I step back, let the room breathe again.
“Closet,” he wheezes, pointing with a weak hand. “Take the garbage out with you.”
I don’t rise to it. I go to the closet. It’s a mess. Clothes on hangers, clothes on the floor, the smell of cologne. Lou’s is thesmall, neat section—a black garment bag, a soft hoodie, leggings, a pair of sneakers tied together by the laces. Her laptop sits on the desk with the charger half-coiled and a sticker on the lid that makes me smile despite myself.
I unplug, wrap, tuck it into the sleeve sitting beside it. Chargers too. I check the drawers for anything that looks like hers and find a small pouch with pencils and a folded sketch. I grab the bag and hoodie and sneakers and sling the strap across my chest.
Click. Then a whispered “Shit!” followed by fumbling sounds.
Someone’s still in the bathroom.
I step to the side and look. A girl stands halfway behind the door, phone up, camera aimed at me and Troy. She’s twenty, maybe. Glitter on her cheekbone, smeared liner, a smile she thinks will save her from being held accountable.
“Phone,” I say, hand out.
She clutches it tighter. “It won’t help. It’s already in the cloud.”
I look at Troy. He’s on the floor, leaning against the wall now, rubbing his neck, eyes mean and bright in the way that always means he’s going to say something stupid.
“Don’t touch her,” he croaks. “She’s my guest.”
“She’s a stranger with your room key. Congratulations.”
The girl hits stop with her thumb, moves the phone to her chest like I’m about to snatch it. I don’t. Doesn’t fucking matter now.
I sigh and look back at Troy. “You want to be a headline? Here’s a faster way. Walk outside. Scream. Real paparazzi will eat that up.”
He coughs a laugh into his hand and grins. “You’re so tough when Houston’s not babysitting.”
“I’m so tired of your shit, Troy. And you’re boring me these days. Why don’t you surprise me and become a decent person?”
He just sucks his teeth and looks away.
I scan once more. Toothbrush that isn’t Lou’s. Makeup bag that isn’t hers. Earrings that aren’t hers. All set. I zip the garment bag and hook it over my finger. I take the hoodie and the laptop and the sneakers, and I stand in the middle of the room and look at him.
“You done?” His petulant tone grates on my nerves.
“With you? Years ago.”
He smiles wider, ugly. “You took turns on Lou, right? I’m sure she just loved that. She didn’t even like sex?—”
I take one step, and he bites the rest of the sentence in half. Good choice.
The annoyance spikes and flattens. It’s not worth a second round. I scan the nightstand in case she left another charger. Nothing. I don’t touch anything else.
The girl stands in the bathroom doorway now, arms folded. “Your brother was just having a good time. You don’t have to give him shit over it.”
“Here’s the part you don’t get. He’s going to use you, and you’re going to be nobody to him by noon.”
She looks at Troy. He’s impassive as always. But I’m not making her my problem. I’m here for one thing.
I turn for the door. Troy clears his throat like a ninety-year-old man. “Tell Lou I said?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I say without looking. “Keep whatever you think to yourself and try swallowing water today. You sound like shit, and your voice is starting to go. You’re too young for that.”
“Well, you’re too old for Lou!”
“Not my fault that guys her age don’t know how to touch her.”
