For all my sister’s dramatics, she sure doesn’t care that she’s pushing my limits.
“Does your phone have to be that loud?” I snap at her.
She doesn’t even flinch. She’s kicked back in a chair by the window, one black-booted foot bobbing in time with whatever stupid video she’s doom-scrolling. The sun is just setting, and while it’s a beautiful rouge with golds, she’s been scrolling for the past hour, the tinny sounds coming out of her phone grating on my last nerve when I’m trying not to picture something worming its way up through my groin to my heart.
“My earbuds broke.” She doesn’t look up.
“Wouldn’t that be your third pair that broke?” I rub at my temple. The procedure is first thing in the morning, but I don’t know how I’m going to get any sleep with a blooming headache.
“Yep,” she chirps.
“How do you keep breaking them? You need to be more careful.” I’m aware that bitching about earbuds right now is trivial, but I need something safe to complain about, something that doesn’t get me worked up. I’m one bad thought away from spiraling. Celeste said it’s very important that I try to stay calm—that my heart doesn’t like stress—but I don’t know how to be calm when my sister just killed a cop and my train is hitched toa man who carries a gun in his waistband. So yeah, I’m going to use the earbuds as an excuse to vent.
She looks up at me with a raised brow. “They cost ten bucks from the gas station. They break on their own.”
“Ugh!” I flap my hands at her logic. “Well, shouldn’t you be going home anyway? You have school in the morning.”
“Ha.” She goes back to scrolling.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She sighs like I’m the one with a developing frontal lobe. “Uh, you being in the hospital is totally a get out of jail free card.”
“No, it’s not!” I balk so hard I feel my pulse jump, the heart monitor responding with an offended little beep.
“Yes, it is.”
“No,” I draw out the word. “It’s your senior year. You need to—”
Voices outside the door stop me. One of them is distinct enough to make the words in my mouth cease. It’s a professional tone, dry and unaffected, nothing like the friendly and soft voices of the nurses and doctors on this level. One of the voicesispolite, and most likely Celeste, but it has an irritated edge to it that says the other voice isn’t welcome.
Unease grows in my stomach as the muffled conversation continues. Nix must feel it too because she pauses her scrolling, thin brows coming together. But we don’t even get a second to share a look before the door handle turns.
Celeste appears, hands clasped and lips pursed. She frowns at me in apology.
“I tried to say you are resting…” she trails off, but I don’t need her to continue to know that it wouldn’t matter what she tried.
Because Detective Layton is the one who steps in behind her.
My throat closes around a fist. Even Nix sits forward, not needing a formal introduction to see the badge on his hip and know what this could mean.
He nods at Celeste in a way that signals dismissal, and she takes a sharp intake of air to show her annoyance.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Her eyes find mine with a meaningful gaze.
The inclination is nice, and I almost want to beg her to stay, but I don’t think she can stop either of us from being arrested, and I instead choose to nod as if everything is okay.
When the door has clicked shut behind her, Layton stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks up at the ceiling like he’s admiring the architecture. Then he scans the room slowly, taking his time and making a show of it. Nix and I take the chance to share a look in the awkward silence, and I’m surprised to see that she isn’t on the cusp of panic like I am. She looks… haughty. Meanwhile, I’m sure this is where one of us is arrested.
When Layton’s eyes finally land on me, he smiles, but it’s a smarmy kind of smile that says I definitely shouldn’t be in a hospital gown for whatever this is. There’s something about being half-naked in a one-ply sheet that really wallops the ability to hold your chin high.
“Ms. Noland,” he says, stepping closer, and then pauses. “Or should I say… Mrs. Landon?”
I’m confused for a second and then remember that I’m admitted under Jax’s name. I wiggle uncomfortably. “That’s an error,” I mutter under my breath.
“Is it…” He muses, looking around the room again as if I’m a liar.
“Yes,” I say a little more firmly.
