Page 29 of Hearts on the Line

Annie is all mock outrage. “Anyone ever tell you that you’d look prettier if you smiled?”

Sloane only groans while Brooks blows out a disbelieving laugh. “Fuck off, Annie.”

I rake my hands through my hair and exhale slowly. “Make sure she has a helmet, and drive slow,” I say to Brooks, pointing my finger at him before I steer Sloane back to my apartment. “She’s annoying, but…”

“He loves me,” Annie giggles, twirling around Brooks.

I don’t hear his mumbled response, only see the way his shoulders tense before he dives out into the road and hauls Annie in close when she tumbles from the edge of the sidewalk into oncoming traffic.

Sloane still has her hands braced on the trash can, the bruise darkening by her eye, and she’s glaring at me.

“Don’t say anything.” Her whisper is a low threat, but I still hear the way it shakes.

“I’ll help you back to the apartment, and you can get cleaned up. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I doubt it.”

Her smile wobbles, and I panic, stepping forward to steady her, afraid if I don’t, she’ll fall apart there outside of Markey’s. It’s bad enough that everyone will be talking about her in the morning.

“What happened exactly?” It’s such a dumb question. I regret it instantly.

“I didn’t want to go out, but Annie was happy and I couldn’t say no. Then I’m sitting there at a table with all her friends and they’re children, Ethan. Children! I felt so old.”

We’re halfway back to my apartment now. “You’re not old, Sloane.”

She stops, throwing her hands up into the air. Her dress lifts dangerously close to the top of her thighs. “This is the dress of a child!”

I try my best. I do. But a grin parts my lips.

She storms over and shoves me back a step, playfully. “No, don’t do that. Don’t smile. And you sure as hell can’t laugh. You have to stay grumpy, Ethan. I know how to handle that.”

“Handle me?”

She tugs at her dress, cursing under her breath. “I need a fucking shower. I smell.”

“At least you don’t smell like fish.”

Sloane narrows her eyes. “Don’t be charming. I know you’re only letting me crash with you out of some misplaced hero complex. Don’t pretend you like me. I’m leaving.”

Right, a hero complex. That sounds easier somehow than that pressure that’s built in my chest these past twelve years. It glosses over the night I was shoved inside a patrol car, terrified she was hurt after fighting her brother.

I help guide Sloane up the stairs, her balance wobbly at best.

Once we’re through the door, she falls to her knees, hugging Wally for dear life.

“Don’t attack my dog.”

“We’re having a moment. Go away.”

“I’ll start the shower. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

For a minute, she pales, and I think I might need to dive for another trash can. “I don’t need your help.” But as she says that, she falls over, laughing a little. “This house is too spinny.”

I leave her there giggling in the middle of my apartment and grab a few things, then turn the shower on.

When I head out, maybe two minutes later, Wally is standing above Sloane, licking her face, and she seems to be snoring.

“Sunny,” I say, bending down. I gently nudge Wally away. “Bed soon, I promise.”