We stood there in my kitchen, two women with our own disasters, drinking cheap wine and pretending we weren’t both terrified of what tomorrow might bring.
Maybe Harper and I were going to get along just fine.
But as she glanced toward that window one more time, the question burned in my mind:What the hell was she running from?
And more importantly:When would whatever she was running from catch up to her?
“Wanna drink until we don’t give a shit about our problems anymore?” I asked.
“Definitely.”
We settled into my living room, the wine bottle between us on the coffee table like a peace offering to our separate demons. Harper curled into the corner of my couch, and for the first time since Ryker left, I didn’t feel completely alone.
As we started to drink even more, I completely forgot that Ryker had promised he’d be stopping by again …
28
RYKER
Voices and music drifted through Faith’s front window as I approached with takeout. Voices, as in plural.
Shit.
Ice-cold dread snaked through my chest. Had some reporter weaseled their way in? God. Dammit. Her entire case could go up in flames with one bad interview.
I dropped the takeout bags and bolted up the sidewalk, taking her front steps two at a time. Her door was unlocked.Unlocked!I burst through without hesitation.
“Jesus, fuck!” Faith screamed, her hand flying to her chest.
“Holy shit!” A strange woman grabbed a ceramic table lamp and swung it at me.
The base connected with my shoulder with a dull thunk.
“Ow! What the?—”
“Get out!” the woman yelled, wielding the lamp like a medieval mace. She swung again. I turned, but she caught my ribs.
“Stop hitting me with furniture!”
“Harper, wait—” Faith tried to stand, took one wobbly step, and crashed into the coffee table. Wineglasses went flying. “Oh shit!”
The lamp-wielding woman—Harper, apparently—took advantage of my distraction to land another hit on my back.
“Take that, you home invader!” Harper declared triumphantly, channeling some kind of drunk superhero.
“What?” I spun around, completely bewildered. “I’m not?—”
THUNK. Right in the stomach this time. I let out an oof sound and curled inward.
“Nobody hurts my new wine friend!”
“I’m trying to help?—”
THUNK. “That’s what they all say! Right before they murder everyone! I watchDateline!”
“Harper!” Faith was on her hands and knees, crawling toward us, laughing so hard that she could barely breathe. “Stop … stop attacking my lawyer!”
“Your lawyer?” Harper paused mid-swing, lamp raised above her head. “This is the lawyer? The one with the abs?”
