Page 119 of The Publicity Stunt
She gasps and I wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous. You look beautiful, Chere.”
She tilts her chin up and gives me a smile. “You have to say that.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I do?”
She lifts her left hand, flashing the tiny gold ring. “Yeah, you do,” she says.
It took a while—seven months, to be precise—but after landing a couple of small freelance writing jobs here and there, I managed to save up for an actual engagement ring. And not just any generic ring. This one has green vines on the top. Yellow and green. Rogue colors. She hasn’t taken it off, even for a second.
I kiss her forehead. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
April wiggles out of my embrace and spins to face me. My eyes unwittingly drop to the thigh-high slit of her dress. Conveniently using the distraction to her advantage, April snags the car keys from my pocket and runs to the driver’s seat. “I’m driving!”
“April,” I chide.
Logan rushes to the truck and yells, “Shotgun!”
I shoot him a look. “Shotgun? What are you, twelve?”
He opens the passenger-side door and slides in. “No time to argue. We’re getting late, dude. My girlfriend’s gonna kill you.”
April shrugs, laughing a little. “Sorry, dude,” she says, “but rules are rules.”
Idiots. Rolling my eyes, I slide into the back seat.
April starts the engine and we pull out to the exit. She puts on some music and for the next ten minutes, Logan and April fight over the aux. He wants Eagles. She wants Taylor Swift. It’s a fight I’m happy not to be a part of.
“Get your hands off the cable.” She whacks his arm and looks back at me for a brief second. “Parker, please tell this man this car is for Swifties only.”
I do as I’m told and Logan slumps back in his seat, muttering a not-so-discreet, “Fucking whipped.” April laughs and I kick the back of his seat.
A few more minutes pass and Logan sits up straight. “You guys don’t think she’ll actually be mad, right?” He means Shara. And yes, unfortunately, I do think she’ll be way more than just mad when she sees his outfit. He hesitates to say the next words, but I don’t really need them to understand what’s bothering him. While I was saving up to buy April an engagement ring, Logan has been saving up to pay his way through stunt school. It’s insane, maybe even a little ridiculous, but it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. Ever since I’ve known him. Three years.
The adrenaline, the rush; apparently it “speaks” to him.
“You can wear my blazer instead,” I tell him. “I look like I’m going to the Oscars anyway.”
He nods, still not saying anything, and April turns back, mouthing a silent, “That was sweet.”
She’s smiling. It’s a gorgeous fucking smile. It’s like the sun. Bright and warm and a fucking gift to mankind. I love her smile.
I half open my mouth to say those exact words to her, but instead end up yelling a frantic, “April! Watch out!”
She looks out the windshield, but it’s too late.
Too bright.
She grips the steering wheel. Tires screech. Horns blast. She swerves left.
There’s a blaring sound.
Someone screams.
Then silence.
And darkness.
More silence. Deafening silence.
