One More Night/ A Jordan Knight Fanfic✔️

51

Fifty-One

Soft moaning greets my ears, and I stand stock still as I stare at the door Jordan just disappeared through. Donnie 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 best friend in some convoluted attempt to defend my honor?

My heart longs for Jordan, needs to talk to him about everything that just happened, wants to make sure he's okay after losing his grandfather, his best friend, 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 Donnie just made to his best friend that he never loved me, that he only pursued a relationship with me because he wanted revenge on his best friend, 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 best friend 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 best friend to Jordan and related to 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 best friend. 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 Donnie when I'm battling my own internal rage over his words.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

My immediate instinct is to protect Jordan. "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. Jordan 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.