The police haven’t reached out since Tag swore it was all a mistake, that I willingly drove the gunshot victim. And even if they knew anything, why would they tell me? I’m nobody to him. Just a stranger on the periphery, waiting for news that won’t come.
A chill burrows in my bones. I haven’t discussed getting a dog with Alex, but I’ve already made up my mind: if Chase doesn’t come home, Toaster will be mine.
I promised.
“Okay, let’s see where someone put your—” When I twist back to face the living room, I let out a terrified shriek. “Holy shit!”
Chase.
He’s standing at the edge of the hallway in a pair of pajama shorts, his hair sticking up in all directions, and his eyes wide with shock.
I cup a hand around my mouth and breathe out, “Oh my God. You’re alive.”
Chapter 6Chase
The girl.
She’s in my house.
Frozen with confusion, I trail my gaze over her, from her poof of teased hair, to her amethyst lips, to her bulky black heels clicking against my kitchen floor as she fidgets in place. My throat constricts when I meet her eyes again. “Annie, right?”
She hesitates, slowly dropping her arm to her side as she assesses me. Her focus lingers on my bare chest for a second longer than she seems comfortable with before panning down to the gnarly wound taking over my upper thigh, wrapped in gauze and bandages. “Um, yeah…” she says, a shell-shocked whisper. “That’s right.”
I nod, rolling my tongue against my cheek.
I’m at a loss. I should say something, apologize, thank her. But I can’t help but wonder if she’s here to turn me in. The notion ices my blood, though I wouldn’t blame her if she decided to call the cops. I’d go willingly.
My lips part to speak, but whatever word vomit might spill free is eclipsed by her voice.
“I smell like a deep fryer,” she blurts. “I’m so sorry.”
This takes me off guard. Toaster’s overgrown nails clack against the faux-wood planks as he paces around the dining table, hunting down month-old muffin crumbs. “You’re…apologizing.” A frown creases, and I stare at her, stunned. “To me.”
She wrings her hands together, nails tipped with robin’s-egg blue. “I guess. I broke into your house, reeking of hash browns and breakfast burritos.”
I drag a hand over my jaw, scratching at the grown-out stubble, stalling.
Annie’s cheeks redden by the second, her eyes betraying her as they flick downward—once, twice—before she snaps out of it. She pivots sharply, tucking her hair behind her ears with blatant aggression, like she’s trying to reset herself.
“Uh, sorry…” Glancing over my shoulder, I do a double take at the wall hook, falter, then lumber over to the front door to snag a zip-up hoodie off the coat knob. I shove my arms into the sleeve holes and clear my throat. “Wasn’t expecting company.”
“Right. Of course you weren’t. I just…” Her voice trails off, a tangible awkwardness filling the space between us.
She doesn’t know me, and I don’t know her. But here she is, standing in my house, trembling in her chunky heels, and staring at me with glazed blue eyes. Meanwhile, I’m half naked, looking like I just clawed my way out of a coma. I sort of did.
“I was taking care of your dog while you were in the hospital. I didn’t realize they’d let you out, or if you even…”
Survived.
She starts chewing on her thumbnail.
I study her, rake a hand through my hair, though it does nothing to tame the mess. “Shit,” I mutter.
“Yeah. I should go—”
“No, wait.” Taking a sharp step forward, I nearly hiss through my teeth as I tip against the wall and remove pressure off my battered leg. “I…owe you an apology. Of epic proportions,” I say. “Seriously. I don’t even know where to start, but that night was like a fucked-up fever dream, and I’m really sorry I dragged you into it. I honestly wondered if I made you up.”
That dream fizzes beneath the surface of my memories.
