Page 89 of Hidden

The song kept playing, suddenly far too loud in the silence that followed.

Rachel froze mid-performance.

For a second, no one moved.

No one spoke.

Dante’s jaw flexed. His stare stayed fixed on the windscreen, both hands clamped to the wheel so tightly his knuckles looked pale even in the streetlight.

Rachel slowly turned back around in her seat. “Alright,” she said quietly. “No need to be a dick.”

I shut my eye again.

Bloody hell.

Now we were all trapped in a moving box full of tension and wounded feelings and unspoken apologies, and I hated that almost as much as I hated sobriety.

It lasted for maybe ten seconds.

Twelve at a push.

The next song clicked on, and I had to do it. Because I am a generous and community-minded individual, I decided to save us all.

From the back seat, with all the conviction of a man on the brink of spiritual collapse, I croaked, “I CAAAAAAN’T LIVE—”

Rachel whipped around so fast she nearly dislocated something.

“IF LIVING IS WITHOUT YOU!” I roared, throwing one arm into the air.

Her face lit up instantly. “YES!”

Dante made a sound low in his throat that can only be described as a death rattle.

Rachel joined in at full volume. “I CAAAAAN’T GIVE—”

“I CAN’T GIVE ANY MOOOOORE!”

And that was it.

The awkward silence died a swift and horrible death under the force of our singing.

Rachel twisted in her seat properly now, pointing at me like I was her long-lost duet partner.

Her hair buddy.

Fuck yes! We were back!

I pushed myself half upright in the back and pointed back at her, and together we absolutely butchered the chorus with the kind of passion that should have earned us criminal charges.

“Turn it down,” Dante snapped.

We ignored him, and Rachel flicked the radio to a different station, and I immediately got caught up in the song.

“Fuck yes!I hope you know, I will carry you home!”

“We’re literally carrying you home now!” Rachel shouted over the music, laughing.

“I know!” I yelled back. “It’s immersive!”