“Maybe it’s important?” she asked quietly.
“Shit.” I gently pushed her off my lap and got up, walking across the room to get my phone. I didn’t recognize the number but answered anyways.
“Yeah, this is Wes.”
“M-Mr. Kirby?” The female voice on the other end sounded young.
“Yeah, who is this?” I tapped my foot impatiently.
“M-my n-name is…Britney. I’m, um…” She sniffled. “I’m, uh, I’m Ben and Lauren’s b-babysitter.”
Was Ben and Lauren’s babysitter crying? Better yet, why was she calling me? I was hella confused. “Are the kids okay? Where are Ben and Lauren?”
She burst into tears. “I don’t know! Please, can you come over? The police are here and I was told to call you if I ever couldn’t reach them and now I don’t know what to do and—” She was crying so hard I could barely understand her.
“The police are there?” I was already zipping my jeans back up and feeling around for my keys. “Okay, I’m on my way. Don’t do anything until I get there.” I disconnected and whirled around to the gorgeous woman I’d abandoned on the couch. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what’s going on. The police are at my friends’ house and the babysitter is freaking right the fuck out.”
She looked a little suspicious. “You know, if you weren’t into me, you didn’t have to get one of your friends to call like that.”
I frowned. “Honey, if I wasn’t into you, I wouldn’t be here. Sorry, I really have to go.” I ran down the hall to the Emergency Exit stairs and took them down to the parking lot. I had no idea what was going on, but my best friend, Ben, and his wife, Lauren, had me as an emergency contact for them and their kids. Something was wrong.
Tonight was date night, according to Ben. He and Lauren tried to get a night away from three-year-old Annalise and six-month-old Benny once a month. Assuming the professional hockey team we played for, the St. Louis Mavericks, was in town and we had time off. We didn’t get much of that during hockey season, but that was why he went out of his way to make time for his wife.
They were probably my two favorite people in the world. Ben and I played for the Mavericks, but our friendship went all the way back to junior hockey. We’d been friends since we were fourteen and when he’d fallen in love with smart, sassy Lauren, I’d kind of fallen in love with her too. I was godfather to their children and we spent a lot of time together, both on and off the ice. So there was zero chance I wouldn’t go if they—or their babysitter—called.
At this time of night, it only took me about twelve minutes to arrive at their gated community, and I punched in the gate code since I was such a regular visitor. There was a police cruiser parked in front of the house and that scared me more than Britney’s phone call. I got out of my SUV and hurried to the front door, knocking briskly.
A uniformed officer opened the door and met my gaze questioningly. “Mr. Kirby?”
“Yeah. I’m Wes Kirby. What’s going on?”
Another officer came to the door and the two looked at me.
Something bad twisted through my chest, a feeling of foreboding, and I met their gazes directly. “What’s going on? Are the kids okay? Where’s Ben and Lauren?”
“There was a car accident,” the first officer said quietly. “Mr. Whitmer died on impact and Mrs. Whitmer died on the way to the hospital.”
“What?” I stared at them. “No. This has to be a mistake.”
“Mr. Kirby?” Britney came to the door, her eyes red and puffy. “Is it true?”
Now that she was standing there, I remembered meeting her a few times. She was a high school student who lived around the corner and the kids loved her. She helped Lauren sometimes when we were on the road too, so she could have a little time to herself.
“I don’t know anything yet, hon.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Are the kids sleeping?”
She nodded.
“Do you need to call your parents?”
“I just did.”
A moment later, a sleek black Mercedes pulled into the driveway and a couple who looked to be in their forties got out of the car. The woman ran forward, her eyes meeting mine in alarm.
“What’s happened? Where are Ben and Lauren? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” I was trying to breathe, trying to stay calm, because this didn’t feel real. There had to be a mistake.
“Officers, what’s happening here?” Britney’s dad was trying to play the tough guy, like being a badass was going to get us answers.
“Where are they?” I interrupted.
“They’re at County General,” the second officer said to me. “But—”
“I need to go there.” I turned to Britney’s mom. “I hate to ask, but could you please stay here with Britney and the kids so I can go figure out what the hell is happening?”