Outside of the club, Rhys didn’t know Angelo well enough to know if that was true, but he’d seen him unwell before. A distant night a few years ago flashed into his mind: Angelo stumbling along the pavement, face pale, glassy eyes, his legs too weak to hold him up.
Perspective returned and the paramedic in Rhys kicked in. “Okay. I’m leaving now. Text me the address and I’ll call you when I’ve found him. And, Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“I fucking hate you sometimes.”
* * *
Rhys pounded on Angelo and Dylan’s front door. A friendly neighbour had squinted at Rhys’s paramedic ID and opened the exterior doors, but so far, there’d been no response from Angelo.
“Perhaps he’s not here?”
Jevon leaned on the wall. He’d come with Rhys, despite being offered little explanation of where they were going. Of course he had. And it was only his calming presence that was keeping Rhys tied to the ground as his mind raced.Harry knows Angelo. And Dylan.And he knew I did too.
It didn’t make any sense, but it wasn’t important right now. Rhys hammered on the door again, then dropped to his knees and opened the letter box. The flat beyond was dark and quiet.Too quiet. Concern gnawed at Rhys’s gut. Despite an active playmate connection, he’d never been as close to Angelo as he was to Dylan, but the prickly feeling on the back of his neck told him something was wrong.
He straightened up and glanced around the lobby. A lamp plugged into the mains caught his attention. He ripped it from the wall and disconnected the cable.
Jevon’s eyes widened. “Whoa. What are you doing?”
“Breaking in.”
“Do I want to know how you know how to do that?”
“Probably not. Can you hold the letter box open?”
Jevon shook his head but moved to help Rhys anyway. He held the letter box open while Rhys jammed his arm through and hooked the cable over the handle inside.
It took a few tries, but eventually, the lock clicked and the door opened. Rhys dropped the cable and pushed inside, jogging through the dark flat without waiting to see if Jevon followed.
A quick scout of the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom found them empty. Rhys was coming down the hallway again when Jevon called out.
“Rhys, man. He’s in here.”
Rhys hurried into the living room and found Angelo on the couch, sprawled out with one arm dangling limply off the side. “Shit.”
“He’s so cold,” Jevon said.
He moved out of the way as Rhys pushed past to touch two fingers to Angelo’s neck. A strong pulse greeted him—thank god—but the pallor in Angelo’s usually olive complexion was terrifying. The slackness in his limbs. His ice cold fingers as Rhys squeezed his hand and shook his chest.
“Angelo? Come on, mate. Wake up.” For a long moment, nothing happened, then a faint groan escaped Angelo in a scratchy whoosh of air. His eyes twitched, and Rhys kept shaking him until they flickered open. “Angelo? It’s Rhys. Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”
Angelo’s bloodshot eyes held no recognition. His blank gaze drifted to Jevon, and nothing changed.
Rhys squeezed his hands harder and tried again. “Angelo, mate? It’s Rhys. I need you to wake up for me, okay?”
Finally, awareness seeped into Angelo’s face. He blinked, then his eyes widened a touch. “Rhys?”
“Yup. It’s me. Can you sit up?”
“Wha—what are you doing here?”
“Welfare check. You’ve got some people pretty worried about you. Where’s your phone?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“I’ll look for it.” Jevon got up and left the room.