Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

horses. There was just the panic, the fear, the need to escape, all of it swamping his need for Denver, a yearning that kept lifting its head to the surface.
    “Adam, I’m on my way.” The steel in Denver’s voice felt so good. Adam shut his eyes and clung to it. “I’m hanging up and calling 911, and I’m on my way.”
    “No! Please, don’t go!” Adam hoped he wasn’t sobbing. Not like it mattered, since he had to be nearly dead by now anyway.
    I don’t want to die. I want to be with Denver.
    “Jesus,” Brad whispered above him. “Shit, this one is really bad.”
    Adam met Brad’s eyes, pleading. “Call 911 so I don’t have to hang up on him.”
    “Who are you talking to?” Denver demanded.
    It hurt to talk, but Adam made himself. “Brad.”
    Brad crouched down. “I’ll call, honey, but you have to stop—”
    “Tell that fucker to call 911, or I’ll be calling it for him ,” Denver bit off.
    Another wave of panic hit, this one making Adam curl into a ball, the pain in his chest so bad, echoing the pain in his head now, and when it passed enough that he could fumble for his phone, Denver was gone.
    “ No ,” he cried, trying to dial the number again. He tried again and again, his fingers always fumbling, the freight train in his head rushing louder and louder until he couldn’t live in the real world anymore, could only curl into a ball, into the panic, its screaming fury and promise of fatality the only security life had left to provide.

    Denver had never moved so fast in his life.
    He didn’t run any stoplights, but other than that he drove like he was auditioning for a Hollywood chase scene, squealing around corners and weaving through traffic, occasionally across the center line in his desperation to get to East Cent. The dispatcher kept him on the line almost all the way to the university, asking questions about Adam, his health history, and, Denver knew, keeping him occupied and calm as well.
    “All I know is that he said he was dying,” Denver said again, when the dispatcher kept fishing for health issues beyond OCD and anxiety. “I don’t know of what, but he sounded like he believed it.”
    “Is he alone?”
    Denver thought of Brad, his smug idiot face smirking down at a bleeding Adam in his mind’s eye, and then he did run a red light. “I don’t know. Someone was with him, but I don’t trust him for shit, to be perfectly honest.”
    “Do you believe this individual harmed Adam in any way?”
    “I don’t know.” Desperation gripped Denver’s chest so tight that he hurt. “I honestly don’t know. I wouldn’t peg him as the type, but I don’t know. All I have for you is what I told you. Adam said he was dying and that Brad was there with him. If Brad’s still there and he’s in any way responsible, you might want the police there so I don’t kill him .”
    “I understand you’re concerned for your friend, Mr. Rogers,” the dispatcher said, moving into her soothing voice.
    “My boyfriend,” Denver corrected sharply. “And yes, I’m concerned. Can you actually die of an anxiety attack?”
    “We’re doing everything we can to help your boyfriend, sir. The paramedics are heading up the stairs to the entomology lab now. I’ll keep you posted.”
    “ Can he actually be dying? ”
    The dispatcher sounded like her patience was beginning to fray. “Sir, it’s illegal for me to dispense medical advice.”
    Denver could see the college up ahead but not the emergency vehicle lights. They’d be buried inside the university walkways, which reminded Denver of an important point: he had no fucking idea where he was going to park.
    “They’re with your boyfriend now, Mr. Rogers.”
    “Is he okay?” Denver scanned the campus. He was one green space away from the lab, but he’d have to drive two blocks to the back parking lot, for which he didn’t have a permit.
    “He’s stable, yes, sir. Please remain calm.”
    Fuck calm. “I’m almost there. Thanks for your help.”
    “Sir—” But the rest of her plea was lost, because Denver hung up the phone.
    Then he turned onto the green, cranked his truck into four-wheel-drive even though it was dramatic and unnecessary, and aimed himself straight at the entomology building.

The paramedics were bringing Adam down the stairs as Denver swerved back onto the road. He parked in a fire lane, leapt out of the truck, and headed straight for the stretcher.
    “Is he okay?” Denver demanded, eyes only for Adam.