Marisa was upset on the phone, her voice choked and nasally. She wouldn’t say what had happened, but it had to have been bad to get her that upset.
“She was really upset,” I murmur, “and maybe not sober. She said she didn’t know who else to trust.” It had taken a bit to make sense of everything Marisa was saying, each word slurring, but I heard that much.
“That’s because she’s friends with a bunch of toxic assholes,” Barrett grumbles, his mouth twisted into a scowl. “Why didn’t she call a rideshare?”
“Something about listening to true crime podcasts.”
He shakes his head. “I still don’t like it, Charlie, especially knowing who she’s friends with. You know they’re all probably at this party, right?”
“That’s why you’re here,” I say, putting on a brave face and smiling at him. “You’re basically my bodyguard.” His sighs, his expression softening slightly. “Marisa promised me that Dillon isn’t here, so we go in, get her, and get out.”
Barrett lets out a long-suffering sigh, eyeing me like I’m an unsolvable puzzle. “I’m going to repeat this because I’m not sure if you heard me the first time,” he tells me, his tone suddenly gentle, as if I’m an inch off crazy. A surge of inappropriate humor has me biting back laughter, knowing protective Barrett probably won’t appreciate it.
“Marisa is friends with them, and not just sometimes-she-turns-up-and-hangs-out, butfriends. They have history. Years of it.” I look down, unable to look him in the eye. “Do you really think Marisa will throw all that away because she doesn’t agree with something they all did while they were drinking one night? For someone she barely knows, and who’s no longer with her friend?”
“I told you, she stood up for me, Barrett.”
“You know that can’t have been the first time they talked about you behind your back.” I open my mouth, but no sound comes out, and he nods. “So, what are the chances that it’s happened before and Marisa said nothing?” He pauses before adding gravely, “Just because she defended you once doesn’t mean she did it every time. Or that she hasn’t joined in.”
I stare down at my knees, unease wriggling like parasites through my bloodstream. Everything he’s saying isn’t anything I haven’t considered myself, but I also can’t just leave someone who called me, asking for help.
“Charlie?”
I straighten my shoulders, lifting my chin and meeting his eyes head-on. “I don’t know that Marisa didn’t join in, but I’m not her. And I’m notthem. She asked for help,Barrett, and there’s enough trust left in me that I’m not going to let her down.”
He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, but dips his chin. “Come on then, Charlie Girl,” he says, reaching for the door handle.” Let’s go crash a party.”
No one questions as we walk through the front door, the place crowded with people. It feels like a frat party that got out of hand, music blasting through mounted speakers and furniture pushed against the walls, giving the dimly lit living room a nightclub feel.
“Jesus,” Barrett mutters, one hand gripping my elbow and the other shoving people out of the way. “I feel like I’m back in college.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I joke, trying to cover how uncomfortable I am with humor. “This was never my scene.”
I look around, searching for the bright blonde of Marisa’s hair. I catch sight of Amber and Corey instead, standing in one corner and looking like they’re fighting. I duck around Barrett’s arm to his other side, making sure they can’t see me as we cross the living room and into the kitchen. There are three men crowded around the counter, experimenting with different liqueurs. Barrett clears his throat loudly, catching their attention.
“Have any of you seen Marisa?”
There’s not a single flash of recognition until the one on the left snaps his fingers. “Wait a minute. That’s the girl Callum was sitting with earlier, right? He was trying to wrangle a date.”
“Oh,” the red-headed guy in the middle pipes up. “She’s the blonde, right? Not like…her hair iswhite. And she’s short.” A wobbly hand comes up to his waist, and he shoots it a bemused frown.
The first guy laughs. “Think she was a little taller than that.”
The man on the other end muses, “Haven’t seen her or Callum around for a while.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Bet they went off to be alone somewhere.”
Barrett tugs on my arm. “Come on, Charlie,” he rumbles. “We’ll keep looking.” As he leads me out of the kitchen, it’s clear the guys have already forgotten about us as they debate whether adding tequila to their concoction is a good idea or not.
We pass through the dining room and then go down a short hallway. As we go, we pass by an open door, and I look in curiously, finding a small office area. It’s dark, but there is just enough light from the hallway to show a shadowy figure sitting at a desk.
I dig my heels in, yanking on Barrett’s hold as I call, “Marisa?”
“Oh!” She swings around, a startled yelp escaping when she almost topples off the chair. She rights herself, glazed eyes focusing on me and relief crashing over her expression as recognition dawns. “Charlie!” Marisa’s lips tremble, and she presses her hands to her mouth, hiding it. “I’m so sorry,” she blurts before I can say another word. “I never should…I shouldn’t have asked you to come all the way out here. And you were probably busy. I?—”
Barrett steps into the space behind me, and Marisa’s attention flickers to him, her lashes fluttering nervously. “B-Barrett.”
“Marisa,” he returns shortly, and I throw an elbow back into his gut—a silent warning to play nice. “Are you okay?” His tone isn’t any better, but it’s something.
She looks a little like a bobblehead when she nods, but then she shakes her head, a low sound of pain escaping. “Iwasn’t going to come tonight. I don’t know why I did. I should’ve known better.” A harsh laugh escapes—one that doesn’t sound anything like her. “How bad is it that most of my friends are here, and yet I didn’t know who to call when—” She cuts off whatever she was about to say. “I didn’t know which of them would take her side.”
