She tried Owen’s number, and it was ringing when Owen’s Porsche came careening up the road. He parked haphazardly at an awkward angle on the parking lot, and the doors were thrown open, spilling out Owen and the band. Owen caught her up against him, pressing his face into her hair.
“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Oh, f-k, Em. Oh, f-k.”
“She is okay,” the policewoman assured him.
“What happened?”
Emily began to cry, the relief of his arrival releasing the tension within her in a flood of tears, and suddenly she was bawling like a baby and trembling with it.
“Shit, Em,” he pulled her against his chest again. “You are shaking. It is okay, babe, it is okay.”
The policewoman began to ask the band questions and James answered as the ambulance officers moved Emily into the back of the ambulance. Owen got into the passenger seat as they closed the doors.