Phin lets out a long sigh next to me and crosses his arm. “You said you were sorry.”
“I did.”
“You never apologise.”
“I don't.”
“For like, anything! I once walked intomyroom to find you fucking spread eagling some girl and you never even looked remorseful.”
“I regret nothing. She said she was into being caught.” I see him trying to steady a smile with a low cough, running the side of his knuckle over his mouth.
“My point is, Wren–you never care enough about anything to apologise. I just witnessed you turn into an absolute puddle. You said sorry, twice.”
Well, fuck. Am I down bad right now?
Note to self, please start playing it cool or I’m going to cringe myself to death.
My palm rubs a soothing circle on my chest as I continue to track the path Robin walks on, towards the band. She makes it to the scatter of flight cases to the right of the rugs, where she locates the sign up sheet and starts flicking through the papers.
“You didn’t see her song request, did you. You just guessed.” He states, not phrasing it like a question in the slightest.
My voice is practically a whisper as I watch her brows furrowing together. “I didn’t want her to feel like I was judging her. I wasn’t. You know I love Fleetwood Mac.” After a long moment of silence between us, he finally nods and uncrosses hisarms to slap my shoulder. Before he can say anything, a voice verbarates around the garden from the dispersed speakers.
“Can I have everyone’s attention please.” Corbin announces, standing with a tumble of whisky in hand, a microphone in the other. There’s something unsettling about his expression, which I really don’t like the moment he focuses his attention onto Robin. I can tell from over here that she doesn’t like it either. “The murder mystery dinner will start soon. We have time for one more song and I’m pretty sure it’s Robin's turn.” He’s toying with her like a cat playing with a mouse, holding the microphone out towards her.
It feels like this is nothing more than a giant game of snakes and ladders and I’m not quick enough to keep up with his plan. I just keep floundering past the ladders like a blind man, falling down, two steps behind, whilst a snake rears his head and eats me alive. I locate Aya in the gardens, who is watching him with a doting expression. She’s falling for this perfect host bullshit, whilst it’s so clear no one else is. Both her brother and Merle are standing by her side, and they’re impervious to his fake charm.
The band starts to prepare for the final song, Bran leaning over to speak to Jay who starts to move his own mic stand into place. When I look back to Robin, she’s staring a burning hole into the paper, firmly crumpling it in her hands. Her eyes snap up to us across the garden, looking like a deer in headlights. Taking off in a slow run due to her wedges on the grass, she signalling for one moment to guys, before thrusting the sheet into Phoenix’s open palms when she gets to us.
“Someone’s changed my song,” She hisses, “I didn’t pick this.”
Standing taller, we both look at the sign up sheet. My eyes find her name in neat, looping handwriting, but the song she’d originally written next to it, is crossed out with slashing lines. Replaced in bold, is a newer song in the charts. Not a song I would have bet on her choosing, from her disappointedexpression. We’re both frowning, but when I look over to the band, I clash with cold blues and I know what's going on. Corbin smirks over at us, tapping the microphone against his hand which causes a grinding boom through the speakers. He’s changed her song, but why? To embarrass her? Make her uncomfortable?
Rubbing her arm in a comforting up and down motion, Phin suggests she just changes it back. I can see her pause to consider it, but I find myself shaking my head and stepping forward.
“Let's do the song. I can play it and I’m sure Bran knows it. His guilty pleasure is girlie pop. Let's play him at his own game.” Neither of them say anything for a beat, but turn to eye the stage that awaits us. “The song makes me look like I’m still hung up over him. Like I’m jealous.”
I flutter over the lyrics in my head and sigh too, because they’re quite tongue in cheek about an ex lovers new partner. This is our band karaoke though, not his. We’re playing to have a good time and we need to do this to show him we can’t be shaken.
Plucking the sheet from his hand, I throw it behind me onto the bar. “Fuck that, we can totally smash it, together.” I’m aware people are waiting on us as Bran hits the foot pedal and practises a fill, but I don’t care. Robin needs to agree to do this, for herself, but to also show that bastard he can’t phase her.
Stretching out my palm upwards between the three of us, I let a devilish smirk play on my lips, flexing my brows. “Don’t let him get in your head. Own it. Sing the shit out of this song and we’ll both be up there with you.”
Phin bounces on the spot as my words give him fuel, like the puppy dog he is. He places his hand in mine and I grasp it, letting it swing down between us as I hold up my other palm outwards to her. Her tiny hand reaches into mine and an electricwarmth seize my body. Entwining our fingers, I can't breathe at how right this feels.
“Let's do it.” she says, with a faith in me not many have ever shown.
I look between both my best friend and the woman I may be a little attached to already, as united we stride across the grass to put on a show.
Chapter eight
Robin
I’Malready short circuiting by the time we reach the rugs, our entwined hands searing an imprint onto my skin. He only releases my hand to snatch the mic from Corbin, who in return sneered at the three of us. I had recognised his abrasive handwriting when I found it over my scribbled out song choice, but what gets my hackles up is I still don’t know why he's doing this. Had he really thrown a mystery murder party just to celebrate his brother? I doubted it—we all did.
Seeing him is like being faced with a hissing viper, but your hands are tied behind your back. You don’t know when it’s going to strike and you’re helpless to do anything but try to anticipate the bite.
Once upon a time I tried to find inspiration in him to write a male love interest, but the more I searched my feelings and wrote a character like Corbin, the more he became a villain. It was a failed attempt at writing romance, to which I promptly returned to crime fiction, where he morphed into a calculating antichrist that was hiding in plain sight of my detective.
