Twister sighed and leaned more heavily against the counter, his voice turning serious again.“Tempi’s been around forever,” he said.“Her dad was around before that.She knows downtown.She knows the people.But whoever’s coming at us doesn’t care.”He glanced at Britta.“And now they’ve made Tempi and Britta the enemy too.”
I felt my grip tighten around the mug.“They don’t get to choose that for them,” I said quietly.
Twister’s eyes narrowed.“They already did.”
He wasn’t wrong.Tempi and Britta didn’t get to opt out now.Not when someone had already put Britta in the hospital.
Twister’s gaze went cold.“We need eyes on them at all times,” he said.“Tempi and Britta.”
“I’ve got Britta,” I said immediately.
Twister’s attention sharpened, but he didn’t argue.“Good,” he said.“I’ll make sure Tempi isn’t alone either.”
As if on cue, Tempi’s voice rose at the table.“It’s too soon.”
Both Twister and I turned our heads.
Britta’s chin lifted, her eyes narrowing.“It’s not too soon,” she argued.
Twister pushed off the counter and stepped closer, his voice calm but carrying.“What is too soon?”
Tempi gestured with her mug like she was using it as a weapon.“Britta says she’s going back to her apartment on State Street.”
My eyes snapped to Britta.Surprise hit me so fast I didn’t bother hiding it.
She didn’t look away.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t apologize.
Of course she didn’t.
Britta squared her shoulders, carefully, and said, “It’s not too soon.”
Tempi looked like she wanted to launch herself across the table and physically glue Britta to the chair.
Britta kept going.“I love my mom,” she said, tone dry but sincere.“But I think I need at least a few more years living on my own before coming back home to take care of her when she’s old and gray.”
Tempi laughed, but it came out edged.“Your mom is far from needing anyone to take care of her.”Then she pointed at Britta.“You, on the other hand, need all the help you can get right now after being shot.”
Britta rolled her eyes.“I’m getting better every day,” she insisted.“I need to start getting back to normal and not lying around in bed all day.”
Twister moved toward the table, resting a hand lightly on the back of a chair like he was trying to keep his tone from turning into a command.
“Maybe you should stay here until you at least get your stitches out,” Tempi suggested.
Britta scoffed and shook her head.“No.”Just one word, but it landed like a stamp.“I’m not sticking around for that long,” she continued.“Besides, it’s not like my mom is home taking care of me around the clock.She leaves for work at eight-thirty, and then she isn’t home until six-thirty.I’m alone most of the time.”Her eyes slid to me.“Well,” she added, “for the most part.”
Tempi followed Britta’s gaze to me, her expression unreadable.Then she asked, “What do you think about Britta going back to her apartment?”
The question wasn’t just curiosity.
It was a test.
Tempi loved Britta like family.She was scared.She was guilty.She was trying to control the uncontrollable.
I understood that.
