Arthur stared. It was speckled with snow, which had started up again while he was at the party. It looked entirely out of place sitting on the side of the cramped road in front of Musgrove Inn. Like something from another life.
Arthur stood there until his tail started to go numb. Then he climbed into the back seat.
Rusty looked up from his phone. “Hey! Look what I got! You arrived with a bang, might as well go out on one, right?”
“Right,” Arthur agreed mindlessly, dropping his suitcase into the roomy footwell.
Rusty went back to scrolling, slouching back into his seat as the limo started down the road. “Can’t wait to get on that plane. I’m gonna pass out the second my head hits the seat, I know it. Also, hey, look what I found at the party…”
He rummaged in his pocket.
Arthur cut him off before he could reveal it. “Why’d you say that, back at Sour Claw?”
Rusty paused, hand stilling in his pocket. “Huh?”
“At the bar,” Arthur explained. “I wanted to fix things with Emma. You asked me why.”
Rusty frowned. Just for a second. Then his expression cleared out, something that Arthur would’ve done his best to ignore two weeks ago.
“Dunno,” Rusty said. “I started drinking with that vampire and orc duo after that. I don’t remember much about that night.”
He laughed. It was too desperate.
Arthur was annoyed by how shitty he was at faking it. “Don’t bullshit me, Rust. Don’t sit there and tell me what you think I want to hear. Just tell me the truth.”
Rusty’s mouth hung open. Arthur had never talked to him like that before. He didn’t talk toanyonelike that outside of a scene. Arthur was widely known as the sweetest guy in Hollywood. No dirty secrets, no hotel workers signing NDAs to hide that he screamed at them for not folding a towel correctly, no outrageous behavior even at his wildest parties. If Arthur had something to say he thought someone wouldn’t like, he hid it in something so pretty the person barely noticed what was inside.
“I just…” Rusty said slowly. He let out another thin laugh. “Arthur. Come on, buddy. She doesn’t matter! She’s a childhood fling—who cares if she’s unhappy? She’s not part of your life. She’s already gone, man. Speck in the distance. Sure, you had to look at her for a few weeks, but now you’re leaving, and you never have to see her again.”
Something flicked Arthur in the chin. He looked down and saw his fucking tail at it again, swishing agitatedly as Rusty pulled something out of his pocket.
“Here,” Rusty said. “Found these on the drinks table.”
Arthur held his tail in his lap and looked over.
Rusty was holding out his sunglasses. The same ones he’d been wearing when he strode back into Claw Haven, ready for two weeks of uncomfortable nostalgia before he cruised back out. Ready for his real life to continue. To leave his hometown behind him forever, never looking back. He hadn’t thought about Emma. Scratch that—he’d triedso hardnot to think about Emma. He had assumed she would avoid him, and that it would be for the best. He’d assumed that he’d see her in passing on the street and they’d both pretend to ignore each other. He hadn’t expected a bone-deep urge to rise in him the second he saw her. Hadn’t expected to see that old rage and want to peel it back to expose that beautiful heart underneath. Hadn’t expected her to kiss him in his cabin or in the street in front of the house they had been planning to buy. Hadn’t expected to knot her, to long for her, to fall for her all over again.
The welcome sign was coming up. Arthur hadn’t seen the other side of the new sign before.
You are now leaving Claw Haven, it declared.Come back if you’re looking for some peace and quiet.
The limo slid past. Arthur twisted in his seat to watch the sign get smaller and smaller.
“Hey,” Rusty said.
Arthur looked at him. Rusty was still holding out the sunglasses expectantly. He was trying to look concerned. But the matter remained that Rusty was never a good actor. Especially now, his smile dimming with every second Arthur stayed silent.
Arthur sighed, letting his shoulders drop in a way he hadn’t allowed in a long, long time.
“Rust,” he said. “We need to talk.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Emma woke up to the annoying and beloved jingle her parents used to wake her up for every teenage Christmas she ever had.
“That was terrible,” she said as she answered the call. “Shouldn’t have let you talk me into that. I almost threw my pillow at it on instinct.”
Her parents laughed. They had gotten good at ducking the pillows Emma would throw upon being woken up by their very loud and deliberately bad singing.
