“Not here. Come on.”
He leads me past the gazebo, down the street. We get stopped twice, and he charms them with practiced ease, thanking them for supporting his father. Then we’re behind the courthouse, the noise dimming to a muffled roar.
Art leans against the brick. “Is everything okay?”
“She’s staying with me.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Genevieve. She’s at my cabin.”
I watch his face the way Beverly taught me to watch opponents playing chess—not the expression, but the muscles underneath. The ones people can’t control.
“She was followed the other night.”
He stiffens. “What? Why didn’t she call me?”
“She was out by the cabin.”
“In thepark?”
I nod. “I found her and got her away from him, then brought her to my place because I knew you’d be caught up in all this.” I jerk my chin toward the rally. “But dude… Shit’s not right.”
“Thank God you were there.” His shoulders drop, and he exhales a shaky breath. “I’ve been so worried about her, Lance. It’s not like I could just call up Myrddin and ask him ‘Hey, you got someone following my girlfriend?’ And my dad’s been on my ass about the campaign, and I couldn’t—” He breaks off, running a hand through his hair. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Pissed off and worried, mostly. But fine.”
He speaks about Myrddin like he doesn’t ever talk to him. And a month ago, I wouldn’t have questioned it. But a month ago, I didn’t know an email existed with his girlfriend’s life on it, sitting in his locked desk. I hadn’t seen him come downstairs and brief me for a hit job.
“Good. That’s good.” He nods, more to himself than to me. “You’re looking out for her?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he says again.
“Maybe she should stay with you. Your dad’s got security.”
I want him to say yes. I want him to step up, claim her, take her somewhere safe with his own hands. Because if he does that, it means he’s still the Art I know. The one I love.
He grimaces. “I can’t right now. Not with everything going on. You know my dad won’t go for that.”
“Who gives a fuck about your dad? This is a bit more serious, don’t you think? You either love her enough to keep her safe, or you don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Then make it that simple, Art. You should tell her about her dad and let her have some goddamn agency.”
His shoulders droop and he kicks at a loose stone on the concrete. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right. I’ll tell her.”
The knot in my chest loosens, and part of me feels an obligation to tell him about the email with Genevieve. The code word she said her dad used. The way she had a panic attack and almost passed out and how she was so scared in her apartment she couldn’t sit without shaking.
I feel like the shittiest friend in the world for keeping his girlfriend’s secrets.
But I can’t tell him, because I’m not convinced he isn’t keeping secrets of his own.
“Fuck.” He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “So she can stay at your place, then?”
“Absolutely the fuck not. This isyourshit, Art.”
