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“I don’t care what he says to me.” Damon got up and called Charles.
Voicemail.
“What’s going on?” Damon said. “Call me back.”
He waited a minute. Called. Again.
After that, he told Ariana he’d return, and he got in the still-warm Charger.
Charles’s car was parked in front of a bar they’d been to several times.
Damon went inside and found his friend at the bar, guzzling down a beer.
“What’s up?”
Charles turned and groaned. “You here to chew me out for Lia?”
“Just trying to find out what’s going on.”
“I’m sure she made me sound like a monster.” His words slurred.
“Lia was upset and confused.”
“She doesn’t understand the pressure I’m under!”
“What kind of pressure?”
“All kinds.” He turned to the bartender. “I’ll have another.”
“Maybe you should slow down.”
Charles scowled at him. “It’s for you.”
“I’m fine.”
The bartender handed the bottle to Charles, and he slid it to Damon. “Then I guess I’ll be forced to drink it.”
“That’s how you’re going to play it?” Damon asked, taking a sip. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Not really. You’re on her side.”
“I’m here for you.”
“You aren’t denying it.”
“I’m not taking sides,” Damon said. “We’re friends. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“Why not?”
“Your life is perfect.”
Damon burst out laughing. “You’re definitely drunk if you think that.”
Charles glared at him.
“I know you don’t think my life is perfect,” Damon said. “I’m living in your guest room because my house burned to the ground, which is filled with dead bodies.”
