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Anxiety was a canny liar. When it whispered to you in a voice that sounded exactly like your own, it was impossible to reject the things it told you.
His jeans were damp in the front. “God. Did I piss myself?”
Arden shook her head. “That’s your beer.”
Harry tipped his head all the way back. “Sorry you had to see that.”
Arden made a dismissive sound and reached over to squeeze his knee. “Don’t ever apologize to me. I’m just sad I didn’t get to see you eat that horrifying burger.”
Harry’s smile was weak. “How’d you get me into the truck?”
“I’ve been working out.”
He rolled his head sideways against the headrest to pin her with a look.
“I had some help from Duncan and Colby,” she said.
“Where’s Duncan now?”
“I assume he went back to flirting with the girl running the barbecue truck. He said he’d get a ride home.”
“How’d you explain this to Colby?”
“I told him you really hated his family’s place, and you were faking it so I’d take you home,” she said, dryly.
“Christ, Arden.”
Gentler, she said, “I told him the truth. You have anxiety attacks, and the blood was a trigger. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He closed his eyes and let the motion of the truck rock him. “You give him your number yet?”
Her laugh was a whipcrack in the darkness. “Jesus, Harry. You really want me to flirt with a guy over your passed-out ass?”
“I’m willing to take one for the team. Did you?”
“No. He still didn’t ask.”
Harry’s mouth felt like it was packed with a moldy dishrag. “Did I throw up?”
“No. You kept saying a name, though. Cora.”
“Cora.” He made himself say her name. “Cora Woodward. Cora Renee Woodward.”
“She’s the one you lost.”
“Yeah.”
“You know you’re not to blame for that, Harry. Youknow.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
For a while, the only sound was the rumble of the road and the gentle, rhythmic tinkling of the keychain hanging from the ignition.
“What happened with the guy who cut himself?” he asked.
A long pause. Arden sniffed. “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“Christ, so much blood.”
