Her entire body shifts—chin lifting, arms folding, spine snapping straight.“That’s none of your business, Barret.”
Another shrug.Too casual.“I just want to make sure he’s okay.Saw his picture in a few magazines.EchoZone ran something last week.”His jaw works for a beat.“There’s a rumor that he’s dead.You told me the other day he’s fine, but ...”
Okay, this guy has to go.She’s about to lose her shit.I don’t wait for her to respond.I walk to the back, find the Queen album he’s after, and shove it into his chest with more force than necessary.“Leave.This is on the house.”
“Kit,” he says—like my name tastes like regret.
“Just leave, Barret.We don’t need this shit right now.”I fold my arms, ready to tear him apart.“We don’t need you gloating in the store?—”
He glances over at Cleo, nearly horrified, as if it suddenly dawns on him what he said so casually.Then says, “Fuck, Kit.You really think I would gloat if my friend died?”
He’s obviously appalled by my suggestion.
“Sure, we had a nasty fight.Yeah, he fucked up the band.We kicked him out of the house.”He runs a hand down his face, fingers dragging like they’re trying to erase the guilt.“It had to be done.That doesn’t mean I wish him dead.We grew up together.I want him safe.And since I couldn’t fucking manage it then, maybe now that I’ve cleaned myself up, I could?—”
“You could help him?I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”I point at Cleo.“She’s dealing with a lot.Alone.She doesn’t need to add more shit to the equation.”
“Where are the other Wilders?”Barret’s eyes narrow.“They aren’t helping you?”
Cleo laughs—short, bitter.“It’s Roderick.What do you think?”
“They hope he burns in hell,” Barret answers.“Maybe then one of them will become Daddy’s new favorite.”He frowns, then glances at me.“Think you can look after the store, Kit?I want to take her out.Clear her head.”
“No.”Cleo crosses her arms.
“You know I’ll make it fun.”He softens, glancing at her with something that doesn’t belong in public.“We can call Eddie.”
A slow, dangerous smile appears when he mentions the former manager of the band.Eddie quit them long ago to become a wealthy entrepreneur.It paid better than babysitting his friends.
“Eddie?”Cleo’s lip lifts a little as if she’s trying to fight the smile.
“He loves when you’re around—we both do.”
Cleo blushes slightly, and the gazes they exchange make me wonder if there’s something else going on between them.Of course, I could be wrong, since Eddie is hanging out with them too—and Eddie seems to make her smile.What matters is that she needs a distraction, and Barret’s nothing if not willing to offer himself up for the cause.
“Go, Cleo.”I smile, barely.“He’ll take care of you.”
But I don’t let her go without warning.“Just don’t make her cry, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
He smirks and salutes.“No worries.I’ll be gentle with the lady ...unless she asks me not to.”
“I don’t need distractions.I have work to do,” Cleo claims.“Lola won’t be here until three to cover the store.”
“It’s okay.I don’t have classes until five,” I say, then remind her, “You’re a volunteer.Maybe you should take a break—or a vacation.I can handle an empty store.I’ll alphabetize something or I’ll tune Mom’s cello and pretend I’m useful.”
“Speaking of music—and the cello.”Barret glances at me with that crooked, shit-eating grin he saves for favors.“You have time to help me with some lyrics?”
I should say no, but isn’t this part of what I love to do?I stitch myself into songs.Leave fingerprints in melodies.I breathe better when I’m part of something being made.Still.I don’t have time.Not really.
“Call me next week,” I offer.
“You finally got a cell phone?”
I shake my head.
He groans.“You need one, Kit.They’re the future.”
Cleo laughs.“Don’t bother.She thinks they’ll go out of style by the end of the century.”
