Soft moaning greets my ears, and I stand stock still as I stare at the door Mark just disappeared through. Brian groans softly, and I’m faced with a decision—another in a long string of them. Each one I’ve made lately seems to be the wrong one, and I’m certain whatever I do this time won’t yield a different result.
Do I help the man bleeding from the face all over the rooftop?
Or do I go back down to the man who just beat the shit out of his brother in some convoluted attempt to defend my honor?
My heart longs for Mark, needs to talk to him about everything that just happened, wants to make sure he’s okay after losing his grandfather, his brother, and me—all in very different ways and all in the span of a few hours.
I’m so fraught with confusion that the thought enters my mind that maybe he didn’t lose me in that equation.
But the girl from Sevens...the pictures he admitted were real. The words he said about how I’m better off without him.
Those take up the forefront of my mind. And then my brain registers that the man on the ground moaning in drunken pain probably requires medical attention.
Despite the confession Brian just made to his brother that he never loved me, that he only pursued a relationship with me because he wanted revenge on his brother, I can’t just leave a man bleeding all over the ground. My conscience won’t allow it even if I believe he got what he deserved.
Deep down, though, I can’t truly believe what he said to his brother was true. I refuse to believe he’s so bent on revenge that he’d use me in such an evil way for such a long time. He’s related to Mark and Lizzie, and they’re good people—there must be some good somewhere inside him.
He’s drunk. He’s hurting—his grandfather died and his girlfriend cheated on him with his brother. He said things he’ll regret in the morning—we all might’ve.
I take my time dialing my phone for emergency services. It’s hard to feel bad for Brian when I’m battling my own internal rage over his words.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
My immediate instinct is to protect Mark. “I found a man badly beaten. He needs medical help.”
“Is he breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Is he conscious?”
I glance down at the drunk man moaning on the ground. “Yes.”
“Can you give me an address and a callback number?”
I give the dispatcher the information, and then she asks the one question I’m not real sure how to answer.
“What suite number?”
I can’t say we’re on the roof. Despite the confusion clouding my head, one thing is clear. Mark is the only tenant with access, and he’ll immediately be brought in for questioning. That’ll be all over the news in seconds.
“He’s, um...down near the front entrance.” I’ll figure out a way to get him there before they arrive.
“What happened?”
“Uh,” I say, stalling as I form a lie. “I don’t know.”
“An ambulance is on its way.” She asks more questions, but I’m trying to figure out how the hell to get him off this roof. He’s still conscious, but he’s definitely drunk and there’s blood everywhere as it pours out of his nose and from his lip. I get off the phone and glance around.
Part of me wants to go get Mark and tell him to clean up his own damn mess, but he shouldn’t. He’s got too much to lose and there’s too much at stake for him to get involved, especially now that I’ve called the paramedics.
“Brian,” I say. He groans. I step over toward him. “Brian?” I repeat. I nudge him a little with my foot, leery to get too close to the blood pooling around him.
I hate seeing him like this. This is the man I thought I was in love with, the man I thought owned my heart, the one I started picturing a future with. This is the man I thought was the secure, safe, logical choice. Yet here he lies on the ground, suddenly not at all the man I thought he was, and despite everything that’s happened, my heart breaks a little more.
I kneel beside him. He looks worse up close than he did from a few feet away, and I fight the nausea I feel at the sight of all this blood glistening in the moonlight way too close to me.
“Can you stand up?” I ask, keeping my voice soft. “I’m gonna get you some help, but I need you to stand up. I need you to help me.”
He grunts out some unintelligible sound. I pull on his arm, but I think he might’ve passed out. I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol or from the beating he just got. I look around desperately, hopeful there might be something up here that can help me but sure there isn’t as my heart races.
I yank on his arm some more. If I can drag him over to the elevator, I can get him downstairs and off this godforsaken rooftop.
I pull on his arm as hard as I can, but he barely budges. He’s deadweight and I don’t have the strength to move him.
I text Mark because I don’t know what else to do, who else to contact, where else to turn.
Me: I need to get him off the roof. I need your help.
I wait all of three seconds before I realize he’s not going to respond. Of course he won’t. He’s not just pissed at his brother for what he did—he’s hurting because of everything that went down today, and the way he sees it, Brian got exactly what he deserved.
Protecting Mark right now is the least I can do.
Lizzie.
Her name pops into my head as the answer. She’s the only person I can think to call.
“Reese?” she answers.
“Lizzie, I need your help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Mark beat the shit out of Brian and we’re on Mark’s roof. Brian’s drunk and passed out and I called an ambulance and I don’t know how to get him off the roof.”
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “When did you call the ambulance?”
“Just now.”
“Okay, listen carefully. I’ll call Vinny. Stay out of it. Go down to Mark’s condo right now. You shouldn’t be there when the ambulance shows.”
“Why not?”
“We’re wasting time. I need to call Vinny.”
She cuts the call and I stand there wondering what the hell just happened. I can’t just leave him here all alone. Who knows how much he had to drink? Who knows the extent of his injuries? He needs someone with him. As much as I hate him for using me—and keeping Mark and me apart—he’s still a human being, and my sympathy wins.
I stay with him until my phone rings.
I glance at the screen before I answer. “Lizzie, what’s going on?”
“Vinny was down in Mark’s lobby. He’s on his way up.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m serious, Reese. Don’t go to the hospital. Get out of there. Let Vinny handle it.”
Why? I want to scream the single word, but I’m desperate for a solution to this huge problem. “As soon as he gets up here, I’ll go back to Mark’s place.”
“Is he okay?”
“Brian? I think so. He’s bleeding a lot and smells like a bar, but I think he’ll be okay.”
“Physical wounds will heal. I was talking about Mark.”
“Oh.” My heart bleeds for Mark. “I don’t know. He took off.”
“What happened?”
“Brian stumbled up here and spouted a bunch of shit to Mark about how he’s been using me because he knew Mark had feelings for me after our one night together.”
“Are you serious?”
I don’t respond—I can’t, because the elevator doors open and Vinny comes barreling out of it. “I’ll call you back,” I say in to the phone.
I end the call. “Over here,” I yell, and Vinny runs across the rooftop toward us.
“This was Mark’s doing?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Good work,” he says as he looks down at Brian for a minute and admires Mark’s handiwork. He raises both brows like he’s impressed. “He’ll be fine. I’ll take it from here.”
“Thank you, Vinny.” I have the urge to rush into his arms and hug him.
He doesn’t respond as he gets down and heaves Brian up over his shoulder. Blood splatters drip from his face as Vinny carries him over toward the elevator like he weighs nothing when I couldn’t even nudge his body to get him up.
Thank God for Vinny.