I don’t want to deny that it happened. I want to deny that it’s over. Talking, eventhinking, about our relationship in the past tense feels wrong. I run a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the overwhelming urge to correct her.
“I thought you and Harper were friends?” I ask her, standing to help her into her coat, not letting my hands linger and longer than absolutely necessary as she slides each arm in painfully slowly.
“Oh, I think she’s just fine, I just would do things a bit differently if I were in charge,” she says, shrugging as she loops her arm through mine, not a care in the world at how hard it’s making it to walk from our table to the exit.
The sweet, sweet exit.
“I think the club does pretty well, don’t you?” I ask as we step outside, the night air sticky and humid. Her hand still attached to my arm does nothing to keep my clothes from clinging to my body in this unholy heat. I think it’s the heat, but it could also be the way Tessa tosses her head back when she answers, laughing like I’m the dumbest boy in school to think Harper runsCirquewell.
“Cirquedoes okay, but it could be great. Harper is limiting what the club can do, the markets we could run if she loosened the reins a bit,” she answers almost wistfully.
I don’t like the way she talks about Harper, orCirque, as if it hasn’t become a thriving enterprise under her leadership and cornered a market that didn’t even exist before she created it.
Before I can reply and ask her what she would do differently or if there are other employees atCirquewho feel the same way, she tugs me towards an alley next to the restaurant where a line of cars is parked.
“My car is this way,” she says, pointing with no real direction down the alley.
I hate being a good guy, raised right and all that bullshit. All I want to do is get back to Harper, but I can’t let Tessa walk down murder alley alone. Who would feed her cats? She also chose this part of the night to finally give the smallest glimmer of gossip about the rest of the staff. Unhappy employees means disloyal employees—exactly what we are looking for.
“So, you were saying about the club. Do other people think she should change things up too, or—” My phone vibrates in my pocket, the pulse reaching our linked arms as Tessa looks down, frowning.
The vibration of the call pulses over my body as I reflexively press on my phone through the pocket, the vibration cutting off when the call is ignored.
“Sorry about that,” I say to her, smiling wider than necessary.
“Popular guy,” she laughs as we approach the side of a parked car, apparently hers.
The vibration starts again as she pulls her arm from mine and opens her purse to look for her keys inside.
I take the opportunity to pull my phone from my pocket, seeing Wade’s name flash across the screen.
“Sorry, I have to take this. It’s Wade. There might be anissue or a tripped alarm,” I tell her, turning around, pretending that not seeing her watch me take the call offers any semblance of privacy.
“What is it, Wade? I’m busy—” I start before he cuts me off.
“Are you still with Tessa?” he asks, his tone eerily calm, the question clear and to the point.
I smile imagining Harper standing next to him, ear pressed to the phone, trying to make sure Tessa goes home alone.
“Yes, I am. We just finished up dinner,” I say, pausing as I hear voices in the background. Panicked voices. I can hear Harper, and at least one other person, talking over each other, voices too high and speech too fast.
“Wade, what’s wrong—” is all I manage to get out before I fall to my knees, phone thrown from my hand as I lean over the asphalt, trying to orient myself. Was I hit by a car? Ifeellike I got hit by a car.
I hear an annoyed sigh behind me, the sound adding to the ringing in my ears as I put my other hand to the back of my neck, wetness coating my fingers as I pull it away. I push off the ground with my hand, using every muscle to bring my legs up underneath my weight, but the asphalt tips to the side and I tip with it, barely catching myself from falling on my face.
I don’t even feel the pain anymore, and something about that feels scarier. If the blood coating my hand means anything, my head should be throbbing. The calm of my body means it’s either going into shock or it’s given up. I tilt my head up, knees and hands braced on the ground below me as I scan the area. I don’t see anyone to call to, anyone to help.
But I do see my phone, the screen still illuminated with Wade’s name sitting at the top. But it isn’t Wade that I hear.
It’s Harper.
She’s screaming through the phone, just my name over and over. The force of her cry is like a shot of adrenaline, forcing me to move one arm and leg at a time, crawling to where her voicepulls me. I need to get to her. If this is how I die, I need to hear her voice one more time. Not the high-pitched, pained cry that’s coming through the speaker now. I don’t want her to worry or be scared. I have to tell her I will be fine. That everything will be all right.
One last lie.
I want to hear the quiet Harper that murmurs in my ear that it’s time to get out of bed. The sweet Harper, who lets me put my head in her lap while we watch TV and runs her fingers through my hair.
I reach my hand out, fingers brushing along the cracked metal before a heeled boot comes down on the back of my hand. It’s not a stomp. There is no crack of bone to puncture the silence of the alley. The only sound is the moan I let out, head hanging as the world does a flip and bile starts to work its way up my throat. I try to close my eyes, but that only makes the wave of nausea worse, forcing them to remain open.
