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It’s not like I can drag her down to the hospital to make her get checked out, so I’ll have to take her word for it that her injuries are minor.
When I hear her sniffle as if she’s crying, I think maybe she’s lying. Not sure what I should say or do, I reach over to cover the top of her hand gently with mine.
Lyla doesn’t pull away from me; she wraps her fingers around mine and gives them a squeeze, holding on tight like it’s the comfort she needed but was too stubborn to admit.
Dammit. I don’t want to drop her off and leave her alone at home. She’s upset, and she could be more injured than she’s admitting. I should just call Laurel and tell her.
Except I know the sisters don’t have the best relationship. Ithought the sun shined out of Laurel’s ass for years, but now, thanks to the long list of negative things Lyla told me about her, I realize I didn’t actually know her well at all.
The van slows to a stop at the curb of the dark, empty ranch house, not a single light on inside, and then the side doors both slide open.
“Thanks for everything,” Lyla says before she slips her hand out from under mine to get out on the left side. Before she even walks all the way around the rear bumper, I’m out of the van too.
“I’m going to stay with her,” I tell RJ when he opens the passenger door.
“Huh?”
“What?” Lyla asks when she spins around on the sidewalk to face us.
“She’s hurt and had a bad night. What if she has a concussion? She did hit her head,” I explain to my brother.
“So, we’re going to stay here with her?”
“You don’t have to stay. I can handle it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, go home. It’s late.”
“Okay,” he agrees as he shuts his door again and turns to the driver. The side doors close, and then the van pulls away.
“What are you doing?” Lyla asks when we’re alone on the sidewalk.
“I’ll just hang out until your dad or grandmother get home.”
“It’ll be hours before they leave the party…”
“That’s fine. I can just sit out here on the porch so you won’t be alone.”
“Ah, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she replies.
“Why not?”
“We have one of those doorbell cameras, motion activated and all.”
“Oh.”
Walking up to me, she says, “If my dad sees a guy hangingaround outside the house, he’ll show up with a bunch of bikers and probably shoot you.”
“You think I should leave?” I ask. It occurs to me that I probably should’ve asked her if she wanted me to stay first. Lyla doesn’t know me that well. Just because we had lunch together once and I was married to her sister doesn’t mean she trusts me.
“No, I think we should sneak you in around the back of the house.” She grabs my hand, and then I’m following her to the far side of the yard, past the double garage, to the back of the house. She stops below a double window.
“Stay here,” she says. “I’ll go inside and unlock the window.”
“You want me to come inside?”
“If you want to stay. There aren’t any cameras inside.”
