Page 8 of Black Waters

“Maria already stocked the fridge for the weekend while we were at school yesterday.”

“You know her housekeeper’s schedule? Stalker much?”

I wanted to say, “As of late? Yes,” as I watched over Whit’s house from mine, but instead said, “I know her world like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I believe it. You two have been in love for some time now.”

That statement shocked the hell out of me, but then I thought about what Harlan had been trying to tell me at the skating rink before we were interrupted—and I was forced to punch someone in the nose. My father was delighted with that phone call, explaining a doctor bill was in the mail.

Since Harlan apparently had been studying Whit and me, a glimpse of hope had me asking, “Do you… Do you really—”

“Really believe that?”

After a pause, because my questions were showing the need I usually hid, I said, “Yeah. You really believe she—that Whit sees me like that?” I hadn’t believed Constance, thinking she was talking through jealousy, but Harlan, well, there was nothing he could have said that I wouldn’t have trusted.

“She doesn’t know it,” said Harlan, “but yeah, I believe Whit’s your girl.”

I stared at the blue water I had just carried her and her heartache across and wondered what I’d stopped her from telling me. “But—” I couldn’t say his name out loud.

“Crash?”

I coughed as my throat tightened. “Uh, yeah.”

“What’d you expect? You’re with Connie. Whit thinks you don’t want her like that. Let me ask you this, Mr. Dipshit, how do you feel seeing Whit wanting to be with Crash? Because it makes Whit’s stomach turn, as she puts it, to watch you with Connie.”

I couldn’t put it into words, so I didn’t.

“That’s what I thought,” Harlan said in yet another lecturing tone. “So how do you think Whit feels seeing you all over Connie—who treats her like shit, FYI?”

“Well…Connie is only like that because, well, she figured out I feel, uh, something for, uh, Whit.”

Harlan mumbled, “I see I have another rocket scientist on my hands.” He went back to reprimanding mode. “I understand that, but do you? And why does Whit hate on Connie right back? Possibly for the same reason?”

I cannot explain why I had never thought of that before—or how dumb Harlan was making me feel for being so incredibly slow—but it was like an epiphany. I fell back into a patio chair. “Holy shit.”

“He’s quick,” Harlan teased. “He’s quick. Oh, there’s just one catch.”

My stomach plummeted. I didn’t want a catch. “What?”

“Uh, Whit is about as quick as you are. In other words, she’s still clueless about her feelings, so, good luck with that. Gotta go! See ya in a bit.” He hung up.

If it were physically possible, I would’ve reached through the cell phone and strangled the smartass.

When Ford and Harlan got out of Harlan’s car, I was shocked as hell to see Connie with them. I opened Whit’s front door and gave Harlan an expression of “What the f—”but he shrugged. “Hey, I didn’t create this love triangle from hell. Back off.” He quietly and suspiciously asked, “Why is your car here?”

He knew I always swam to Whit’s. I only replied, “No questions was part of the deal. Oh, and my dad thinks I’m hanging with you two fools today.”

Harlan walked past me to enter Whit’s house. “Which you are, soooo I’m guessing we’re not hanging here for some reason?”

“Not to his knowledge. Ca-peesh?”

Harlan saluted me and patted my back, letting me know he heard me loud and clear. When his hand patted the gun tucked in my jeans, his eyes widened as blood drained from his face. He slowly nodded. “Ca-peesh.”

Ford playfully punched my gut as he passed me. Connie tried to kiss me. I gave her a slight peck with no emotion because I was worried for her safety. She’d come somewhere she hadn’t been invited. I quickly ushered her inside, nervously looking outside, making sure we were alone before shutting Whit’s door. My thought process had been Whit would be safe with company as witnesses. That company was not to include another girl I cared about.

Damn it!

Everyone could see Whitney was taking the news about Crash very hard and suffering with the reminder of her brother’s death. Knowing she wouldn’t want to talk about it, Harlan, Ford, and I acted as if she was fine. I handled my worries my own way, and that was, ready to throw my body over hers if Russian bullets started to fly through the house. Sounds paranoid? Maybe, but I had no clue what to expect.