The worst part wasn’t that I didn’t have security for the next week. I figured I’d call him on Sunday, and even if he refused, as long as I did not stop in Santa Maria, I’d feel safe in my office, far away from the drama of the town.
No, the worst part was that I had to wait about half an hour before I got sober enough to drive. I didn’t think my BAC was that far over the limit, but mixing hormones and booze exacerbated the effects of each. It wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to drive when my hands were shaking.
When I finally got home, despite sobering up, I somehow felt worse. What the hell had happened to Brock? Why was it so bad that he walked out onme?Why couldn’t he even hint at it, tell me to “go look up” something so I could learn for myself?
It didn’t matter. Whatever Brock had wanted, whatever I had wanted, that could not happen anymore. The tension and chemistry were sizzling hot, but we’d gotten burned. I guess I’d learned that I had “won” a stupid prize for playing a stupid game.
I walked inside the house. Elizabeth waited on the stairs, like a parent who knew their child had stayed out past their curfew.
“So,” she said with a curious grin. “How was it?”
I ignored her, keeping my head down and continuing up the stairs.
“That bad, huh?” Elizabeth said. “I told you. I told you they were all bad news. Brock—”
“Not now, Elizabeth,” I snapped.
I should have known he wasn’t different.
You know that’s not true. You know he’s hiding something horrible. He’s not Steele; he’s mature. But…
God, I wished my brain would shut up for about thirty seconds. I’d even take ten seconds of meditative silence.
I slammed the door shut, leading Elizabeth to make some comments at the edge of my door about how that would probably wake up Mom and Dad and they wouldn’t be happy. But when she realized I really wasn’t in a playing mood, she left, half-mumbling, “Sorry.” I was just happy to be past the gatekeeper to my bedroom.
For about two hours, I tossed and turned, trying to sleep, trying to figure out what Brock had gone through, trying to figure out why, oh why, oh why had I been so stupid, so foolish, so… so everything. Maybe my parents had sent me down the prescribed path because the prescribed pathworked.They were wealthy and loved each other; if I dated right and stuck to my career, I’d have the same.
I’d always wonder “what if,” but I could push that into the recesses of my mind enough that it wouldn’t matter.
Right?
Midnight struck. I still hadn’t fallen asleep. In fact, I wasn’t any closer to falling asleep than when I’d gotten to the house. I—
My phone rang.
It rang? What the hell? Kathryn had gone home, right?
I looked at my phone. It was an unidentified 505 number, so it was local. One of my friends was calling from a stranger’s phone?
“Hello?” I said, sounding more annoyed than tired.
“Tara, don’t hang up, it’s Steele.”
Oh, God, you have got to be kidding me.At least from his tone of voice, he didn’t sound that pissed off; it didn’t sound like he knew I’d gone out with Brock after.
“What do you want, Steele?”
“Listen, that fight you saw, I got thrown in jail for it, and they’re asking for two hundred in bail. Can you help me out?”
I groaned. I was in no mood to help anyone in that world.
“Why the fuck would I do that, Steele? I told you already that we’re not getting back together, we’re not doing anything, so why are you calling me?”
“Damnit, I’m not asking to go on a date; I’m just asking you to bail me out. It’s only two hundred dollars.”
“And you’re probably only going to be in there for one night. You’ll make it through.”
“Tara, please,” Steele said, his tone shifting from arguing to pleading. “My bike’s at Reapers. I don’t want anything to happen to it. Just fucking post the two hundred. I’ll pay you back later.”
