“Yeah,” I say, letting out a laugh. “It’s going great.”
I’ve been looking forward to seeing Will for what feels like forever. Weeks of fantasising and planning and holding on to tonight as a shining beacon of hope that everything would change. That my life would slide into place, and I could just relax for one freaking weekend. Just be Cece Taylor, and have that be a good thing, a thing people, Will obviously, but other people too, like about me.
Instead, it’s been a shitshow.
The only bright spot is finding a message from Aggie sent this morning, saying she had roped Des into sorting the rodent situation and it’d be dealt with today. But even that sends guilt coursing through me. It’s not her job to deal with that kind of thing, yet I’m so grateful to have someone shoulder one of my burdens that tears press at the back of my eyes. She shouldn’t have had to help, but she did, and knowing Aggie has my back when my own parents don’t is a new level of discomfort.
I wonder if Davis is there helping Aggie, then realise he definitely isn’t. Not after the way he stormed out of Afterglow. My sinking feeling is nearing the Earth’s core. As angry as I am at his judgmental manager crap, I know he was only trying to help. I want to call him. Text him. Do something to mend the rift between us. If Ada were here, she’d tell me to forget him, but she’s not; she’s stranded in the backend of nowhere, and I have to go save her. But I will. I can do it. I can do anything.
I straighten against the leather seat. This ismyweekend. I’ve worked my ass off to have a good time, and come hell or high water, I’m going to. I’m going to kiss Will Sharpe and find my happy ending, and I’m going to havefundoing it. I havedecided.
“This you?” the driver asks as we slow down. I peer out the window and see my car and Ada’s dark hair in the driver’s seat.
“Yes, thank you.” I get out, rating him five stars in the app for his merciful silence.
“My hero,” Ada says, hopping out of my car. She’s beaming at me like she just found religion, which is weird, but I don’t have the energy to address it right now. I throw her a quick smile and head tothe back tyre. Then I stop. This isn’t a flat. There’s a long straight line right along it. It’s been slashed.
Suspicion prickles up my spine, but Ada doesn’t seem panicked. She looks almost thrilled. Buzzing. Like this is all part of some grand plan she forgot to loop me in on. I close my eyes and force my anger away before opening the boot and grabbing the tools and the spare wheel. Tyre changing now, rage later.
Ada bounces beside me as I jack the car up.
“Cecelia Anne Taylor, you’re never gonnabelievewhat I found out.”
I don’t look at her. “Is it about someone slashing my tyre, or is that just a fun little coincidence?”
“Actually, I know it’s bad, but it’s kind of good too because?—”
“—No,” I cut in, my knuckles white on the tyre iron. “Save it. I’m sweating through my blowout and replacing a sabotaged tyre in the middle of nowhere. We can talk on the way back to the hotel.”
Ada makes a small, wounded noise but stays quiet. When I’m finished changing the tyre, she helps me lift the damaged one into the boot, along with the tools. Mercifully, my manicure is still perfect. I yank hand sanitiser out of my bag and clean my hands before getting behind the wheel.
Ada jumps into the passenger seat, still smiling like a madwoman. “Okay, so, here’s what went down, Shannon Strom stopped behind me after I pulled over, and he said?—”
“Shannon was here? And you didn’t ask him for help?”
“Fuck no! He’s in on it!”
I clench my jaw tight so hard my teeth hurt as I pull out onto the road. I now have approximately forty minutes to get back to Nikau Palms to transform from a hot-mess mechanic to a glowing goddess for Will, and Ada could have met me at our room half an hour ago if she’d gotten Shannon to change the tyre or at least asked for a ride. But she didn’t, for some no-doubt batshit revenge reason.
“In on what?” I grind out.
“It,” Ada shouts. “The Thompson Farms scumbag conspiracy turned full-blown crimeracket! They’re all in on it! And it’s so much worse than I thought. It’sfucked. And shit—” She grabs my arm. “I need to tell you. Will Sharpe’s in on it, too.”
I shake her off. “The hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve got a recording,” she says, like that explains everything. “Actually, I have a bunch of recordings. But one is from a girl who works on the farm. Grace is her name. Or maybe it isn’t. It probably isn’t, but either way, this conversation isfucked…”
She starts rummaging in her jacket pockets, and fearful thoughts swarm my head. My tyre was carved open. Someone wanted to scare Ada, or punish her, and they usedmycar to do it because my best friend is acting like an unhinged, renegade cop for no reason.
“Hang on,” Ada says, scrolling her phone. “I’ll play it for you?—”
“I don’t want to listen to a recording, Addy!” I burst out. “This is insane. We’re here for a school reunion, and you’re rolling around Pukekohe recording girls who work at a kiwifruit farm? This isn’tPolice Ten Seven!What the fuck are you playing at?”
“Cece, Will’s been?—”
“I don’t care what Will’s been doing! What areyoudoing? I thought you came here to supportmethis weekend.”
“I did, but?—”
