Aaaand here it goes.
“What does?” Alexis takes the bait.
“That he’d be able to be here full-time without breaking the hearts of the rest of the single gals of our generation.”
Lexi rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, but Rory’s hand pauses on Wyatt’s back, and I’d bet if I had x-ray vision, I’d see her claws digging into his shoulder.
“I’m a single girl in your generation, and I can promise you, I’ll be just fine with your brother on the prowl here.” Lexi shoots me a playful wink as she takes another bite to show me she’s got me on this one.
“No, seriously,” Wyatt continues. “Weston is incapable of hooking up with a girl without them tattooing his name on their ass, and then he leaves them. I don’t know how he’s supposed to go until the summer, much less beyond that, without giving in to some girl along the way and crushing her. This place is starting fresh, we don’t need a river of tears flooding out downtown in his wake.”
“He’s a grown ass man,” Rory chimes in. “He’s not sixteen anymore, Wyatt.”
“I remember having to talk to the two of you about your emotional recklessness not that long ago,” her stepfather says thoughtfully, then looks back at the cabin directly behind him. “Seems like a lot of glass in your own house to be throwing stones, there, son.”
Wyatt harrumphs, but at least he shuts up after that.
Maybe it’s only visible in the daylight, but my smile seems to have sunk with the setting sun.
Why does this feel like an omen of my next few months trapped here? Committed to staying until downtown reopens this summer. Agreeing to weekly dinners with this lot. Constant jabs I can’t duck from my brother, with the endless fear in the back of my mind that he’s right.
That I’ll never be able to assimilate into life in the Heights the way he always effortlessly has.
I’ll never find the comfort, the belonging that he so clearly has.
I might not be the irresponsible shit I was as a teen, but Wyatt’s not wrong to say I’m somewhat cursed on the subject ofrelationships. And Lord knows I’m not the best at the celibacy thing.
I either find a random hookup who can actually keep things casual, where it doesn’t get back to Wyatt, or I might not survive this trip. My need for variety might kill me, or else my brother will.
TWO
AMELIA
“Blood dripped from the trunk of the car,drip, drip, drip, alerting the officer that this man hadnotjust been out for an evening drive, as he said.” The familiar, low, cool, detached feminine voice is one I know better than my own at this point. I’ve certainly heard it more in recent times, at least.
“Check the trunk!” That’s my voice. Higher-pitched, raspier, more out-of-practice. Very unladylike, but no one else is in the van with me to cast judgment. So I continue yelling at the podcast that’s keeping me entertained on my drive to nowhere and everywhere. “Check the trunk, don’t be an idiot!”
“Officer Jayce radioed for backup, but he didn’t wait for help to arrive.”
She’s got me hanging onto her every syllable, my ass precariously balanced on the edge of my seat—literally. I can’t have more than an inch of my tiny ass on the leather driver’s seat.
“Of course no help is going to arrive, your partner is IN THE TRUNK.” The palm of my hand smacks the steering wheel for emphasis on each word I yell, like the guy she’s talking about from forty years ago can hear me. Luckily, the van doesn’t swerve, it’s probably used to my outbursts. Or maybe I’m just soslight that it takes nearly half my might to turn this damn wheel for real.
Some people yell at their TV while watching football. For me, it’s true crime podcasts.
This one is my absolute favorite,Vengeful Vixens.
The basic bros have Joe Rogan. The true crime girlypops have VV.
The host, Jynx, is who I wanna be when I grow up. Think Lane Kim, if she had been the It girl instead of the outcast. Korean American with hair dyed almost platinum and the kind of unique style you have to be graced with from birth in order to pull off the way she does. Petite, like me, except she’s gorgeous, effortlessly cool, and tells the juiciest, most riveting gory stories. There’s a reason why she’s nabbed the number one slot in true crime podcasts for four seasons straight. Ten million listeners an episode is impressive in any genre.
“As McNair got out of the vehicle, Officer Jayce saw what he was holding. A hunting knife, with a blade bigger than what most of your Hinge hookups have been working with. That’s right, Vixens.Fivewhole inches of steel. He probably called it eight in his dating profile. The blade was jagged, for ripping flesh. And still dripping with fresh blood. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t from a cute little deer.”
My jaw hangs low enough I feel a breeze on my tongue, and I snap it shut before grabbing my Alani and taking a big swig.
A chill breaks across my upper body, even with my winter sweatshirt on. Technically, I guess we’re out of winter, but driving north, just off the interstate now, fresh out of a long stint in Florida, this April spring air in the scenic Smoky Mountains is freezing to me. Or maybe it’s just the way Jynx’s voice rasps over the surface of my skin and beneath my bones that’s giving me goosebumps. The would-be silence in her episode is filled witha soft but dramatic three-note riff that builds the tension in the tale to an almost painful level.
“OH MY GOD TELL US WHAT HAPPENED!”
