Текст книги "Before You Break"

Автор книги: Christina Lee

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen
Ella

The two days I’d been home, I’d been busy with an endless list of chores to help my mom ready our house for Saturday-night dinner. We always celebrated with relatives the day before Easter because my parents believed Sunday should be reserved for church and immediate family. The Easter Bunny didn’t figure into our traditions anymore, but there was plenty of food and sweets to keep us satiated.

One of the reasons I’d decided to leave home to live with Avery was because our family was close. Too close. Like know-all-of-your-business close. And they’d always set high expectations for us. And that’s why I didn’t know how Christopher could have slipped past us undetected. We were very involved in each other’s lives.

My father admitted that he sometimes suffered from bouts of depression. I wished he hadn’t been too proud to come clean earlier. Maybe Christopher wouldn’t have felt so alone. According to the journal I’d found after his death, he’d been depressed for a long time. He’d felt like he didn’t belong to our family. The only thing that had made him feel halfway sane was playing soccer. Because he’d found something he was good at.

My parents had certainly changed since Christopher’s death. Especially my father. He was more quiet, introspective, and protective of us.

One of the reasons I’d become a psychology major was because I’d wanted to understand why my brother had taken his own life. And in the process, I had helped heal my family. As much as a family could mend when one member was lost to you forever.

That morning, I was helping my mother prepare dinner. We were having all the Polish fixings—sauerkraut and kielbasa, cabbage and noodles. Each year, Mom made pierogies from scratch by rolling out her own dough at the kitchen table. One of my jobs was to add flour whenever the consistency became too wet. And later, to indent the dough with the bottom of a drinking glass, so it could be formed into soft pillows of goodness.

This was our routine and some days we performed our tasks in silence. Today, Mom wanted to know all about my classes. I hadn’t told her about Joel and me yet. I’d just said that he wouldn’t be coming for dinner because of other obligations. She hadn’t pressed me and neither had my father. Maybe they already knew. They could always read me pretty well.

My twin brothers, James and Jason, were in the garage helping dad change the oil in my car. My father insisted on inspecting my vehicle each time I came into town. It was his way of making sure I was safe.

“You bring Avery the leftovers,” Mom said. “And tell her I expect a visit from her and her new boyfriend soon.”

“I will, Momma. She already told me she’d miss your cooking.”

The past several years, Avery and her brother, Adam, had come for Easter dinner. But this year they were headed to celebrate with Bennett’s family for a couple of days. Adam would be attending TSU next year and Avery was relieved to have her brother closer so she could keep a better eye on him.

Even though Avery’s mother was having a better year in the parenting department, she wasn’t up for any mom-of-the-year awards yet. She still shacked up with different guys, but at least she had curbed her alcohol and drug usage, according to Adam. She had even kept a decent-paying job.

Two hours later, a couple hundred pierogies were pinched at the seams and ready to be boiled. They were filled with sauerkraut, ricotta, plum jam, and my favorite—potatoes and cheese.

After we cleaned off the table and washed the dishes, we headed out the door to Aunt Karina and Uncle Roman’s restaurant. The diner was busy and Aunt Karina had called and asked me to pick up dessert along with a side dish she’d made, in case they were running late.

Basia’s Diner sold freshly baked pies, and I was glad that Mom had decided not to make hers from scratch. Truth be told, I liked Aunt Karina’s pies the best, even though she and my mother used the same recipe—my late grandma Basia’s. She taught them everything they knew about cooking.

The diner was located in the next town over on a busy thruway, and, no surprise, the lot was full. It was always packed during the holidays as people passed through town to get to their destinations.

I spotted a familiar car taking up two spots in the far corner of the lot. I don’t know my classic cars like my father did—or like that other person did. The one who I was trying extra hard not to think about.

We were greeted by Aunt Karina as soon as we stepped through the door. She wore the same light-blue apron with purple embroidered flowers that she refused to retire no matter how many replacements we’d bought. It had once belonged to Grandma Basia.

“Look at this beauty-queen niece of mine.” Aunt Karina pulled me in for a strong hug while my mother walked behind the counter to greet Uncle Roman.

“Hi, Auntie.” Our parents were so close, she’d almost become a second mother to me. “Been craving your banana cream pie for weeks. I can’t wait to get my hands on a slice.”

She kissed the top of my head. “I loaded it with extra whipped cream just for you.”

She grabbed my cheeks and pinched lightly. “How are things?”

I looked into her bright-blue eyes and saw myself in thirty years’ time. “Good, Auntie.”

She peeked over my shoulder to make sure my mother wasn’t listening before whispering. “How about with that boy?”

I shrugged. “It’s all right.”

It was nearly impossible to lie to my aunt. She’d always had excellent radar for boy troubles. “You’ll tell me all about it tonight?”

I nodded and looked around. “You guys have a crowd this afternoon.”

My eyes scanned across the red and silver booths in the restaurant, landing on a lone diner in the very back. I nearly fumbled over my own feet trying to get a better look.

Quinn wore a black baseball cap and a dingy white T-shirt with black smudges across the front—like he’d been working in the yard or maybe on his car. When he looked up, our eyes met and he jerked back, visibly shaken.

Like this was last place he’d ever imagined seeing me. On spring break, at Basia’s Diner.

Yeah, no kidding. The feeling was mutual.

“What the hell?” I said, louder than I’d intended.

“What is it, honey?” Auntie asked, following my gaze. “Ah, that handsome boy at table twenty? He comes in every now and again.”

“I . . . um . . . I know him,” I said, trying not to sound so thunderstruck. I would have never guessed I’d see Quinn while I was home, let alone in my family’s diner. “I’ll be right back.”

Walking over, I raked my fingers through my hair to remove any flour residue and silently cursed myself for not changing out of my faded jeans and T-shirt.

A cup of coffee and a piece of cherry pie sat in front of Quinn and upon closer inspection, a few days’ worth of stubble had grown on his chin.

“Is that your favorite flavor pie?” I tried to control my quavering voice at the thrill of running into him.

His eyes roved over the landscape of my body from the top of my head down to my worn red sneakers. “From here, it is.”

“So you’ve been here before?” I looked around to make sure I hadn’t said that louder than I’d intended.

“Yeah, a few times,” he said, adjusting his cap on his head. I noticed how his russet strands curled around his ears. My fingers itched to touch them. “You know the owner?”

“We’re related,” I said. “My aunt and uncle own this joint.”

“Small world, huh?” he said as he looked around the place, as if for the first time—taking in the old world fixtures, the menu on the chalkboard, and something seemed to click in place in his mind. Maybe Joel had told the guys about my family background.

“Tell me about it,” I said while he studied the kitchen and counter staff. “How come we’ve never run into each other before?”

“Good question.” He turned his warm gaze on me and it heated me from the inside. “So, how long have you been home?”

“A couple of days,” I said. “You?”

“Same.” He was playing with the saltshaker, making wide circles, like he was trying to work something out in his brain.

I heard the clucking of my mother’s tongue behind me. She could make her presence known just by walking through a room. Her thick black hair was always worn in a bun, and she asserted an ample figure. I’d always prayed I’d get her boobs and not her hips. But I’d been blessed with both. Not that my mother was overweight. She was just all woman.

The only girl in a family of boys, it’d been hard dealing with my brother’s relentless teasing about my bra size. Unless someone outside the family tried it. Then they were protective to a fault—especially Christopher. He’d gotten his ass beaten once defending me when a senior tried to cop a feel in front of the lockers at the gym.

“Darling daughter,” my mother said, rolling her Rs dramatically. I used to be embarrassed of our eastern European background, because we didn’t sound anything like my friend’s parents. Now I cherished how unique our family was. “Who’s your friend?”

“Quinn, this is my mom,” I said. “Ma, I know Quinn from TSU. He plays baseball for the university. And he, um . . . is also Joel’s frat brother.”

“Nice to meet you, dear,” Mom said, extending her hand. “A friend of Joel’s is a friend of ours.”

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up and I gave him the slightest shake of my head.

“Thank you,” he said, recovering quickly. Before reaching out to shake her hand, he apologized about his appearance. “Sorry, I’ve been working on my car all morning. It’s hard to get all the grease from beneath my nails.”

Mom gave him a warm smile. I could tell she liked his manners. “Does your family live nearby?”

“Yes, just over in Jefferson.”

“So you’re home to celebrate the holiday with your family?” I almost nudged Mom with my foot for prying too much, but I had to admit, I was curious myself.

Besides, Mom wouldn’t have listened anyway. She loved to interfere in other people’s business. Especially my friends’. That’s why she’d allowed Avery to practically live at our house the last year of high school. We were all in the haze of grief, and having Avery there broke us out of our fog from time to time.

“Actually, my parents were called away on business last-minute, so it’ll just be me and my pie.” His head dipped down, discomfort and irritation in his eyes. Something lurched for him deep in my gut. “My father is the state representative for district eighteen, so there are always fund-raisers to attend. I chose to take a break from it this year.”

Before I could open my mouth my mother beat me to the punch. “Then you’ll come celebrate the holiday with us.”

Quinn’s cheeks flared red. “Oh, no, Ma’am, that’s okay, I’m just going to—”

“I insist,” Mom said before he could get his sentence out.

She must have felt the same way I had. It wasn’t pity, just sadness. Quinn was a private, mysterious guy. Did his parents’ political status have anything to do with it? It must have been tough growing up with expectations, maybe equal parts from your parents as from the public. It felt like pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place.

“Um,” Quinn mumbled, staring at me as if he was checking whether or not I thought it was an okay idea.

“Why not?” I shrugged. “Besides, we’re bringing home lots of dessert from the diner.”

His cheek quirked into a grin. “I do love these pies.”

“Plus, my mom has been slaving in the kitchen all morning creating a feast,” I said, trying to sell him on the idea. I didn’t want him to be alone. At least I told myself that was the only reason. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Okay, sure,” he said. “How can I pass up great food?”

“Then it’s settled.” Mom placed her hand on my shoulder. “How about you help your friend find our house? I’ll meet you back there.”

She didn’t even wait for a response. Figuring she had the details all worked out, she walked off, proud of herself. I sighed and looked up at the counter where my auntie stood, spying on the conversation. She gave a quick wink before turning back to load the coffee machine.

“My mom didn’t give you much choice in the matter,” I said, slinking down in the booth. “But is it okay if I drive with you? If not, I can always catch her in the parking lot.”

“Actually, it would be great if you joined me,” he said after eating the last bite of his pie. “It’d be better than me walking in alone. I’m guessing you have a large family?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty big,” I said. “Sorry she put you on the spot. You might not like being around a bunch of rowdy relatives speaking two different languages.”

“Nah, it’ll be cool. Just not something I’m used to,” he said. “My family is small. And we don’t get together with relatives all that much anymore.”

I couldn’t imagine how that felt; I was so used to the chaos of my own family.

“Listen, I’m still dirty from working on my car,” he said looking down at his T-shirt. “Mind if I go home and change real quick?”

“Not at all,” I said. My stomach got all fluttery thinking about how I’d be spending time with Quinn. And it had all happened by chance.

“So you finally found time to get back to your hobby, huh?” I said, recalling our conversation about restoring cars at the fund-raiser event.

He ducked his head as he dug out his wallet and a hint of a smile outlined his lips. “Something like that.”

Quinn laid a ten-dollar bill on the table and we headed out the door. I gave my auntie a little wave before leaving. She was sure to drill me later.

I hopped in the passenger side of his car, noticing the polished leather seats, the spotless floor and dashboard. “I get the honor of riding in your classic car. I see you take very good care of her.”

A spark of pride flashed in his eyes as he backed out of the space. “This one’s my baby.”

I pulled the seat belt over my chest. “Does she have a name?”

He laughed. “Isn’t naming your car kind of lame?”

“No way, you need to call her something,” I said, checking out the vintage door handles. “Give me time to come up with one.”

“Not making any guarantees that I’ll use it, but go for it.” Quinn seemed to light up talking about his car. The faint redness in his cheeks just made him more beautiful. Like he was glowing from the inside.

“It’ll be my special name for her,” I mumbled. When I looked over something had softened in his eyes.

Quinn was a vigilant driver, staying several car lengths behind on the road and never riding anyone’s tail on the freeway. I wondered if it was because of how much he cherished his car or if there was a different reason. Had something else happened to make him so cautious?

He seemed to be careful in other ways as well—like making a move on me the other night. He said he needed to make sure that things didn’t happen between us just because it was easy. But I couldn’t deny the current tethering us together now. Our legs rested just inches apart on the seat and he’d looked at my thigh more than once, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

His hand tightened against the steering wheel and I noticed the leftover grease beneath his nails. But other than that, his hand looked soft, his skin smooth, his nails trimmed. And I longed to hold it now.

I remembered the rough calluses on his palms when he’d touched my face in his room and my chest squeezed tight. What would it have been like to be snuggled against his side, with his arm around me, music blaring, road-tripping it together?

I tried to push the thought out of my head and focus on just getting to know him. I had this opportunity to spend time with him and I wanted to make the most of it.

Chapter Sixteen
Quinn

“So, how bad does it suck that your parents are gone for the holiday?” she asked while staring out the window, almost as if she was afraid to meet my eyes. Maybe she was nervous she was overstepping bounds again.

I looked down at her knee, jiggling away on the other side of the console, and it mimicked the restless beats of my heart. I had Ella alone in my car and I all I could think about was wrapping her in my arms and kissing the hell out of her. Being with Ella somehow gave me hope that one day, I could feel something real again.

Like I could hang all my worries on a hook by the door.

“Honestly? It happens all the time,” I said. “I’m used to it. But don’t tell anyone that.”

I could see Ella’s frown in my peripheral vision.

Ella’s mother thought I was a friend of her boyfriend’s and I figured she’d kick the shit out of me if she knew I was entertaining dirty thoughts about her daughter. If her mother was that intimidating, I wondered what her father would be like.

My own father used to scare the hell out of me when I was younger. He’d only have to say one sentence in his imposing voice and I knew it was his way or the highway. I couldn’t wait to be finished with college, done with having their money influence my decisions, just so I could take off somewhere the hell away from them.

I could have done it when I turned eighteen. I’d even planned it, but then everything happened. I was in shock, grieving, scared shitless, and had made the decision to do something for Sebastian and his parents. My parents never even asked what the hell I was doing and why, they were just glad I’d chosen a major good enough for the child of a politician.

Over the years I’d been asked countless times if I had similar political aspirations as my father. Fuck no. I didn’t have any damn desire to be like my father.

“Do you have other family in the area?”

“My aunt and uncle,” I said. “But . . . it’s a long story.”

I was hoping she got the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it.

She must’ve because she changed the subject. “So, where do you work on cars?”

I pulled into my long driveway. I was almost embarrassed by the size of our home. It was a shell of an empty house anyway. Too many bedrooms and all for show. I had sent the housekeeper home for the weekend. No need for her to stay and make me dinner when she had a family of her own to be with over the holidays. Besides, I just wanted to be alone.

“I’ll show you,” I said, jerking the car into park. I walked to the passenger side and opened the door.

That small action had surprised her. “Thank you,” she said, a shy grin lifting the corners of her lips.

She stepped out and looked up at the monstrosity that was my house. “Wow. Impressive.”

“Not really.” We walked through the side door of the garage and I flipped on the light.

Car parts were littered around the spacious cement floor. Portions of an engine I had abandoned the other day, in favor of fixing the brakes on my car. The canister of candy-apple-red paint stood tall against a brush. I walked toward the driver-side door of my latest project. “I’ll be able to drive this baby someday. I’ve been restoring her for years.”

She knelt down to inspect the paint canister. “That color kicks some serious ass.”

“It does.” I couldn’t hold back my grin. “I finally got the right mix for this paint job.”

She stroked her hand across the car bumper. “Where did you learn to work on cars?”

“My uncle. He taught me everything I know,” I said, making sure the lid on the can was secure. I’d planned on coming back and painting more tonight, but my plans had obviously changed. Probably in the only way that could possibly be better. “He owns his own shop here in the city.”

“How come he hasn’t snatched you up yet?” she asked, now inspecting my worktable, as if truly interested in spark plugs and lug nuts.

“Ha, don’t think he hasn’t already tried,” I said, carrying the paintbrush to the slop sink. “But my parents would have something to say about that and their college funding.”

I twisted the hot-water handle and watched as the red paint washed down the drain. “Instead I’m learning about how to be a businessman. That keeps them quiet.”

It was brief, but I saw anger pass through her eyes. “I hope it comes in handy for you someday.”

“I plan to make sure it does,” I said, stepping toward her. She was in my sacred space and it was hard not to want to grab her hand and show her all of my treasures and toys, but I shoved my fingers in my pockets to restrain myself. She was probably bored to tears here.

Ella was staring at me, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You just . . . I’ve never seen you like this,” she said, replacing a wrench she’d been inspecting. “There’s this fire in your eyes when you talk about cars. It’s . . . amazing.”

I felt open, on display, like she could see inside my soul. I turned away and pretended to put a stray screwdriver back in the toolbox.

I cleared my throat. “What’s so amazing about it?”

“It’s your joy, your passion . . .” she said, then slanted her head, studying me. “Maybe even your lifeline.”

“Never thought about it that way,” I lied. Of course I had, a million times. I just didn’t know I wore my heart so openly on my sleeve. It must have just been Ella. She saw inside me, through me. Brought my passions out of me, even. Little did she realize she had influenced me to resume this project after our conversation at the car wash. To be brave. My fingers had been itching to get started since the last day of classes. “I guess in a way, it is.”

She moved closer, determination blazing in her eyes. “So why not do something about that?”

“I . . . don’t know,” I muttered. “I had planned to . . . but then everything went to shit.”

I turned away again because it all became too real. Having Ella here at my house, inside my garage, around all the things I loved. I hoped she understood how overwhelming it was. I needed to move us along.

“My father will be thrilled to see your car,” she said, and I breathed a sigh of relief at the change of topic. “He’s an aficionado.”

“I’d be honored to show him,” I said, meeting her eyes, silently thanking her for not pushing the subject.

“Come inside?” I said, moving toward the door. As I passed her, I reached for her hand and she took it willingly. It felt so natural to lead her through the kitchen and offer her something to drink.

I leaned against the counter, a water bottle in my hand. It was time to put Ella on the hot seat. “So, you didn’t tell your parents about Joel?”

“You noticed that, huh?” she bent her head, pink splotching her cheeks. “Just wasn’t ready to yet.”

“I think I can understand that,” I said. Recently, conversations with my parents consisted only of perfunctory facts.

“My parents are very involved in our lives, and even more so since . . .” She stopped suddenly and shook her head. “Never mind.”

“No, wait.” I reached for her arm feeling like she needed me close, needed my support. “Since what?”

“I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’d like to hear,” I said never feeling more like I wanted to know Ella. Really know her. After all, she was in my home, had been in my intimate space, and I felt almost as vulnerable as maybe she did in that moment.

“My brother Christopher.” Her voice was soft. As if she was revering his name. “He committed suicide when I was in high school.”

I felt a strong slice to my gut, almost like a laceration. “Damn it. I’m sorry, Ella.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, meeting my gaze. “We’ve worked through it as a family. And I have, too. Well, as much as I can.”

I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed her and enveloped her in a tight embrace against my chest. She hesitated at first, but then wrapped her arms around my waist. Her skin was soft and warm and she smelled like almonds. In that moment, I felt like we were both in a safe and protected bubble, even though it was only supposed to be me comforting her.

My chest also ached with an insurmountable guilt. I’d been thinking about offing myself forever and here this girl had someone close to her who had actually done it. In the most fundamental sense, the most basic of truths, we had something in common. Grief, sorrow, pain. We both knew what it felt like to lose someone we loved.

Except I’d killed the person I loved. Even though it may have been an accident in some small way, I was still mostly to blame. What would she think of me if she’d known the truth? Or if she’d discovered that I’d wanted to take my own life too many times to count? Would she understand or run for the hills?

Part me of me wanted so badly to unburden myself and hope for the best. Right here and right now, while I had her in my arms. But in reality, I was still a chicken shit. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her when I was just getting to know her.

“My parents are protective about me and the twins. We’ve always been a close family, but since that night . . . It’s understandable, really.” She pulled back to look at me. “It’s one of the reasons I’m living with Avery. I tried to stay in the dorms the first year but I was still grieving and finding my way. So I moved back. But recently, I decided it was time to live at school again.”

I couldn’t live anywhere that first year, either. I’d chosen to attend classes and then come home to barricade myself inside my room. It wasn’t until I’d had a conversation with Bastian’s father about his beloved frat house that I’d decided on a more solid plan. If I was going to live his son’s life, I needed to stop hiding every part of me and just act like I was him—all the way. Like that saying—fake it until you make it.

“So you’re afraid to tell them about Joel because you don’t want to disappoint them?”

“In a way, yes,” she said.

“I can relate to that, too.” I’d felt like a huge disappointment to my parents my entire life. Nothing I’d done had ever been good enough. So I just went through the motions, trying to find my own way. Dad would have loved a son with political aspirations. But as soon as he clued in early on that that I had no such intentions, he treated me more like a guest in his house than a son.

“Joel knows my family. My dad used to coach him and Joel used to play soccer with my brother,” she said, and I began connecting the dots a bit more. She had a hard time walking away from Joel because it’d be like walking away from her brother.

Kind of how I had to wrench myself free from Amber after seeing her all the time proved to be heartrending. She reminded me too much of Sebastian.

“So I realized one of the reasons I hung in there so long with Joel was because we had that connection.” I could feel her warm breath against shirt and my heart flapping inside my chest. “And recently, I really started to see what a flimsy connection it had been.”

I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t a fan of Joel’s, that he had been cheating on her, but she didn’t need to feel any worse about their past relationship. There was enough guilt in this room to go around and then some. We could mop it up and fill buckets with it.

“Thanks for telling me about your brother.” I pulled her close again, ran my fingers through her waves, and heard her sharp intake of breath. “And about Joel.”

She stayed perfectly still against my chest, her hands gripping my shoulders.

“You’re better off without him, you know.”

“Yeah?” Her body tensed as she waited on my response.

“Absolutely.” I pulled back and winked at her. “Okay if I take a quick shower before we go?”

“Go for it,” she said, backing away dramatically. “You do smell like a grease monkey.”

“Hey!” I grabbed her from behind and lifted her off her feet, sending her into a fit of giggles. Her laughter was infectious and I couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear. “Just don’t let my father, Mr. Serious Politician, hear you say that.”

I carried her down the hallway to the threshold of my room. She was a petite thing who just happened to have a set of tits on her that would make any man lose his breath. And damn if I didn’t dream of seeing them someday. I bet they were perfect. My forearms rested on the underside of her breasts and I pushed that thought away before she could feel how quickly a simple idea like that could arouse me.

I set her down and stepped inside my room to grab a clean pair of jeans and a button-down shirt from my closet. I figured I should dress a little nicer if I was going to Ella’s house for dinner.

I looked at the clock and stepped up my pace. “I’d offer to kick your ass in Mario Kart, but we don’t have that kind of time.”

Ella was busy looking at some books on my shelf. “I’ll take a rain check.”

“Be right back.” I strode into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, not realizing I was allowing Ella into my bedroom with my personal belongings until I was under the showerhead, soaping up. The idea of her spotting something I wasn’t ready for her to see made me wash myself a little more quickly.

As I was drying off, the thought of me behind this door completely naked with Ella on the other side made the blood to rush straight to my dick.

Wasn’t that exactly what Ella had wanted to happen the other day in my room at the frat house? If I walked out there in just this towel, would she still want me like she had then?

I hadn’t been ready to make any moves that night, but today felt more intimate. She’d trusted me enough to confide in me, to let me see her vulnerable. I felt closer to her, even more attracted to her, if that were possible. And if I didn’t stop having these thoughts, I’d have to walk out there with a raging hard-on.

Somehow, I felt lighter, freer, having her here with me. I actually allowed the possibility of getting to know her more intimately enter my mind. I hadn’t dated anyone in a very long time and I wasn’t sure if I even knew how to be with someone, or let them in. But somehow Ella made it easier to open up. I looked forward to spending the rest of the day getting to know her and her family.

When I stepped inside my room, my muscles instantly contracted. Ella stood in front of my dresser, studying snapshots in frames leftover from high school days.

Ella pointed to a picture of Sebastian and some other ballplayers. “Who are the people in this picture?”

“Just old high school friends,” I said, trying to control my breathing. I hadn’t banked on her zeroing in on anything related to Sebastian.

“And this is that girl from the parking lot at Zach’s.”

My stomach bunched into a hard ball.

Shit. Maybe bringing her here wasn’t such a great idea.