CHAPTER 14
Braxton
“You want a beer?” Nick calls from the kitchen. Before I can answer, the fridge shuts, and he appears in the doorway, a bottle in each hand. “It was a long-ass fucking shift today, and I may need at least five more of these.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, taking one from him when he holds it out. I’ve been planted on his couch for the last two hours, playing stupid video games. He just continually beats the shit out of me.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen Gracie, only getting sporadic messages from her, always putting me off, telling me that she’s busy sorting something or other with Maryann. It feels like an excuse, but I’m not ready to call her out on it when each delay gives me a little more time before I have to tell her about the house. As soon as she sees my face, she’ll know something’s wrong, and I just can’t bear to add to everything else right now.
It’s cowardly as fuck, but I don’t have it in me to care.
Maybe I can just tell her after Christmas.
Needing a distraction, I look over at Nick as he slumpsonto the other end of the couch. “What’s going on at work?”
“Christmas makes people stupid.” He frowns, picking up the TV remote and flicking through the channels before settling onDie Hard. “There’s been a spate of break-ins,” he murmurs, kicking his socked feet up on the coffee table. He slides a dry look my way. “They’re not setting them on fire, though. Thank fuck.”
We both grimace, remembering when a group of teenagers went around Sterling Creek, breaking into people’s houses. They never took much, spending more time vandalizing the homes than anything else. After a couple of weeks, they graduated to setting fires, and were damn lucky no one got fucking killed.
“Where have the break-ins been?” I ask disinterestedly, picking at the label on my bottle, eyes on Bruce Willis as he crawls through air ducts, a lighter in his hand.
“Mostly shops on the main drag of town,” Nick says. My shoulders go stiff, but I keep my expression the same as he continues, “They’ve been targeting the ones that don’t have a lot of security, hoping to take any money that hasn’t been banked.” He frowns, like something just occurred to him. “What’s the system at Blossom Boutique?”
Disquiet fills me as I cast my mind around for details, my chest going too tight as I realize just how little attention I’ve ever paid to it. “They don’t go to the bank every day,” I murmur. “But they also don’t handle a lot of cash. Their big orders usually come through online.”
“Hmm…” Nick hums. “It’s alright. We’ll get them soon. They’re bound to make a mistake any day now.”
“Right,” I mutter, nothing about his words filling me with confidence. He knows more about this shit than I do, and I trust him with my life. But I still pick up my phone, shooting a quick message to Gracie, telling her to be careful and to pass the information on to Maryann.
Neither of usmoves for the next several hours unless it’s to take a leak or get more beers. The distraction has worked wonders, the voices in my head drowned out to a muffled whisper.
Nick ambles to the kitchen at one point. I listen to him rustling around, the television a blur of static in front of me, but then he curses. He comes back to the doorway, propping both hands on the frame. “We’re all out.”
“Of what?”
“Beer and snacks. Wanna head to Benson’s?”
We haven't had much to drink, but neither of us is getting behind a wheel, and I screw my face up. “I’m not walking across town for a beer.”
Nick laughs, his eyes creasing. “Course not. We’ll get a ride.” He bobs his eyebrows. “I’m sure Mom will be happy enough to play taxi.” He levels a look at me that makes me think otherwise, but pulls his phone out anyway. I tune him out as he makes his call, picking up my own phone and staring at the thread with Gracie.
The message I sent about the break-ins has been marked as read, but she hasn’t replied.
“Alright,” Nick announces. “Our ride will be here in fifteen minutes.” He looks around with a frown. “Where the fuck is my wallet?” He wanders down the hall to his bedroom. The guy would lose his head if it weren’t screwed on. I hate to imagine what would happen if he ever knocked someone up.
Deciding that the last few minutes have been enough space, I tap out a message to Gracie.
Braxton
Hey baby, you having a good night?
She reads it straight away, and I pull the phone upcloser to my face, thumbs moving across the screen to write another message.
Braxton
I miss you. It feels like it’s been longer than three days. Are you home? I could come over. I’ll pick up a pizza or something.
The message has been sent before I realize I’ve forgotten my reasoning for keeping my distance, butfuck it. The last three days have crawled by, each one drawing me closer to when everything burns to the ground.
