Page 99 of Pistols & Peonies

We lapse into quiet for a few minutes, the conversation around us blurring into background noise. I keep thinking maybe if I wait long enough, Char will drop the subject, but she just sits there picking at chips, waiting me out.

She always wins this game.

Finally, she says, “So, Kane’s brother…”

My head snaps up before I can stop it. “What about him?”

Char smiles demurely, all wide-eyed innocence. “Is he single? Because, like, I know you’re spoken for and all, but a girl can look, right?”

My stomach does an unpleasant little flip at the mention of Whit, but I force out a snort. “Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

Char pouts immediately, disappointed. “You’re supposed to be my inside source. What’s the point of sleeping with the boss if you can’t get me juicy gossip?”

“Trust me,” I mutter, reaching for my drink again. “That’s not how any of this works. Sorry.”

She sighs dramatically, then tilts her head, studying me again. “Okay, real talk? You’re being weird.”

“I know.”

“Like, apologizing for nothing weird.”

I groan and press the heels of my palms into my eyes, rubbing hard like I can physically scrub my brain clean. “I know.”

“Stop it!” she snaps, smacking my wrist. “You’re freaking me out, Vi.”

I drop my hands and look at her. “It’s just been a lot, okay? Maybe I’m not cut out for this… domestic bliss thing.”

Char snickers immediately. “Two nights at the lake and you’re calling it domestic bliss?”

I pick up a tortilla chip and snap it cleanly in half between my fingers. “Whatever. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

She studies me for another second, then nods, a little too understanding. “Fine,” she says, picking up her drink. “But if he ever does anything truly psycho, you’ll tell me, right?” She points her straw at me for emphasis. “Like, tie you up in the basement psycho,” she clarifies. “Not tie you up in bed psycho.”

I choke on my margarita.

Char grins, clearly delighted with herself. “So, both then?”

“Shut up.” I glare at her over the rim of my glass, but the tension that’s been wound tight in my chest all afternoon finally cracks. A laugh spills out– a real one, not the polite, fake version I’ve been managing all day.

“Feel better?” she asks.

I nod, wiping my mouth with the back of a hand. “Yeah. A little.”

She checks her phone, then grabs her bag and pushes to her feet. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

I blink up at her. “But it’s not even that late.”

“Yeah, but I’m out of drink money,” she says, slinging her purse over a shoulder. “And I’m not risking you wandering into traffic because you’re stuck inside your own brain.”

I laugh under my breath and stand, following her through the bar and out onto the street. The early evening heat is still radiating off the pavement, the air thick with exhaust and fryer grease from the restaurant next door.

The walk back to the Tower is only a few blocks, but Char fills the distance with a steady stream of chatter– complaints about her job, the latest disaster in her search for a new roommate, and gossip from the fight circuit. I let her words wash over me without really absorbing any of it, content to nod along and offer the occasional uh-huh or no way without having to think too hard.

When we reach the Tower, she stops at the curb and turns to face me, hooking her pinky through mine the way she used to back in high school.

“You sure you’re good?” she asks.

I nod, though the motion feels stiff and mechanical. “I just need to talk to Kane. Figure things out.”