Awake.
Very awake.
And I understand, with one sick little drop in my stomach, that he has been awake for a while.
“How much did you hear?” I ask.
“Enough.”
I stand too fast and wince.
His eyes flick down, then back up, darkening for a reason that has nothing to do with anger.
“Don’t,” I say. “Do not start with me.”
His jaw flexes. “You answered the phone in the bathroom.”
“She called me.”
“You should have woken me.”
“I knew what you’d say.”
“Because it would’ve been smart.”
I move around him into the room, clutching the phone like he might take it. “She ran away from Landon.”
“Maybe he forced her to make that call.”
The word hits the same bruise as last night.
I whirl on him. “Don’t.”
“Talia.”
“She said he had her phone. She said the texts weren’t her. She said he threatened me.”
“And he might have.”
“She was crying.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s safe.”
“She’s my sister.”
His face tightens, but he does not push that point again.
Smart man.
“She’s meeting me at the Bluebird Café,” I say.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I grab my clothes from the floor and yank them on with all the dignity of a woman losing an argument to denim. Then I grab my boots.
