“He’s in lock up,” Kaia barks, laughing. “I swear to everything holy, Boonie, if you don’t bring me back a mug shot of Brighton Black, I will never speak to you again.”
“You told her first?” I say, completely offended.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to sneak out of here to go get him.” Boone throws his hands up.
“Let him rot for a night,” Kaia snaps and grabs more plates.
“I’ll go,” I say to him, and he instantly shakes his head at me. “I’m not leaving him there.”
“He’s drunk, Rhea, really drunk,” Boone warns.
“It’s fine, he can be drunk out of jail.” I groan and hand him the radio I usually wear in my ear to talk to Sunday behind the bar when I’m at the front door.
I fish my keys out and wander to the parking lot, taking my time to find a playlist, only to notice there’s a new one queued up in my list.
A Happy Playlist for My Sad Girl.
“You’re a fucking prick,” I swear, plugging in my phone and hitting play on it only to cry the entire way to Lorette. Every single song on the playlist is happy in rhythm with the saddest possible lyrics I’ve ever heard. And I hate him every single time a new one starts. It’s so far out of his wheelhouse that it must have taken him hours—maybe days.
I slam my hands on the steering wheel, and the Bronco swerves a little, scaring me enough to slow down.
“I hate you!” I scream at the empty highway.
By the time I get to the station, my head is throbbing, and my chest is sore from screaming, but I don’t feel so wound up and am a little more confident about coming face to face with him.
You can do this. You’re a brave little toaster.
I exhale and push through the doors. It smells like bleach, booze, and blood inside, and my stomach churns. It was a lot easier doing this the first time when Brighton was at my back, not the one needing to be bailed out.
“I’m here to pick up Brighton Black,” I say to the girl behind the counter, and she starts the paperwork.
I hear him before I see him. He’s laughing with the cop escorting him out like they’re old friends, and it’s infuriating.
“Say hi to Lovey for me. He hasn’t been around much lately. He’s turning into a homebody!” The cop shakes Brighton’s hand and gives me a tiny nod.
Brighton turns, stopping dead in his clumsy, drunk tracks when he sees me standing there with my arms crossed. “Why are you here?” He asks, his gaze glassy, a small smile on his face. “What did you do?” He steps forward, reaching out to the small bandage on my forehead, but I step back and don’t answer his second question.
He scowls.
There you are.
“Boone is trying to keep the Hollow from burning down in your absence. I’m the only one who could leave to bring you home from your joy ride.” I snap. “Did you have fun?” I ask him, and his jaw tightens. “Good,” I whisper.
I don’t waste time trying to convince him to follow. I just walk out to the Bronco, and before I can open my door, he does it for me. I don’t look at him as I climb inside and start the engine.
“Hey, you got the playlist!” He smiles at me and feels like someone presses my heart into a bowl of broken glass. “Wow, it's clean in here,” he says, looking around. I hate how easy-going he is when he’s drunk. I want my Brighton. Not whoever this is.
You cleaned… You took it to the cleaners!
I want to scream.
“Shut up,” I tell him and turn the stereo off. “Here.” I hand him a water. “Drink.”
“Grumpy.” He reaches out, and his fingers tap the volume back up. I keep my eyes on the road, but I can feel him staring at me because it burns like the sun.
At least with the music on, I can’t hear him breathing.
I’m so upset with him I could cry. But simultaneously, I’m so glad he’s not dead.This could have been a lot worse.It’s another twenty minutes before he opens his mouth again.
