Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(71)

But even though my mind is telling me to dismiss it, my body refuses. The hair rises on the back of my neck. I can feel it overtake me. My life just changed, and I don’t know how.

“Blake,” Tina says. “I…”

It’s nothing, I tell myself. I turn back to Tina. But that sense of wrongness is too strong, too powerful, like my subconscious is reaching out and shaking me awake.

Fuck.

“Hold onto whatever you were going to say.”

And that’s when I hear something else. It’s a low sound that I can’t classify. I try to tell myself that it could be anything: a raccoon in the backyard or a coyote slinking through from the hills.

But I know it isn’t any of those things. It’s instinct operating here, but I grew up in this house. I’ve fallen asleep listening to its creaks and moans all my life. And right now, the sounds all feel wrong. The moment isn’t just gone; it’s smashed to irretrievable bits. I push back the covers and pull on a pair of boxers and then jeans.

“Blake?” Tina’s watching me, her eyebrows knitting into worried lines.

“Something’s wrong,” I tell her, and that sounds right, even though I have no idea what is going on.

She doesn’t ask what. She doesn’t say anything. She just scrambles into jeans and a shirt and follows me downstairs.

A light is on in the kitchen; it casts a warm glow on the stairs, but for some reason, it just chills me. Something is wrong; I know it, even if I don’t know what. I hurry. Tina’s slippers slap on the stairs behind me, but I rush ahead.

Shards of ceramic greet me, spread over the marble floor. That’s when I realize how my subconscious knew something was wrong. There was something I didn’t hear. Dad’s a neat freak. If he dropped a glass, I should have heard him cleaning up afterward.

I didn’t. And I don’t see him now. Not at first.

Then I hear him. It’s a repeat of the second noise I heard—a low moan, followed by the catch of breath. I pick my way among the glass shards, making my way around the gleaming island of black marble. My heart is pounding. I don’t want to think what is happening. I can’t.

Dad is there. He’s lying on the floor.

For a moment, it doesn’t make any sense to me. Why the f*ck is he on the floor? What’s going on? And then I see his hand, clenched hard. Beads of sweat are popping out on his forehead. His skin is pale; his teeth are gritted.

“Dad?”

Behind me, Tina comes into the kitchen. She looks around, slowly. “Oh my God,” she says. “Blake. Call 911.”

“Don’t.” Dad grates the word out.

She’s already looking around for some kind of a phone. “Don’t be an idiot,” she snaps. “Something’s obviously wrong.” Her gaze lands on his phone on the counter. She grabs it and swipes at the screen. “What’s your passcode? Oh, wait. Never mind. The emergency call still works.”

“No. Call my f*cking doctor.” Dad pushes up to a sitting position. “He’s handled this before. There’s an emergency contact screen—you should be able to find his contact info without the passcode…”

“What the f*ck, Dad?” I ask. “What do you mean, before?”

“I had a little arrhythmia a few weeks ago,” he admits. “Bad enough that I was a little shaken. Nothing like this, though.”

I stare at him. “You’ve been having heart problems and you didn’t tell me?”

“Your doctor is Kevin Wong?” Tina is asking.

“Yeah,” Dad says to Tina, ignoring me. “Kevin. That’s him. He lives two streets over. He can be here before the paramedics. And he’ll make sure we get in front of the narrative. God knows what the f*cking ambulance drivers will say if they get here before Kevin can tell them what to think.”

“Narrative?” I say. “You’re having a heart attack and you’re worried about what the public will think?”

But inside I’m screaming. This is exactly what happened to Peter—exactly. Heart attack. Just before a launch. I can’t lose Dad, not like this.

Dad shakes his head. “It’s not what you think.”

“What,” I ask him, “you’re not having a heart attack?”

Tina speaks swiftly into the phone. I tell myself it’s going to be okay. Someone will be here soon, someone who will be able to fix this. They’ll make it all better.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He shuts his eyes. “I’m only having a heart attack, Blake. That’s all that’s happening, right? That’s what we have to make sure everyone thinks.”

I don’t understand what he’s saying at first. Tina sets the phone down. She doesn’t look at me. She looks at my dad, looks at him as if she’s seeing him for the first time.

“How long…” Her voice shakes. She lets out a long breath. “How long,” she finally asks, “have you been doing cocaine?”

For a second, I don’t know what to say. It’s f*cking ridiculous to even consider. My dad wouldn’t…wouldn’t…

I lift my head. It’s on the counter. A fine dust of white powder glistens in poisonous contrast to the gleaming marble. It sits next to a plastic bag filled with a white substance.