zuri
. . .
Darius dug his light-up shoes into the sidewalk when an engine roared onto the street, cutting off my baby’s cries. Tennessee had offered to stay, even after they’d finished one of thoseToy Stories. Didn’t know which one, because while Woody and Buzz hatched up the same plan to save their people—er, toys—I was plotting.
Our escape.
Now, blood swooshed in my ears. A cold sweat chilled the already frigid January night. I turned my head slower than the next victim in a slasher flick.Edwin?—
“Montana?” I nearly dropped all I held—a single backpack hooked over one shoulder.No, it can’t be him. Edwin had found me.
“Chère, don’t be afraid.” The voice held the comforting NOLA inflection—deep, arrogant—but something else rode beneath the surface, not appreciation.
Uh-oh. This looked bad.
He’d told me not to leave when we arrived at the restaurant. Although I never said I would stay, I was pretty sure his alter ego forged my consent.
Because Montana Babineaux didn’t have layers—Big Country did.
Montana was my friend. Handsome. Normal. Banter on point.
That other one—Big Country—was an entire stack of personalities. He believed I’d stay put because he said so. Whenever Big Country took over, Montana mentally backed into the bushes like that Homer Simpson meme, leaving me alone with the loud one. The bossy one. The freak, who’d screw me tonight, and have amnesia come morning.
The lights on the car flickered off, leaving us beneath dim streetlamps no better than the dino-shaped nightlight I’d also left in the bathroom.Ugh. Those things, tiny as hell, cost more than table lamps.
I lifted my chin, hand in Darius’s. We walked much faster to him than he did to us. He glanced at my top. Yeah. I threw on some jeans, but I was still in Shanice’s bloody, strapless dress.
At his scoff, I scoffed too, stopping five feet away. He couldn’t tell me great minds didn’t think alike. He donned a hospital gown with the same pants as earlier.
“How are you … friend?”Really, Zuri, you’re beating around the bush.
“I’m fine. You fine ashell. We gonna be alright.”
I rolled my eyes at the signature cocky response. “Big Country had his say. How’s Montana?”
Montana glowered. “You wrong, you know.”
“Plausible.” I shrugged. “Still, I’m the doctor, you’re the patient, makingyouthe subject. Why aren’t you at the hospital?”
“You took me to the wrong hospital. So, I’m going home. Drive.” He flipped me the keys, then strolled away.
I grabbed them. “What …?”
He didn’t even turn to address me. “First, youarethe doctor. Second, you got the energy to leave in the dead of night, you can drive. I navigate. Third, I have horses.”
“What do h?—”
“Horses?” Darius snatched his arm away, his light-up shoes pounded pavement, leaving an echo of blue light.
“Yep,” Montana said at the passenger door. “Darius, you wanna see a horse?”
“A real one?” My son squealed.
“On one condition.”
“No conditions,” I cut in, the backpack strap digging into my arm. I’d packed all I could. “Darius, come back …”
He climbed into the back seat, and Montana closed himself in the passenger side. I approached the open driver door, shoved the backpack over the headrest, and got in.
