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Laurel wipes under her eyes. “Every time we try to do something different, disaster follows.”
“Let it follow. Sooner or later it’ll get bored with us and find some new victims.”
The inner torture in her eyes lifts, replaced by a reluctant smile. Here we go.
“And even if disaster follows us, we won’t go down without a fight, right?” The space between her eyebrows tempts me next, and I kiss it.
“You’ll have to do all the fighting.”
“You can fight too. Throw shoes at them.” I chuckle, remembering Briar’s party. “You’re good at throwing things.”
A quiet laughter trickles out of her as she nuzzles her face into my neck. Mmmm.
“Can we take you home?” she asks. “I’d feel better if Jonas and I watched over you tonight. Did you get your prescriptions?”
“Yes.” I pat my pocket, where the paper bag with pills crinkles in response. It was delivered while I was changing after the MRI. I suspect Jonas had something to do with that as well. “Let’s go.”
On the way to my place, Jonas stops by a supermarket and collects several bags of food, drinks, and other necessities. At home, the first thing he does is fills a small Ziploc bag with ice cubes from my freezer, wraps it in a towel, and places it on top of my head, weirding me out with how quickly he’s turned from a watchdog into a nurse.
The cold is jarring at first, but it takes away the awakening pain in my stitches. I take a seat by the dining table and watch Laurel and Jonas make themselves at home. She devours a small bag of trail mix. Jonas checks the house, declares it safe (as if it was ever anything but), informs Laurel she can take a bedroom across from mine. She makes him sleep there and stays with me. A dozen pillows lay between us and the door stays open as we chat for a little while, then I take a dose of Tylenol and drift off.
Jonas wakes me up around three in the morning to shine a light in my pupils and check whether any of my symptoms have worsened. Nothing has changed. He asks me inane questions such as my name and age and his name, makes sure I’m lucid and not bleeding, deposits another ice bag onto my head, then says I can resume sleeping.
I slump back into the pillows. Laurel breathes evenly beside me. Why couldn’t we just have a cute little date? I don’t want to think of the damage tonight has caused. Will she accept that it was a fluke, or will she become more convinced that hiding is the way to go? My skull’s got a crack in it, but that’s the least of my worries. I take her hand and press it to my chest. The truth is I can’t protect her, not from what truly hurts. I don’t even know if I can give her courage. I’d give anything to be able to do both.
The morning comes with pain. My phone rings at six. I cuss it out loud and jump into a sitting position, remembering that Laurel’s sleeping next to me. She doesn’t need that kind of language first thing after a stressful night.
But my bed is empty, and my door is closed. She must’ve gotten up, maybe even left already.
My phone keeps ringing, and it takes me some serious effort to focus my vision on the caller ID.
“Briar? What the he—”
“First of all, are you okay?”
“Yes—”
“Oh, good. Secondly, I am really sorry.” Her voice breaks with distress. “I don’t know how or who—yet—but someone recorded you and Laurel at my party and uploaded the video to every platform imaginable from Portland to flipping Vladivostok.”
My shoulders rise to shrug. So what if someone posted something about me? Then I remember this is a massive blow to Laurel’s attempt to maintain her invisibility and peace. A gnarly headache flares, enveloping my whole head within seconds. I fall back into the pillows.
“Send me a link?” Did Laurel already see it?
“Which one?”
“Briar, any link will do,” I snap. “It’s just one video, no?”
She sighs on the other side of the connection. “Yes. I promise everyone they’re safe when they play at my parties, but— Everyone is a suspect. Somebody broke the rules. I’m sick to my stomach, Jace. The Label’s IT is on it. I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry for snapping. Just us? No one else’s songs have been leaked?”
“Just you. It’s so weird.”
I wince, mostly because a headache threatens to split my skull in half, and paw the bedside table. Where are those pills they gave me yesterday? Will they keep my heart from breaking too? Laurel is gone. She isn’t in my bedroom anymore, but does it mean she’s waiting in some other room or she’s gone for good because I’ve destroyed everything she worked so hard to build for herself? I’m the one who loves attention. She hates it. But Ihad togo and prove she’d be okay if we went out.
“Jace?” Briar tries to tell me something else, but the raging pain in my head doesn’t allow any of her words to filter to my brain. “Jace?”
