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He scoffs. “No, it’s nothing like that sugar-peppermint-coconut-peach crap.Snapsis much better.”
“And much stronger,” Riven adds drily.
“Yep. Brace yourself, Tink. Tonight, we’re going to gohard.”
We make it to the car, and I help the boys pack up the boot. Just before I climb into the backseat, my neck prickles. I can feel someone watching me. I turn and see the old man from before, standing right in the middle of the road, juststaringat me.
My heart freezes in my chest. Did hefollowme?
It wouldn’t surprise me. In the week before I left England, I had plenty of creepy men following me around Brighton. Shuddering, I slam the car door shut, huddling in my coats. For a second there, I let myself forget what I was running from.
But I guess I can’t ever run away from the truth.
Thirteen
Daisy
Eli cooks spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and I make a Cesar salad to go with it. After we eat, we all crack open the booze and migrate to the fire. The boys have a record player, and me and Eli sift through their piles of old rock records, picking out what to play.
To my surprise, Cole is out here too. He’s not saying much; just sitting in the armchair by the window, drinking his whiskey and watching the snow fall outside. He has a book on his lap, but he’s ignoring it.
As I flip through old record sleeves, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. There’s something mysterious about him that I can’t put my finger on. When we first met, I assumed he was just an asshole—and he is that—but there’s something deeper to him. Another layer. He looks almost sad as he stares out of the window, watching snowflakes flutter to the ground. Lonely.
Eli sets a record on the turntable, then pulls a plastic crate out of the fridge. It’s full of tiny glass bottles, like the spirits you’d buy on an aeroplane. “Alright. Let’s get you a drink.”
I eye the little bottles dubiously. “Snaps?”
“You bet. It’s kinda like vodka flavoured with herbs, I guess. Let’s start you off easy.” He checks a label on one of the bottles. “How does orange peel and cinnamon sound?”
“Delicious.”
“Right.” He twists off the cap and pours the bottle into a little glass. “Here you go, babe.”
I sip it tentatively. It burns going down, but it leaves a pleasant, spicy aftertaste. I smack my lips. “Nice.”
Eli pours his own drink, then slumps down on the sofa next to me. “So. How was everyone’s day?”
Riven plucks a bottle from the box. “Well, my mother called, and offered me twenty grand to come home.”
Eli whistles. “Dollars or SEK?”
“Dollars.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” Riven’s mouth is grim. “It’s the last thing I want to do, but the local hospital could really use that money. I don’t know what to do.”
“Hold out until she offers you more,” Eli shrugs. “She can afford a shitton more than that.” He points at me. “What about you, babe? How was the garage? Is your car gonna be okay?”
I pull a face. I was so worried about the creep outside the pub that I completely forgot about the mechanic. “Bad. It’ssomuch more expensive than I thought it would be.”
Eli nods. “Pretty much everything is expensive in Sweden. Taxes.”
“If you don’t have the money, we can cover it, it’s fine,” Riven adds.
“No. Absolutely not. No way in Hell.” I’m already indebted to these guys, as is. The last thing I want to do is takemoneyfrom them. “I can afford to get the car fixed myself; the only problem is, it’ll use up all the money I had saved up for the trip. I wouldn’t be able to rent a room anywhere. I’d just have to go straight home again.”
I have to hide a shudder at that thought. I can’t go home, back to all the awful, judgy neighbours, and the journalists banging down my front door. I can’t.
