Page 207 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Then I peel away and snatch the backpack off the floor, shove the laptop inside with hands that won’t stop fumbling.

Andrew stays rooted,

a wall between me and Hunter.

When I’m done and waiting on the other side of the table, Andrew moves closer, mouth at Hunter’s ear.

I can’t hear what he says over my slamming heartbeat.

But I see Hunter’s face change,

eyes going dark, afraid.

And when Andrew finally steps back,

for a flashing second,

he looks like someone I don’t recognize.

Someone Hunter could’ve been right about, if I didn’t already know he’d do anything to protect me.

The hum of The 1975 fills the Lexus, too soft-spoken.

A nocturnal-aching compared to the place we just left. To the adrenaline rushing through both of us.

Andrew’s chest heaves as if we never left the pool hall, as if he’s still surrounded by Hunter’s threats.

The partition’s up, driver locked away, so the three of us are stranded in a moving box of dark glass—him, me, and Little Death.

Dark streets whip by,

lights flashing across Andrew’s face,

painting his profile in saffron, then shadow.

He’s facing the window,

gazing out into the night,

eyes scrolling past faceless silhouettes,

muscles trembling, even in stillness.

His knee’s bouncing under his hand, as if he’s trying to press the anxiety back into himself.

His other hand’s clutching mine tight,

loosens,

clutches,

knuckles white,

pulse hammering through his grip.

Part of me’s convinced that if he lets go of my hand, the rage will take him, my fear will take me, and we’ll be ripped in half.

The last hour plays out in my mind⁠—