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What the fuck just happened?
twenty-three
A TEAM SPORT
“You guys have a problem,” Beau taunts as he climbs into the back of my truck.
Torryn ignores him, climbing behind the wheel as the only sober one in our group. I can barely take my eyes off her, especially where the hickey seems to glow in the lighting, calling for me to leave another, or a half dozen more.
“Fuck off,” I respond to Beau who hasn’t stopped since I came back sans a wig.
“You guys can’t get within thirty feet of a bathroom without sneaking off.” Torryn continues to ignore him, and the rest of the backseat as she backs the truck out of her parking space.
Isla snorts from the backseat, “It’s not exclusive to bathrooms.” She lifts her fingers and stops ticking places off her fingers, “Kitchens, showers, libraries, cars…”
“Okay, okay, they get it,” I say, putting my hands up. “No need to be jealous,” I tease. “I can give Wells some tips if you like.” The taillights of Wells’ jeep shine in front of us as Torryn lets James pull out in front of her.
Isla rolls her eyes and Wells smacks the back of my head, but his lips curve up, giving away his amusement. Isla is gettingmore comfortable with us, letting her guard down enough to give as good as she gets.
She pats my shoulder. “He’s more than capable, don’t you worry. But if you have concerns, I can tell you what Tor likes.”
I shake my head at her. “She tells you way too much.” My eyes stray back to where she sits, driving my truck like it was made for her, waiting for her to react to my words, but she just smirks.
“What are best friends for?” Isla asks. Wells whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle and she falls back into her seat, leaning into his arms and yawning. Wells was going to drive, but Isla wanted to be with Torryn and he’s incapable of telling her no. I’m guessing whatever that whisper was about, it had something to do with reminding her who’s bed she’s sleeping in tonight. At least that’s a battle he can win against Torryn.
“Must be hard to watch your girl with her soulmate and know it’s not you,” I taunt him. Payback for all the shit he’s been giving me lately.
Torryn laughs, making me smile and drawing all eyes to her in surprise. “At least someone knows what’s what.” She shrugs.
“Bastard,” Wells murmurs, but it only reminds me of the way Torryn called me the same thing only a short while ago.
Torryn hums, pulling onto our street. “A bastard,” she agrees. “But a correct bastard.”
Wells huffs when Isla just giggles, obviously not going to take his side. James drives past our house and stops half a block down to let out the rest of the crew that came with us. Torryn pulls into the driveway and hops out. Pulling my key out, I rush to follow her only to find her frozen on the bottom of the steps leading to our front door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping up to her and wrapping my arm around her waist. But I spot it before she can answer. “Fucking hell.”
I pull her closer into my side, and grab my phone to take a picture of the white envelope taped to the door. Her name written in a familiar scrawl with a thick black marker across the front. She shakes her head and pulls away from me, reaching for it and ripping it off the door, ignoring me when I call her name.
Something inside the envelope clinks and I hurry to unlock the door as everyone else catches up to us, slowing when they spot us still at the door. I usher Torryn through the front door while she clutches the envelope in her hands. Worry mars her face as whatever is in the envelope clinks together again.
Everyone crowds around her confused, and still drunk, while her fingers trace over the edge of the envelope. She slides one long nail under the flap and opens it, holding her breath as she tips it into the palm of her hand. Small pieces of warped metal and other tiny bits of debris fall into her hand. Her confusion grows as she lifts the pieces closer to her eyes to study them. It only takes a moment before her breath stutters, a flash of pain etching across her features, before she locks it all down. A blank mask taking over the expression.
“Tor?” Isla whispers, fear and pain lining each word.
She coughs, clearing her throat. “Just trash,” she answers, her voice detached as she pours the pieces back into the envelope. “I’m going to bed,” she says before any of us have a chance to say anything. The light and jovial atmosphere we built in the ride home is shattered as she walks away, dropping the envelope on the counter like she can no longer even bear to hold onto it.
I look to Isla, the only one who may possibly have answers, but she looks as lost as I feel as her eyes follow her best friend until we can no longer see her.
The front door opens again and James walks in only to stop abruptly at the morose atmosphere.
“What happened?”
“Another note,” Beau answers, heat in his voice that gives away his anger and frustration.
Wells runs his hands through his hair. “Was it a note though?” No one answers as we all trade looks. His eyes rove over to the envelope in question. “Should we?”
Still, no one answers. Silently debating the pros and cons of looking. If it would be considered a breach of privacy. If it’s a step too far. Isla finally nods, swallowing thickly, seemingly already sober from the turn of events crashing over us like a bucket full of ice water. “Yes, that wasn’t trash.”
