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She was helping them out tonight, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility this could still be about that, but since I haven’t heard from the guys, I kinda doubt it.
I put the phone down on my stomach and reach over to open my bedside drawer so I can check my burner.
Nope, nothing from the guys.
This message isn’t from Sloane’s phone, though, so that’s weird. I didn’t give her a burner, and I don’t see why anyone else would have.
Unless it’s Dare’s burner and something went so wrong, he’s not able to call me himself.
Fuck.
Rather than text her back, I text Hex. “Hey, was everything all right earlier?”
I wait a minute for him to answer, but he doesn’t.
I wait another minute, and finally my phone lights up.
But it’s not Hex.
It’s Sloane on her phone now. “Are you awake?”
She wants to talk now?
No way I’m answering that one.
That feeling of uneasiness grows and I look over at Brynn, fast asleep.
It’s a fleeting impulse, one I know I could never act on, but for just a second, I imagine waking her up, grabbing a bag and telling her to fill it with everything she needs, then grabbing Toast and getting the hell out of here.
Out of Boston.
Out of Massachusetts.
Go somewhere, anywhere, where none of the bullshit can touch us.
It’s a nice dream.
But about as impossible as the one she had about being rescued by a fucking opera ghost.
I have friends who would help me disappear if that was a thing I needed under most circumstances, but not these ones.
Not when you break the cardinal rule and fuck over one of your own.
I close my eyes and draw in a breath, then I release it.
It’s fine.
Everything’s fine.
She just wants to talk.
I still have time.
But it doesn’t feel that way, and not for the first time, I feel like there’s a noose tied around my neck and I’m just waiting for someone to kick the bench out from under me.
And the worst part is, I braided the rope myself when I thought my neck was made of steel.
I told Brynn I didn’t believe in love, and I meant it.
