She flashes me a glittering grin. “But I’m also fine. I’ll say this for Thrasher Thompson—his coke’s real.”
My heart drops.Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
“Babe, what are you doing?”
Ada shrugs. “Taking back some power.”
“This isn’t going to help. You know that.”
She smiles her hollow smile. “Maybe. But that’s tomorrow's problem.”
I glance over my shoulder at the kitchen, aware I’ve left Davis holding the bag. I want to stay with Ada, but wherever she is right now, I can’t reach her.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I say, gently. “We’ll talk later, okay? Just be careful, please. For me?”
She meets my eyes for a split second, then looks away. “Sure.”
Ice trickles down my spine. That’s a ‘no.’ But unless I have Davis crash-tackle her and lock her in the walk-in freezer, I’m out of options. I go back to the kitchen, buzzing with helpless energy. The kind that needs anoutlet; fucking, fleeing, fighting.
I can’t flee—I’m working. But I’m working in a bar, which means the other options are wide open, and just like I heard Meatloaf croon a million times when I worked here for Mitch, two out of three ain’t bad.
As I mentally weigh up my poisons, another text from Jake pings through:
I’m so fucking sorry this happened, Cee. Can I please come around? I’m scared for Ada.
“Oh, fuck you,” I mutter. But what am I supposed to say?‘Don’t be scared?’ Heshouldbe scared. But if he comes here and finds Ada all coked up and surrounded by walking child support cheques, all hell will break loose. And hell already feels way too close.
I should never have shown Ada that photo.
No, that’s a lie. She deserved to know the truth.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe. Beneath all my justified anger at Jake and justified terror for Ada, there’s a small, selfish truth: I’m scared she won’t come to the reunion because of this.
“Cece?” Davis calls from somewhere behind me. “You, good?”
I shake my head. I’m a terrible friend. As soon as this slow-motion panic attack is over, I’m binning Will’s flowers. I don’t deserve them.
Another ping from my phone. I glance at it, grateful for the distraction. It’s Jake, because of course it is:
I called Jenny and told her to take the pictures of us down. She gave me an earful and I don’t give a fuck, but do you run Afterglow social media accounts? Bc I think she’s messaged them or flagged them or some bullshit.
Before I can begin to contemplate why she would do that, another message arrives:
Where’s Ada? Tell me, or I’m gonna start looking for her.
My jaw clenches as I hammer out my reply:
She’s here. She’s okay. No thanks to you.
Good. I’m coming to see her.
“No!” I shout, before typing:
Ada’s totally overwhelmed. Nothing good will come from her looking at you tonight.
He responds:
Too bad. I need to explain.
