There’s relief in her voice, edged with concern. “Where have you been? I tried you earlier. After what you just went through, you can’t disappear like that on me.”
“I know,” I say, appreciating that she’s concerned about me. “I’m driving. I just… I need to say this out loud before I get home.”
She doesn’t joke. She doesn’t fill the space. “Okay,” she says. “I’m here.”
The city slides past my windows in soft bands of light. I keep my eyes on the road, knuckles tightening on the wheel.
“After I left the lounge,” I say slowly, choosing each word like it might cut me if I’m careless. “Ridge showed up.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Showed up where?”
“Outside, when I was walking to my car. On Frenchman.”
Her breath shifts. I hear it through the line. “Coco.”
“I know,” I say. “I didn’t expect it either. He said he was driving by. Then he stopped pretending and admitted he was hoping I’d still be there.”
Delphine exhales. “Of course he was.”
“He didn’t come inside. He stayed back, watching.” My throat tightens at the memory. “I didn’t even know he was there at first.”
“And?”
I hesitate, the car humming beneath me, steady and controlled in a way I’m not. “Iggy came up behind me when I stepped outside and grabbed me to scare me. You know how he does.”
Her voice sharpens instantly. “Oh, God. I think I know where this is going.”
“Ridge, of course, didn’t know we were friends and he was messing around. He just saw hands on me.”
“Shit. Please tell me he didn’t shoot him.”
“Close. He was out of the car before I could blink,” I say. I can still hear the sound of the impact, feel the way the night went taut around us. “He dropped him. Hard.”
“Jesus,” Delphine mutters. “Is Iggy okay?”
“He’s fine. Embarrassed, and his jaw’s going to be sore.” I pause. “Ridge looked like he wanted the ground to open up once he realized.”
“And you?”
“I went after him,” I admit. “He was already walking away, but I didn’t want him leaving thinking the worst. Or thinking I was afraid of him.”
“You chased the man who just punched someone for you.”
“Yes.”
There’s a quiet laugh on the other end, not amused. “That tracks.”
“I tried to apologize,” I say. “For snapping. For not explaining.”
My fingers tighten on the wheel as I remember it. “He got into his car like he was done. Like that was it.”
“And?” Delphine asks.
“I walked to mine,” I say. “I didn’t turn around or chase him.”
“Something tells me it didn’t end there.”
I swallow. “He followed me anyway. Pulled up behind me.” I keep my eyes on the road. “We stood there for a second, doors open, pretending it was casual. Like we weren’t both already past that.”
