Page 91 of Liar's Point

“I’ll handle it.”

“But I told him—”

“Don’t argue,” he said. “You’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

She shifted on the bar stool and winced.

“Is your pill working?”

“A little,” she said, obviously lying. “I’m supposed to elevate my leg.” She glanced at the living room, then looked at the hallway to her bedroom.

“I can get you set up,” he said.

“I need to rinse off first.”

“Aren’t you supposed to keep your cut dry?”

“Yes. But I’ve got iodine all over me. And dirt. And this disgusting street grime.” She glanced down and seemed to notice all the little scrapes on her legs. She grabbed her crutches and moved toward the hallway. “I at least need to wash up.”

“Wait,” he said.

The bathroom door was ajar. He opened it wider and stepped inside.

It looked like a makeup piñata had exploded. Pencils, tubes, and brushes covered the counter. Little foam pads were scattered around the sink. The room smelled like coconuts—probably the shampoo she used that always made him think of sex on the beach.

“It’s a mess,” she said from the doorway.

He picked up the hair dryer in the sink, shaking his head as he unplugged it. He opened the vanity drawer and swept all the makeup shit into it. Then he pulled back the shower curtain. He grabbed a bar of soap and set it on the side of the sink, then pulled a hand towel from the rack and put it by the soap.

He looked at her. “You really need to do this?”

She nodded. Her eyes looked a little glassy now, so maybe the medicine was starting to kick in, finally.

“You want help?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He scooted past her, careful not to bump her boot.

“Yell if you need anything.”

She hobbled into the bathroom. “I will. Oh, I need some clothes. Do you mind?” She turned to him. “Just a T-shirt or whatever to sleep in. They’re in my second drawer.”

“Sure.” He started to pull the door shut.

“Emmet?”

He looked back.

She bit her lip. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

***

Nicole sat on the side of the tub, closing her eyes and listening to the water run as she fought the wave of nausea. Maybe it was the pain meds on her empty stomach. Or maybe it was the lie she’d just told her sister.

She looked down at her cracked phone, which had somehow ended up underneath a car. Everything after seeing that big silver grille zooming toward her had been a blur. And then she’d been on the sidewalk bleeding, and David was there yelling at people to move back, give her space. And then there were sirens, and EMTs, and a terrible shooting pain.

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