Page 21 of Sunrise Arrows

The girls are quiet the whole way with Briar passing out about halfway and Tinsley only speaking enough to tell me they’re renting the old Whiticker house so I know where I’m going.

When we get there, we’re met by a new gate on the property, flood lights and cameras, and a security system I’m not entirely sure is made available to the general public.

“Mikey and John went a little overboard,” Tinsley explains. “Just uh… just put in 7-8-7-3-7-6-2-6. It’s my personal code; I’ll change it tomorrow.”

“I’m not just gonna let myself in and waltz up to your front door, Tinsley.”

“Hold on,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt when a phone starts ringing from the backseat after I put in her code.

She grabs the small purse Briar had and pulls out a phone. Accepting the video call that’s waiting for her, she greets, “Hi, John,” making an odd sweeping gesture with her fingers across her collarbone.

“Understood,” he curtly replies before smiling, all traces of his harshness evaporating.

She rolls her eyes and then groans, her palm going to her forehead.

Whoever John is, he snorts. “One night and you’re already three sheets to the wind. You realize it’s not even midnight, right?”

“In my defense, I did drink nearly a whole bottle of rosé before we went out.”

“Is there anything we need to handle?”

“No, just coming home,” she answers, looking a little pale. “You know, you’re supposed to be on vacation. Not monitoring my security system. Have you and Mikey even left Tennessee? Or are you two hanging out like a bunch of spooks at the resort watching me with sniper scopes?”

A second man’s voice comes through and asks, “Who’s driving?”

“Just open my gate.”

“Uh-uh, not until you tell us who drove you home.”

I think it’s John who adds, “Have ‘em hold their driver’s license up to the screen.”

“Oh my God,” she whines, before slapping a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she looks at me.

I know that face. It’s about to be the Fourth of July spent on the bathroom floor while I hold her hair back all over again all over again.

“Uh guys, we don’t have a lot of time. Those shots and strawberry margaritas are about to make a reappearance.” To speed things along, I give them my full name and rattle off my driver’s license number.

“You try anything and we’ll hunt you down, you hear me?” one of them threatens.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I respond, punching the gas as the gate swings upon.

“Miss Jacobs, we’ve already unlocked the doors and disarmed the house. You’re good to run in as soon as you get there.”

“Thank you,” she whimpers, before ending the call and dropping the phone on the floorboard.

“I don’t feel so good,” she moans, a tear slipping free.

I reach over the console and wipe my thumb over the wet trail and murmur, “I know, baby.”

As soon as we pull up in front of the house, she’s stumbling out of the truck and flying inside.

I get out and come around to the passenger side. Opening the back door, I unbuckle Briar and sling her arm around my neck, lifting her deadweight out of the truck. I bump the door closed and follow Tinsley inside, the sound of her retching coming out from a bathroom just off the living room. With only a sliver of light reaching out from the bathroom, I can’t make out too much of the house. What I can see are massive picture windows that frame the waxing moon and its reflection on the glass-like surface of the lake.

“I’m gonna put Briar in her bed; which room is hers?” I call out.

Over the sound of the toilet flushing, Tinsley sounds pitiful.

“Upstairs, second door on the right.”

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