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Preston holds her. He holds her as—finally—she releases the sobs that have been brewing and boiling within her for all the hours she’s been stuck at the station.
Preston holds her.
And everything suddenly seems… like it might be ok.
Even if, the moment he lets go, the world rears up around her again—and it’s anything but ok.
16
The tender purr of the Cadillac vibrates the passenger seat, a familiar sensation, as familiar to her as Preston’s cologne filling up the car.
He turns the wheel as he rolls towards the street, then flicks the turn signal on—to turn left, towards town, towardshisplace on the hill.
“Home.” Billie’s voice is thick with the earlier cries that scratched her throat and the cigarette that she nurses between two fingers. “I wanna to go home.”
Preston turns his head to consider her.
There’s a bleakness in his eyes at seeing her like this; a worry in the slight crease between his brows; and his hair disheveled, wild curls, as though he had a big night while she was at the sleepover and was having that kinda day where he just wanted to stay in bed.
More than tired, he looks as exhausted as she does. Only, he wears it better.
“You shouldn’t be alone—” Preston starts, but she cuts him off.
“I need to be alone,” she whispers, her breath coming out in smoky vapors. “I need to change out of these,” she adds, picking at the sweaty singlet she slept in, “andshower.”
He reaches out his hand for her, brushing his knuckles over the tearstains that streak down her cheek. “Your mom still isn’t back, is she? No one will be home with you.”
“It’s the trailer park.” Her voice grates, begging for water—but the rest of her body yearns for liquor.
Turns out, when she checked her bag after she got to the car, her bottle wasn’t in it. Cops must’ve tossed it. Bastards.
Billie sighs, “There’s more people at the park than roaches.” She turns to him, looks up at him from beneath wet, heavy lashes. “Please, Preston. I want to go home.” She blinks and twists her face as more tears threaten to break through. “Please, take me home.”
His jaw tenses, tight. And along his jawline, deep contours cut into his smooth skin. He watches her for a beat with his black eyes. Pits of nothingness. Gateways to the abyss.
How she would love to fall into the abyss right about now.
It would be the easy move. Lean into him, accept his touch, his help. Let him shift her pain from Gigi to him, and knowing she can never be with the only man she loves—the only man she will ever love.
But she feeds the pain of loss. She takes the hard road.
And he flicks the turn signal again—this time to turn right. “I’ll take you home,” he says, his tone distant and cold, then pulls onto the road, “but I’m not leaving you.”
“Why the fuck not?” The exasperation clings to her tone and she hits her head back on the seat.
“Because I know,” he says, eyes on the road, but every ounce of his attention on her. “I know what happened to Gigi. And that you saw her like that.”
Bringing the cigarette to her lips, she takes a drag. Exhaling, she says, “What do you mean? Howcouldyou know what I saw—”
“Deputy Wade,” he answers.
Must’ve filled him in. And since Billie sure as hell didn’t get a call to get Preston or someone to pick her up, she’s guessin’ Wade was the one to make that call.
“Trevor was with Kate when the station called her,” Preston goes on. Billie stiffens in her seat, cigarette almost burned to ash, and she looks at him, waiting. “Seems they called all the girls to come in for interviews. And Trevor called me to come get you out of there, but I was already on my way.”
Wade called him before Trevor did, then.
Funny how the whole damn town knows Billie’s person is Preston, to call him if she ever needs bailing out or a ride. Funny it’s not her mom they call, since the bitch isn’t around much.
