Page 106 of Dirty Roulette
“She came backstage.” He circles his finger around, his eyes haze over as he recounts it. “Threw her drink at me and ended it right before we performed... told me she lied, never wanted to see me again. She didn’t explain why, she just cried storming off.” Noah rubs the edge of his nose with the back of his hand and sniffles.
“She never tells guys she loves them... Charlie always ended things with anyone before that feeling even surfaced.”
“Wow...” He runs his hands over his face and tilts his head back. The sky is falling and raining down, crushing us with every horrible feeling it can drop. “She was pissed at you, and decided to stay here with me until she figured out her living situation,” he mentions.
I slump my sagging body against the counter. “I don’t blame her, I was lying about messing around with her brother... It sucks, I think I broke my own heart by dumping him.”
Eyebrows slide up his forehead. “It wasobviousthe minute he dragged you out of the hot tub that he cared about you.”
“Yeah...”
“Is he always pissed off at the world?” Noah asks.
I run my tongue over my teeth and huff. “Only when Charlie and I do stupid things.”
“He freaked me out at that party, but if I had a little sister I’d probably be the same.”
“Well, I’m sure I messed up that relationship too.” Regret for everything I ever did wrong seeps like rot through my bones. The lies eat away at my flesh like an awful decaying body with nothing left but the trench they were dumped in.
“Brody drugged us both...” The bulge in my throat wrenches up and down.
The assault of the words hit Noah straight in his face, and he’s swarmed with emotions. His eyes water, and he presses his fingers deep into his sockets. “Fuck!”
Acid slicks the back of my throat. “I honestly don’t remember much.”
“We played but left right afterward. My Gramps was rushed to the hospital.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He had a stroke and hasn’t been responsive.”
My stomach sinks and fills with cement of dread with those words. “Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”
“I can’t think straight. She’s missing, he’s dying. I can’t...”
“Close up and go down there and be with him. Don’t waste your time here.”
“Yeah...” Noah says.
It takes a couple of minutes before he agrees to close the store and leave. Pain radiates off him and I stay until he locks up the doors and heads to his car. I sit on the cement parking barrier watching traffic and waiting for another Uber driver to pick me up.
Chapter forty
Payton
Driving a stick shift is a bitch. I was used to cruising in Ryder’s Jeep whenever I got the chance, but this is the boss level of an obnoxious video game I keep losing, and I’m about to rage quit. It’s so stressful.
“Turn left here.” Noah points a finger, his voice dripping with laughter as I’ve stalled the little Volkswagen four times in the past five minutes. I grip the old-school steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white against the neon-blue leather. “Now ease your foot on the clutch, and shift into first gear,” He eyeballs me, with a stupid smirk. “You got this, princess.”
“Okay,” I try to convince myself I can switch gears without messing up again, but my palms sweat against the gear stick. I can dance, do the splits, and a million back handsprings, but I can’t even learn how to drive this stupid Beetle my Mum bought in order to bribe me to never come back to the house again.
“Like this?” I ask, pushing the stick, but the car jerks, launching us forward and Noah’s head acts like one of those bobbleheads as it stalls. “Shit!”
Noah’s head falls into the headrest and he digs his fingers into his hair and erupts into laughter. “We are never gonna make it to the concert at this rate.”
“Shut up! I didn’t think it would be this hard!” I’m pissed, but I giggle. We are legit stuck in a Walmart parking lot, and all I’ve done is manage to back out of the parking space. Oh, and get glares from the random assortment of people who trolly out with shopping carts. There is also a monstrous line of cars behind us.
“Try again. Be easy with it,” he says, still chuckling. I take a deep breath, press the clutch with my big toe, and try to shift into first gear again. This time, the car creeps forward. “Oh, my God! It’s moving!” I squeal in glee, bouncing in my seat, my cheeks hurting from smiling. The tires are moving, but then it starts to sputter and shake, stalling again.
