She goes quiet. “Harley.”
“Girl!”
“I know, it’s just new and...”
“You’re a bad, bad girl, Reagan.”
She laughs. “In all seriousness, maybe don’t jump to evil conclusions about Travis. Maybe Amber is, like, his goldfish that died tragically.”
I snort. “I just, I don’t want to be lied to anymore,” I exhale, staring at the tiled floor. “I feel like I’m always the last to know everything. Sometimes, I feel scarily alone.”
There’s a shuffling sound, then Reagan’s voice, quietly stern. “You’re not alone. You have me. And Chief. And, despite his significant emotional drawbacks, even Travis. Just focus on not getting murdered right now, okay? We can deep dive the Amber mystery when you’re less of a walking target.”
“Copy that,” I say. “Love you.”
“Love you, idiot. Call me if anything happens. I mean it, Vi.”
She hangs up. I sit in the hollow silence. My whole body wants to cave in, but I force myself to stand. I can’t hide in the bathroom all day. When I finally come out, the hallway is empty except for the faint smell of burnt toast drifting up from the kitchen. I follow it, almost on autopilot. My feet pad down the old wooden steps, every creak and groan of the house making me jumpy, like Jeremy might burst out of the pantry with a gun.
The kitchen is empty except for Travis. He stands at the counter, his back to me, head bowed low like he’s reading a ransom note. When he notices me, he straightens, smoothing his hands over his hair. He holds a mug of coffee, the chippedcorner facing out. The toast is still sitting in the toaster, burnt, as I assumed. He is lost in his thoughts.
I take a deep breath. “Can we talk?”
He sets the mug down and turns to face me. “About last night?”
I stand on the other side of the island, putting the granite and four feet of space between us. “Who is Amber?”
His jaw works, like he’s trying to stop himself from speaking. “I want to tell you. I do. Just not yet. But I promise you, it’s not what you think. She isn’t... It’s not an affair, or a chick, or anything like that. I know this is hard, and I’m not lying to you, Violet, but I need time with this. Can you give me that?”
I want to. I really do. But every cell in my body is screaming he’s lying, this will ruin you, you know it.
But I nod, because what the hell else am I supposed to do? He said he will tell me, and I have to trust that he will. “Okay.”
He watches me for a long time, like he’s waiting for me to say something else. When I don’t, he pushes away from the counter, grabs his jacket, and heads for the back door. “I gotta check in with Chief. Lock the door behind me.”
The screen creaks closed. I stare at the toast in the toaster, the charred edge crumbling onto the counter. My hands are shaking. Something is wrong, I know it, but I can’t force him to tell me what it is. I just have to let this one be for now. I have to believe that Travis is being honest, that he’s just protecting me from something. But I’ve spent too many nights lying awake with the taste of regret in my mouth, and I can feel it coming again—this time, bigger and darker, a tidal wave about to break.
I can almost hear it in the hush of the house. Everything is about to collapse, and I won’t be ready at all.
17
I POUR THE LAST AMBERdrops of beer down my throat and set the bottle aside, head spinning.
“Alright, Mischief, that’s enough,” Chief grumbles from the porch.
I lean back against the railing, closing my eyes.
I am drunk.
Really fucking drunk.
It is the only thing I could think of doing to blur out today’s noise. I need silence, and I need to forget everything that’s happening. Before I can get too lippy with Chief, Travis’s arms wrap around me, warm and steady. “You good?”
I tilt my head up, eyes half-lidded, and grin. “I love you, rockstar.”
My words slur pleasantly.
He chuckles. “You love me, or you love the beer?”