I chuckle and kiss his cheek with finality.
“As tempting as that is, it’s Cal’s ringtone.”
I haul myself to stand and rush toward the staircase and up the steps. I only told my boss that I needed a few days away and my team is more than capable of holding down the proverbial fort while I’m away. We’ve got a lot of off-season deals in the works, though. I can’t ghost completely on my clients. This could be something I should handle myself.
Or maybe Zo told him he’s leaving Bagley because I can’t, in his words, keep my legs closed. That would be a much more embarrassing scenario, but I’m prepared for either.
“Hey, Cal,” I reply, winded from racing to catch the call. “What’s up?”
“Where the hell are you?” he demands immediately, discarding social graces.
“I told you I was taking a little time off.” I pick up a pillow from the bed we’ve made love in so many times this week I’ve lost count . The pillow smells of Jared’s clean, addictive scent.
“Yeah, well it’s really bad timing since your biggest client is in the hospital while you’re off smelling the roses or whatever the hell you’re doing.”
I go stock still, the pillow pressed to my face and Jared’s scent still in my nose.
“What’d you say?” The question stumbles over my tongue and out of my mouth. “Which client? Who?”
“Zo. Who else would be your biggest client?”
“Zo?” I can barely breathe deeply enough to push out his name.
Jared appears at the door, leaning one shoulder against the frame with folded arms and a frown.
“Yes, Zo, Banner. Where the hell is your head?”
“What’s . . . what’s wrong? Where is he?”
“Like I said he’s in the hospital,” Cal replies, a touch of impatience evident in his answer. “Has been for three days.”
“Three days? In a hospital?” I shout, confusion, frustration, and anger infighting as I try to get answers. “Zo hates hospitals.”
Ever since he sat in that waiting room while all his family died one by one, he has avoided hospitals at all costs. The thought of him lying in a hospital alone for three days . . .
“What happened?” I demand.
“Apparently, he was up in Vancouver for some standard off-season stuff. They had him doing a stress test when he passed out.”
Zo has never passed out in the ten years I’ve known him, not even from the excruciating pain of his torn ACL.
“The team thought we should know, so they called the office,” Cal says.
“Why didn’t they call me immediately?” Frustration sharpens my tone. “They’re supposed to.”
“Zo told them not to.” Cal’s curiosity crackles across the line. “What the hell is going on, Banner? If you two are having some kind of lover’s quarrel, I don’t need to know, but if this shit is affecting business, you need to fix it.”
“I’ve got everything under control.”
My reply sounds certain despite the chaos my life is spinning into. Jared’s face is stone as he listens to my side of the conversation. Cal’s questions, demands, and thinly-veiled threats nip at me over the phone. And somewhere in a Vancouver hospital, my best friend has suffered alone in what he would consider his personal hell. Nothing is under my control, especially not my galloping heartbeat or the trepidation and anxiety roiling inside.
“You better,” Cal warns. “Get up there, figure out what the hell is going on, and report back.”
He hangs up, and I stare at the phone for a few seconds, immobilized by worry and shock.
“Zo’s in the hospital?” Jared asks softly from his spot at the door.
“Yes.” I swallow tears and choke back all the questions and fears fighting for a way out. Jared is not the person I should talk to about Zo. He can’t be. I walk over to the closet, drag my suitcase out, and start tossing clothes in, not even paying attention to what I’m packing.