The bubble of hope inside her deflated, replaced by a crushing sense of distress. If Quinn was here to talk to her, it couldn’t be good. Especially since she was positive this visit had nothing to do with the band’s social media presence and everything to do with its drummer.
“Of course, Rudolfo,” she answered as dread settled in her stomach. “Send him right up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she waited for Quinn to take the elevator up, she switched back to her brother. “I have to go.”
“Is Wyatt there?” he asked, voice rich with satisfaction.
“That’s none of your business,” she retorted.
“Excuse me? I’m the one who sent you there—”
“You’re also the one who threw Shaken Dirty to the wolves this morning, so as far as I’m concerned, you’ve lost any voice you might have had in how I handle things.”
“But, wait. I thought—”
“Looks like you thought wrong. Good-bye, Caleb.”
Hanging up on him might have given her more satisfaction if she weren’t so close to totally and completely freaking out about Wyatt. Slumping against the nearest wall, she took several deep breaths and tried to get her panic under control before Quinn showed up at her door. Losing it now wasn’t going to help anything.
Besides, for all she knew, Wyatt was safe at Ryder’s house and Quinn was just here to chat with a label rep about everything that had gone down in the kitchen today.
Yeah, and a sparkly pink unicorn was about to take up residence in her kitchen, too…
She was so nervous that she nearly leaped out of her skin when an impatient knock sounded at her door. Crossing the room, she flung the door open and found herself staring at a Quinn Bradford she had never seen before, even with all the years she’d been following Shaken Dirty. Totally serious and completely stressed out, he all but shoved his way into her apartment the second she opened the door.
“Is he here?” he asked, glancing around a little wildly.
The last little smidgen of hope she’d been holding on to abandoned her in a rush. “No, he’s not.” She didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“About half an hour after you left.”
“But that was hours ago!”
“Believe me, I know. We’ve been looking for him everywhere—”
“Define everywhere?” she asked, suddenly a lot more sick to her stomach.
The grim set of Quinn’s mouth told her he knew exactly how she felt. “All his usual haunts. Between us, we’ve covered his apartment, his favorite bars, his dealer’s house. Shit, Ryder and Jared have spent the last hour combing every bar on Sixth Street, and he’s nowhere to be found.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she said. “If he’s not drinking—”
“Oh, he’s drinking or smoking or shooting up. He was not in good shape when he left us.”
The absolute certainty in his voice had her mind racing and her blood running cold. “He can’t! I’ve spent the last few hours trying to figure out a way to fix this mess. If he relapses—”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
“So why’d you let him go, then?” She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but come on. It was a no brainer. When the drug addict was having a bad day, the last thing you did was leave him on his own.
You left him, the little voice inside her head reminded her.
Yeah, but she had left him in what she’d thought were his friends’ capable hands. She couldn’t babysit him twenty-four seven, especially not when it was her father who had set him off to begin with. She’d left because he’d asked her to, and because she’d been certain the other guys would take care of him.
Well, that was a lesson learned. Never trust three emotionally stunted men to do a woman’s job.
“We didn’t let him go,” Quinn corrected her. “He took off, and short of chasing him down on my motorcycle—which would only have fucked him up more—we didn’t have a hell of a lot of options.” Still, his tone told her he was asking himself the very same question. Or, more precisely, torturing himself with it.