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She didn’t want to lie.
She also didn’t want to abandon her team. Granted, she was only the flute player. It wasn’t like she played the lead guitar or anything, but still. She had made a commitment, and she wanted to honor that.
But. But what if they smelled wine on her? Oh why hadn’t she fallen off the wagon with vodka? So much less smelly.
Because she didn’t have any vodka in the apartment. Because the last time she’d gotten drunk from vodka, it had nearly killed her.
That’s why she only kept wine in the apartment. Because it was hard to get into trouble with wine.
Usually.
She was kind of in trouble now.
She couldn’t do it. She took out her phone and opened her texting app. She was going to text Harry. She was going to lie.
“Rough night?” a familiar voice said from only feet away.
Her head jerked up to see a smiling Jake taking long strides toward the front steps.
She didn’t know what to say to that. She stood there frozen, phone in hand.
He stopped and assessed her. “Oh,” he said slowly.
She wanted the ground to swallow her. Jake knew.
“It really was a rough night.” He turned to go up the steps, and she thought the conversation was over, but he opened the door for her and said, “Come on, let’s go face the music.”
“Nah,” she said after hesitating. “I think I’m just gonna go.”
He shook his head. “Up to you, but I’ve been where you are, and I think you’ll regret it if you bail.” He pointed his head toward the sanctuary. “Come on. You’ll be okay. None of them will know except maybe Harry, and Harry doesn’t do mad.”
The thought of Harry knowing made her want to die. “You won’t tell him?”
Jake gave her an incredulous look. “Of course not!”
Tentatively, she started up the steps. Jake had come to music practice hungover? She hadn’t known he drank. What, was the Greater Life music team a bunch of closet drunks? And why would Jake admit that to her? They weren’t friends. She hardly knew him.
And how had he known she’d been drinking? Had he smelled it on her? Or did shelookhungover? She walked into the sanctuary, and the answer hit her like a brick to the face: he’d seen her last night. Maybe they’d drunk together. That thought stomped around in her mind, doing an amazing amount of damage, until she was able to convince herself that it was madness. She had not seen Jake Longley at a bar last night. What was she thinking? She hadn’t even gone to a bar.
So then how did he know?
A new thought came to her, and a cold snake slithered through her gut as she stepped into the sanctuary: he knew about the blood.
She mumbled an apology to Harry and the others, which was mostly drowned out by Jake’s loud, dramatic jibber-jabber—good grief, how much coffee had he had—and then she went to her spot and opened her flute case.
Did he? Did he know about the blood? Her hands shook with fear. Her whole body was icy with it.
She put her flute together and then turned to face Harry—and realized everyone was staring at her.
Oh no, what had she missed?
Whatever it was, Harry looked skeptical.
“That’s not possible,” Tiffany said.
“I’m sorry,” Samantha said, the phlegm in her throat making her sound like a frog. “What’s that?”
“Jake was just explaining to us that you’re late because you were up playing video games all night,” Tiffany said. “But no way you’re the type.”
