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“Come on.” A little bravado won’t hurt now. Probably. “I can see that you need to throw another glass of water at Bjornson. You can’t do it from here.”
She pinches her lips together to not laugh, but the smile is there. Excellent. She might even forgive me. In a month or so.
“Shall we?” I nod at the pub’s entrance.
Laurel shakes her head. “Would you…” She steals a careful, uncomfortable glance at me. “Would you, please, give me a ride home?”
I nod. “I get the feeling Bjornson’s got a century of groveling ahead of him.” I hop down the stairs and wait for her to follow me to my car. I can certainly give Laurel a ride, especially after I helped ruin her evening.
She chuckles. “Yes, indeed. I kind of hate him right now.”
“He kind of earned that. What about me? You hate me simply because I play guitar?” It’s the story of my life. Girls don’t start out hating my guitar obsession. They think I’m cool at first. In the end though, they can’t stand it. And me. At least Laurel has stated her dislike from the get-go.
“And you think I’m a mess.” The words are quiet but loaded with defiance.
I shrug. “So? We’re all a mess one way or another.”
She pauses by the passenger door and considers me with a questioning look.
“What?” I ask.
Laurel twirls a lock of her hair around her finger. “I don’t know. You’re… You’re so strange.”
I laugh. “Well, I’ve been called worse. Even by you.”
Smiling, without any reservations this time, she climbs inside the car, and as I fasten my seat belt, an eerie premonition fills my mind, whispering that I definitely need to buckle up for what’s coming.
Track 5
Things Will Stay the Same
Laurel
My thoughts pop and sparkle in agitation, anxiety, and wonder. Hal could’ve been right. Blackmore doesn’t seem to care about who I am or what I’ve done. Or anything at all, for that matter. I suspect he cares a great deal about everything, but he’s very good at hiding it. He’s a good actor. I can’t trust him.
We don’t talk as we travel through Portland. I give him instructions here and there. He nods in response. My eyes keep drifting to him as I try to figure out what he’s thinking about. I order my mind to watch the outside world instead. Dark trees and empty streets are boring but less dangerous to me right now. I cling to the seat belt with both hands, focusing on the edges digging into my palms instead of on thoughts of Blackmore’s easy smile. It’s been a long time since someone smiled at me like that. As though he understands me.
There is no reason for me to believe that the smile was meant for Laurel the girl, not Laurel a certain Fox’s daughter—
My phone rings. Hal. I drop the call and text him.
Bug off. I’m going home.
Text sent, I turn my phone off and stick it in my pocket.Blackmore’spocket. I’m still wearing his jacket. The heat of the day has abated by now, but he’s still blasting the AC. I stick my arms into the sleeves and tug the jacket tighter around me. Something in the breast pocket jabs me in the chest. It’s rude to rifle through his belongings, but whatever he has stashed in there hurts a lot. I dive into the pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. A photograph.
“Do you mind if I look?” I ask.
Blackmore steals a quick glance at me. “Go ahead.” He gives me permission, but his jaw is tight. The photo must mean something difficult to him.
I unfold it. Two rough creases mark the picture that appears to have been taken in the summertime. An arch of white and red flowers fills the background. Two guys in tuxes and a girl in a wedding dress are in the focus. The first guy is Blackmore, of course, and the second one—
“That’s Shane O’Neal,” I exclaim in surprise.
“Yeah. That’s him.”
“Aren’t you two feuding? Your band against his?” I may be a shut-in, but I know that much at least.
“Kind of,” Blackmore replies, jaw still clenched. “It’s a friendly rivalry.”
