I might’ve been inspired by the judgy clerk, because right after leaving the courthouse, I asked Layla if she was free for a manicure.
“Pretty,” I tell her, distracted.
She frowns, admiring the peachy pale-pink polish. “I wanted to go brighter, but it’s kind of frowned upon to wear polish while we’re in the program, so I had to keep it subtle.”
Shaking my head, I offer her a more genuine smile. “Sorry, no. It looks great, I just have a lot on my mind.”
Layla shrugs, not one to pry, and resumes watching one of the several TVs in the nail salon, each one playing daytime TV—a few talks shows, soap operas, game shows, and an old sitcom rerun.
“Did you hear about the dead body?” Layla asks, so casually you’d think she was talking about theweather.
My lips turn downward. “Please don’t tell me some nursing school cadaver story again.” An uncomfortable shiver works its way through me. I usually get squeamish whenever Layla talks about school. I cannot handle medical stuff.
Her eyes bulge, as if I’ve sprouted a second head. “You seriously haven’t heard? Do you live under a rock? It’s been all over the news.”
Since when does she watch the news? I never watch it. Occasionally, I’ll read an article in the paper to support Marisa, but I find the news depressing. It seems more and more, some crime happens, large enough to become another chapter in the history books. I’ve lived through more historical events than I can count and I’m not even thirty yet, it’s exhausting.
“Well, are you going to enlighten me or keep making me feel guilty for preferring to stay under the safety of my rock?”
Her chin lifts to the screen directly in front of us. It’s a commercial for the evening news airing later, showing Canyon Ridge. It’s been taped off with yellow crime scene tape and Ryker is standing in front of it, being interviewed by a reporter. The footage is dark, with a time stamp in the corner dated for yesterday.
It’s muted so I can’t hear what’s being said, but I can still put the pieces together. A missing woman, whose name sounds vaguely familiar, was found dead. The circumstances are suspicious enough the sheriff’s office has declared her death a result of homicide, and the investigation is ongoing.
My eyes find him before I even realize I’m searching for him. I can barely make Dominic out, but I know his form. He’s almost out of frame, hands tucked in his pockets while chatting with another deputy. His expression is tense, and the tension continues in his stance. Balled up fists, strained arms muscles, even his neck is fraughtwith tension.
“You know you don’t always have to undress him with your eyes.” Layla laughs, forcing me to blink.
I scrunch my nose at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Maybe if I play dumb, she’ll drop it.
“Mom said you left with him after that Sunday dinner he crashed.” She pins me with a look, wagging her brows.
Rolling my eyes, my focus returns to the manicurist as she freshens up my usual red polish. “You’re reaching. It was nothing, just a ride home.”
“You’re literally the worst liar. Just admit you still like him and get back together already. If you do it by next week, I win the bet.”
Snapping my neck, I turn to face her. “You guys already have a bet going?”
My siblings are always betting on something. Usually, I’m at the helm of it. Never thought I’d be the subject.
She snorts. “Fuck yeah, we’re betting. Do you even know us?”
We’re quiet for a stretch, me mulling over my siblings turning my love life into a money grab, Layla engrossed in some random soap opera.
“She had a stalker, you know?” Layla says out of nowhere.
“Who had a stalker?”
“Victoria. The victim.”
Oh, we’re back on that subject?
“Weird,” I tell her, disinterested.
“Yeah,” she continues. “I guess he started leaving her these weird notes on her car, then he started sending her flowers. Eventually he got braver and?—”
“Did you say notes on her car?”
Up until now, I’d convinced myself it was some kind of one off. Some prank from the interns. Now I’m not so sure.
