Gotta go. Emergency.
Before he can respond, I chuck my phone across the bed like itmight self-destruct then I faceplant into a pillow and scream into the void.
I’ve made some bad choices in my life.
But this? This takes the fucking cake.
And I have to get on a plane.
To an island.
With him.
There’s not enough vodka in the world.
Kill me.
Or better yet, killhim.
No. That’s not fair. This isn’t his fault. Not exactly.
But still.
Our stars will never fade.
My ass.
I don’t even think. I claw across the bed, snatch my phone up, take a screen shot of Carl’s number then video conference the two emergency contacts tied directly to the last functioning part of my brain.
It rings twice before Jeremy’s face pops up, mid-yawn, his hair rumpled and one eye half-closed. “You better be dying,” he mumbles. “Or actively committing arson. Otherwise, I’m hanging up and haunting your dreams out of spite.”
“It is.” Voice on the edge of hysteria. “It absolutely is.”
Maya joins the call next. Her face is puffy, eyes a little red. Crying. She’s been crying.
Her hair is in a messy top knot, and she’s wearing a hoodie—in the summer—I know for a fact is Asher’s. Before I can even think about saying anything, she straightens, schooling her face into something more neutral.
“Stop analyzing me and tell us why you called.” She sneers at the screen.
Jeremy squints. “Wait. You’re crying. Oh my God, you’re?—”
Maya cuts him off. “I’m not crying. My allergies are acting up.”
Jeremy narrows his eyes. “What are you allergic to, Maya? The truth?”
Maya flips him off.
“Okay, but for real, Rorie.” She waves me on. “What’s going on?”
Jeremy leans forward. “Yes, what is the drama? Give it to me. Inject it directly into my veins.”
Taking a deep breath, I white-knuckle my phone.
“Carl,” I say. “I found out who Carl is.”
Jeremy gasps so hard he nearly chokes on air. Maya blinks.
“It’s Nolan,” I whisper. “Carl is Nolan.”
