My only answer is a shrug—and another bite of funnel cake that is starting to make me queasy. “How’d you get roped into bringing the littles again if you hate it so much?”
“Noah doesn’t hate it, and his and my littles are a package deal, so . . .” Lilly shrugs now.
I toss my head in Noah and Seth’s direction and ask, “How isthatgoing, anyway?”
“Next question.”
“Wait. Why next question? You guys seem like your old selves, if heavy one surfer.”
“Exactly. We’re a threesome now I guess. Or a . . . throuple?”
“Seriously?! Say more.”
“I really don’t have . . . more. It’s a bizarre, undefined togetherness. Can we just not?” Lilly dumps her almost full bag of popcorn in the trash bin and dusts her hands together.
I study my friend for a few pregnant moments in silence, and when she won’t look at me, I give in. “Sure, Lill. Whatever you need. But you know I’m here for you. No judgment. You’ve listened to all my bullshit since we met. It goes both ways, okay?” My only answer is her single nod.
“Come on, Lill,” Noah calls. “Seth wants us to ride the Ferris wheel with himagain.” Seth is walking backwards ahead of us, motioning at Lilly to join them.
Lilly looks at me, one eyebrow up like they’re making her point for her.
Jerking my thumb toward the restrooms, I toss my head at the bricked building to my left. “I’ll wait at the ride’s exit after I pee.”
Checking my phone for Julian’s location as I leave the restroom, I collide with a tall, wiry frame standing inside the bricked, half-walled vestibule that encases the bathroom entrance. My brain registers that he’s in the wrong restroom right before he puts his face in mine and grips my bicep, dragging me against him.
“Hey, girlie. Don’t scream or it might be the last thing you do. We’re going for a walk. Nice and calm like.” Black pupils take over the blue irises that are nothing but an outline. Leathery cheeks littered with salt-and-pepper scruff frames thin, cracked lips.
The smell of cigarettes and alcohol does nothing to quell my nausea from the funnel cake. The cool metal of the small handgun pressed to my abdomen spikes my adrenaline, giving me an out-of-body hypnotic state—like I’m watching this happen to someone else.Think, Everly.
“I . . . you can have my bag. There’s money. It’s yours.”
“I don’t want your money, but I’ll take it. I want your boyfriend. And I’ll just bet he’ll come running for you.”Julian.My brain goes into protective, panic mode.
“Julian’s not here.”
“Julian.” His chuckle sends a shiver down my spine and sweat to my palms. “Yeah,Julian.” Another chuckle.
Fuck, why did I say his name?Something tells me he already knows it, though.
“Give me your phone.” He doesn’t wait for me to hand it to him but yanks it out of my grasp. “Let’s go before your friends finish their ride.”
He was watching us.
Pushing me out in front of him, he presses the fist holding the gun into my back, his grip on my bicep steering me through the carnival games until we reach the back fence that borders the Little League fields. He leads me to the far corner where the chain link is rolled back from the metal pole and shoves me through it and across the infield dirt and outfield grass to another chain link fence that borders a . . . trailer park.
Julian’s childhood home. Julian’s dad. What the fuck is this?I wonder for a second if I can outrun him, but I can’t outrun a bullet. He jerks me to a halt in front of a tan double-wide and veers me toward the four steps that lead to the front door.
Once inside, he shoves me down on a green plaid couch. “Don’t move or I’ll make you sorry. I’ll make Jayce sorry. Or ‘Julian.’” He says Julian with finger quotes, using the hand that’s not holding the gun.
I catch movement in my periphery.
A woman appears in the doorway that leads to the kitchen. She’s thin. Not athletic thin. Unhealthy thin. Her hair hangs in uncombed strands over each shoulder, and while her cheeks are sunken in, her face is unmistakable. The eyes are glassier, bloodshot, but they’re Julian’s.
“Todd, who’s this?” She looks from me to him, notices the gun and adds, “What are you doing?”
His only response is to pull my phone from his pocket and extend it to me. He doesn’t look at her or answer her. “Unlock it.”
I take the phone, do what he asks and place it back in his palm. Then he addresses her, still not answering her question. “Don’t just stand there. Get me a beer. You want one while you wait?” He raises his eyes from my phone to sneer at me.
