Page 28 of Composed at Randy's
He's frowning, but before I’m able to really work up to a nice, healthy freak out, he says, “He didn’t do a good job taking care of you when you needed it.”
I jump to defend Kai because he’s the fucking best. “It’s not his fault. His dad is sick right now, and I told him to go.”
“So, what? It’s okay for you to suffer just because someone else is suffering?”
“I’m pretty sure Kai’s dad was suffering more than me. Besides, I really should be able to take care of myself, so it’s my own fault for ending up like this.”
My stomach growls and I look down at it in surprise. Considering how much I’d eaten earlier I should be set for a while. It must be because it was all healthy food. That stuff never lasts me for long.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” Bael announces, and he scoops me off the bed. It’s so sudden that at least three cat stuffies come with us as we leave his room.
We’re in the main area, trailing cats behind us, and Bael announces, “We’re going to Randy’s.”
He doesn’t stop the entire time. He just keeps carrying me until we’re out the door. I stick my tongue out at the meat walls as we sail past them. Neither of them will look me in the eye, and I know it’s because I put the fear of god into them. Any and all survivors of a Wren attack know better than to try again. Unless they’re Allie, but she tickles and that’s not fighting fair.
I’m not sure why I’m so good at scaring people off. I don’t think of myself as a particularly strong person, but no one ever bothers me twice. Kai has no answers for me anytime I bring it up. Likely he has no idea either.
It’s not until we reach the elevator and the entire band plus Harvey and Laura are jammed in with us that I realize I’m completely shoeless.
“Wait!” I cry, and then point to my feet, kicking them wildly. “I don't know what kind of place Randy's is, but I doubt they’ll let people in without shoes.”
Bael gets this funny look on his face, and I'm starting to recognize it as hisoh shit I fucked up againface.
“Harvey.” Bael gives an imperious snap of his fingers and says nothing else, as if he expects Harvey to know exactly what he wants without explaining it.
I guess he does, though, because Harvey says, “On it,” and then dives into his phone.
“What happened to your shoes in the first place?” Travis asks. Then he yelps, because for some mysterious reason Shay slaps the shit out of the back of his head.
“I forgot to put them on.” I become the human embodiment of the sweat drop emoji and consider burying my face in Bael’schest, but we don't know each other that well, so I hold it in and face the shame head on.
“It's okay, Wren. No one cares whether you have shoes or not. I've got you covered.” Bael gives me a little squeeze, and my cheeks pink right up. It's too bad that we're not in thechest-buryingstage of our friendship yet because I’m losing the battle with facing all of these emotions without my sketchbook.
Bael is super nice and carries me all the way to their limo. It's nothing special as limos go. I don't own one or anything, but I'm used to museums and galleries sending them for me every time Shelly makes me attend a thing. They always have my favorite snacks in them and some pretty cool video games. This one doesn't even have a PlayStation, so, you know. Meh.
It's around this time that I start wondering what the hell Bael and his merry band of fabulous misfits do for a living. They certainly aren't hurting for cash, and Laura was suspiciously ambiguous when talking about it earlier.
They probably don’t kill people for a living, right? I should probably ask just to make sure.
“So, just out of curiosity, how many people die after meeting you all?” Yep, that's me, I'm alet's rip that Band-Aid offkind of guy. Except when I'm not. It's all or nothing with me, really. When I have to ask awkward questions, I have to go at it at a run, otherwise those questions might never get asked.
I’m still sitting in Bael’s lap because we're all packed in here like sardines, so it's really obvious when he goes completely still.
Shit. What if they really are killers, and I just hurt their feelings? I practically trip over my tongue to try and fix it, saying, “I’m not job-shaming, I promise! I'm sure some people really have it coming, and I bet a lot of perfectly nice people have to kill the occasional person for their job. I mean, no job is great all the time, right? I know mine has some downsides.”
The inside of the limo is quieter than my sex life right now, but I'm pretty sure I can't fuck this problem away.
“Um… You all… dress really well for the mafia?” I know I'm reaching at this point, but no one else is talking, So what else am I supposed to do? At least I'm saying nice stuff about them, so if I hurt their feelings earlier, they'll know that I wasn't trying to be mean.
“You think we’re part of the mafia?” Travis is sitting cross-legged in the seat across from me and Bael. His elbows are on his knees, and both fists are propping up his chin. He seems utterly captivated.
I think this means the conversation is going well.
“…yes?” I notice that Harvey seems to be looking green around the gills, so maybe the conversation isn't goingthatwell. “It's okay if you are. Sometimes organized crime gets a really bad rap, but I think a lot of people know that. Like, I read an article once about a mob boss who has an entire chain of soup kitchens in his city and how he does more for the homeless population than the government does.”
The limo gets a lot more active than my sex life after I say that.
Mel, Travis, and Shay all burst into laughter. Like, howling, falling over each other, tears streaming down their face kind of laughter.
