my eyes, getting really sick of these one-word answers, but I flick the light off. “I’m going to get you some water. Just stay there, okay? You’ll fall if you get up again.”

He just squeezes his eyes closed tighter, and I have a feeling that I don’t have to worry about him moving for a long time. Shaking my head, I head into the kitchen and grab a cup for him. I force in a couple of deep breaths, trying to ward off my urge to try to lecture Jace. Sure, I hate being around drunk people, and, sure, Jace knows that. But if he wants to pollute his own body with that crap, I have no right to tell him he shouldn’t.

Although I do have the right to be upset with him. After our run-in with Tony, I could really use Jace’s comfort, not his drunken mumbling. Why did he have to pick tonight of all nights to get smashed?

As I’m filling the cup with ice, a strong vibration runs through the floorboards. I curse in frustration and hurry back toward the couches. Jace must have fallen. Idiot. Couldn’t he have just stayed put, like I asked him to?

I open my mouth to scold him, but choke on my words as I enter the living area. Jace is sprawled on the floor, convulsing. Every part of his body shakes violently. His eyes are open, but they’re rolled back and staring at nothing.

For a long moment, I just stand there, unable to move. Horror takes over my body and freezes my veins, rendering me useless. But then I realize I can’t be useless. I need to help Jace, and that means fighting my terror and doing something.

I step toward Jace and collapse on my knees next to him. Blood seeps from his mouth, and I realize his shaking has made him bite his tongue. I desperately rack my brain for any first-aid skills I know about seizures. Loosen clothing around the neck, don’t try to hold the person down, and . . .

Call 9-1-1.

I swallow hard. If an ambulance comes, they’ll see me, and they’ll turn me over to the police, who will drag me all the way back to Los Angeles.

But it doesn’t matter. I’m not just going to leave Jace like this. He needs an ambulance, and he needs one immediately.

I carefully remove his phone from his front pocket. His convulsing arm slams into my knee, and I shriek, shocked by how strong it is. Dammit. He’s shaking a hell of a lot harder than I thought.

I pick up the phone, and for one uncertain moment, I almost try calling 9-1-1 myself. But I won’t be able to hear the operator’s questions or any medical directions she gives me. And I’m using a cell phone, so tracking the location on it would take time. Time I don’t have. Shit, shit, shit. This isn’t going to work.

I take a shuddering breath, forcing myself to calm down. I can do this. I know I can. I just need to get someone over here to make the 9-1-1 call.

Opening up Jace’s messages, I quickly spot a group text thread that includes all the members of the band and Tony. My heart pounds desperately as I open up the thread and shakily type Jace having seizure. We’re in his RV. Call 9-1-1.

After I make sure the text goes through, I turn my attention back to Jace. His shaking isn’t stopping. My vision blurs, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m crying. I don’t bother to wipe away the tears.

“It’s going to be okay, Jace,” I whisper. I don’t know if he can hear me, or if he can even understand me through my tears, but I can’t hold in the words. “It’s going to be fine. Okay? Everything is going to be perfectly fine.”

I repeat those words over and over again, just like he did for me that night I woke up from a nightmare. His shaking slows and then stops, but his breathing is weak, and his eyes remain glazed and unseeing. I reach out with a trembling hand and trace his scar from the tip to the base.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I know it makes me crazy, but I love you. Okay? So hang in there. Please.”

I’m vaguely aware of strong arms wrapping around me, and for a single moment, I feel relief. But then I realize the arms don’t belong to Jace; they’re too rough and too skinny. I struggle against them, but they just keep pulling me back.

I blink to clear my vision, and look up to find Tony staring down at me, his eyes wide with panic and horror. Tony yells something, his mouth moving exaggeratedly as his fingers dig into my shoulder. I keep struggling, wanting to be back at Jace’s side. Then three men in paramedic uniforms burst into the RV with a stretcher. Flashing red and white lights seep in from the window, illuminating Jace’s pale skin in sickly colors. The paramedics quickly load Jace onto the stretcher and hurry him out of the RV.

Tony stops trying to restrain me and strides after the paramedics, his face a mask of fear and confusion. I try to follow him, but then a police officer barges in through the door. Tony points to me and snaps something, and the officer’s eyes grow wide as he recognizes my face.