33. 33
Killian
It’s two in the morning, and I park the car behind an old bar. The streetlights don’t reach here. There’s a dumpster. A wild rooster sits on top of it. I keep the car idling to use the A/C. It’s too muggy outside to open the windows.
“Thanks for the ride,” says Asher, who unbuckles his seatbelt.
Buzz, buzz.
I check the notification and immediately squint.
It’s an e-mail.
“Four thousand dollars has been successfully deposited...”
I open Harlow’s bank account. The pending transaction has her ex’s name on it.
What in the fuck?
Why’d he send her that much cash?
I open the camera app. The trailer’s dark. Harlow’s in bed. She’s alone. Good.
A mild sense of relief washes over me. It doesn’t mean nothing happened, but at least he didn’t stay the night.
I should watch the playback.
“Nothing happened,” I mutter to myself.
She wouldn’t do that. No fucking way. I got her off tonight. She wouldn’t hook up with two guys in one night. She isn’t Nina.
I take a bump of cocaine, trying to snap out of it.
“You should’ve stayed with her,” says Asher, who grabs the bag and ladles a scoop of powder. “I don’t know why you came to me.”
“You told me to come help you!” I roar.
“Easy. Easy. Chill. I think you’ve been snorting too much of this shit.”
He twists the bag, closing it tightly, as if he’s telling me the party is over. I snatch it from him and open it.
“It’s my coke. I say when I’m done.”
“That stuff will make anyone lose their mind. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up with a police helicopter chasing you down the street or blowing your brains out for no good reason.”
I shake my head. “You love coke. Don’t act like you didn’t get me started on it all those years ago.”
He leans back in the seat and muses. The energy shifts, dark and solemn. “It wasn’t the drugs that made me say that stuff. Everything I said was true.”
My pulse inches higher. I swallow, not sure I’m ready to hear this.
“Fuck you,” I growl. “The least you could do is apologize.”
“Kill, I swear. It wasn’t the drugs. What I said, I meant.”
“Get out of my car.”
He sighs, annoyed. “It’s not like I didn’t love you. You were enough. I just wasn’t happy. Why can’t you accept that?”
“Because!” I hit the steering wheel hard. “We had fucking plans!”
“Make new plans with that girl.”
I drag my palms down my face. “It’s not that easy.”
“It is.”
He chuckles like this is some big joke. “You are not easy, and neither is Harlow. You two are so alike.”
“Yeah? You both fuck with my mind.”
He snickers, proud of himself. He takes out his phone and holds it up. “Good old Atticus still has me connected to you.”
“I fucking knew it.”
He laughs again. “This girl. Man, you’re down so bad for her. The level of stalking is top-tier.”
“I’m not stalking her. I’m helping her.”
He sees right through my bullshit and smiles smugly. His familiar expression fades, though, turning serious.
“You can’t keep leaving her. She’s all you got that makes you happy.”
I look out the windshield, unable to face him.
He adds calmly, “You need to tell her about relapsing.”
“I didn’t relapse. I have a little now and then.”
“Look in the mirror. You’re hooked.”
I check my phone, unsure what day it is. Fuck, she’ll test me tomorrow. It won’t be out of my system even if I stop now.
He opens the car door.
My chest tightens. I always hate when he leaves.
“Thanks for your help,” he says, “but the next time someone is about to fuck your girl, don’t come for me.”
I grunt, then purse my lips tightly.
“What if I moved in with her? In our old place. Would that be fucked?”
Asher shrugs and steps out of the car. Before shutting the door, he leans down. “Honestly, Kill... I don’t know if you’re really happy. I wasn’t. Actually, fuck that girl. Do what I did and make a change. Don’t move into the condo. Don’t get tied down. Be free, ya know?”
I nod slowly.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” I reply, but I don’t mean it. I hate that he’s happy without me.
The door shuts.
He leaves.
Like he always does.
But the door flings open once more.
“What the hell are you doing here this late?” asks Frida.
I glance around, realizing I’m parked behind the dance studio, not a bar. I check my watch. It is early morning. At least I got that right.
“My security system alerted me of a vehicle loitering at my studio. It woke me up!” she scolds.
“Sorry.”
She drops into the seat as if I invited her to join me.
“I just dropped off Asher. He needed a ride to this side of town.”
Frida goes still. Her gaze moves outside the window, searching. “Why are you still talking to that asshole?” she hisses. “Are you on drugs again?”
“Asher didn’t make me relapse. So calm down.”
“He made you start,” she replies. “I want you to cut him out of your life, Killy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What? Killy?”
I nod slowly. It isn’t her name for me anymore.
“You’re married,” I remind her.
She twists her slender fingers together. “So?”
“I wish you would move on, Frida.”
Her eyes narrow and nostrils flare.
“I am! With Matteo. I am being a good friend. You cannot go down this path again. You may not survive. Quit the drugs. Cut Asher out of your life. Start over.”
Her hand darts toward the ignition. I slap it away.
“You’re not driving like this.”
“Get out.” I take out my knife and point it at her, a warning.
Her eyes narrow, but she pushes the door open and steps out. Before shutting it, her goodbye is sharp. “I’m calling your father.”
“Do it,” I say, unbothered, but she’s already stalking back to her car.
I drive away. My phone buzzes.
Atticus: Here’s the address.
Atticus: *pin drop*
Good. He’s up late too. I’m glad he replied to my text. This is perfect timing.
I make a U-turn, following my GPS.
Evan should be home. He left Harlow’s trailer long ago. It’s time to make sure he never comes back.