Page 43 of Tattletale

“Hey!” I call over my shoulder, making him halt. “The next time you see a man leave a bar, stalking a woman, have the fucking balls to intervene. Got it?”

There are way too many monsters out there. I can’t handle them all.

He nods again and disappears behind the building.

I look down at Cricket and wiggle my elbow, trying to get her attention. “Cricket, I’m not going to let you be alone tonight. You can hate me all you want, but I’m taking you home.”

She strains to hold her eyes open. There’s a sadness I’ve never seen before. My Cricket is full of strength and quick wit. She doesn’t flinch when she bleeds. She doesn’t complain when she’s in pain. Cricket is the most ferocious woman I know, and yet right now…

It’s the first time I’ve seen her so weak.

“I do hate you,” she murmurs, as I usher her into the passenger seat of my car. I even go as far as buckling her in.

When I settle into the driver’s seat, I flick the windshield wipers on and put the car in reverse. But I don’t drive. Keeping my foot planted on the brake pedal, I turn my head to Cricket, watching her reflection in the window.

“C, how long are you going to be mad at me?”

She rests her head on the window, watching the rain. “Forever,” she murmurs.

“Mmk,” I say with a heavy exhale. “Good to know.”

ELEVEN

CRICKET

I’m awake,but my heavy eyelids protest. I feel his muscular arm draped around the small of my waist. Lance isn’t snoring, but his breathing is so deep and raspy, he might as well be.

I’m still naked.

Nothing happened. I was just too tired to get dressed. Lance brought me to his home. I was in and out, the drug-induced haze making my memory spotty. I was conscious but not able to fully comprehend the sequence of events.

From what I remember, Lance stripped me of my wet clothes and set me in his bathtub. He washed my hair with his shampoo, which is why I smell like him—a woodsy but sweet scent with a touch of cinnamon. After he pulled me out of the tub, he offered me a shirt. Instead, I brushed right past him, out of the bathroom, and stumbled right into his bed.

I pulled the covers up to my chin, and the rest is blank, until now.

I want to sit up, but I still feel paralyzed from the conversation with Vesper last night. In one short story, my identity was stolen. Everything I am, is gone. I need something to numb the pain. I tried drowning in alcohol and pairing itwith a pill. My body feels weak and lethargic, and my reflexes are slow. My mind, however, is still sharp, fixating on the horrendous truth that is now ingrained in my brain.

I should not be proud to be an O’Leary.

I just want one moment of peace, a fragment of time to forget. There’s one more drug I can try…

And he’s sleeping right next to me.

I’m tempted. Angry or not, Lance’s body is a masterpiece. Lying next to him naked is an unfair level of temptation.

“Lance,” I whisper.

He shoots up, his eyes popping open into wide, startled circles. “C? Are you okay? What time is it?”

He turns on his bedside lamp to study the back of my head. He smooths my hair from behind, and I resist the desire to melt into his touch. I so desperately want to be held by him. But that’s weak. I refuse. Lance made his bed…and I shouldn’t be lying in it. At least, not like this, craving his arms around me while I fall back asleep to the steady sound of his heartbeat. That’s love, trust, and comfort. Those things don’t belong to us anymore.

“I’m fine.” I sit up, avoiding his eyes.

“How bad is your hangover?”

Brutal.But I don’t tell him that. I simply shrug like he’s overreacting. “I’m fine. Where are my clothes?”

“Dryer. I washed them for you.”

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