Page 115 of Sweeper
I clear my throat. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m going to need more details about what happened between you two before I let you walk out of this house today.” Hayden narrows his eyes on me. “All I know is that you texted me looking for her, and she won’t tell me anything. Clearly, something’s up because last time I saw you two together was at the wedding, and you guys were obsessed with each other.” He exhales heavily and voices the next question in a slow, punctuated threat. “What did you do?”
I wince as images of Daphney singing, dancing, and laughing at that wedding flood my memory. It was honestly one of the best nights I’ve had since moving to London. Maybe one of the best nights of my life. It makes me wish I could go back and just be honest with her. Then again, would Daphney and I have become what we became if she knew the truth before we slept together?
I direct my gaze to Hayden and answer honestly, “I lied to her about all of this.” I point at the Harris family all milling about the backyard without a care in the world. “About my supposed connection here. She thinks I was using her to get close to everyone, and I suppose I was, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I fell in love with her along the way.”
Hayden blinks back at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “Did you tell her that?”
I shrug. “She knows.”
He takes a long drink and licks his lips slowly as he puts the cap back on his bottle. If he’s shocked or pissed, he’s hiding it well. With a resolute nod, he pats my shoulder before walking back to join the rest of the family. I watch him sit down next to Vi like I didn’t just confess that I used his sister for my own personal gain.
“Should I be afraid?” I whisper to Booker, a pit forming in my stomach.
“Yes,” Booker responds quickly.
Daphney
Phoebe: I don’t understand how you don’t want to drink with me. It’s Saturday night!
Me: I don’t want to leave my flat.
Phoebe: Alcohol is magically portable. I can even stuff a bottle of wine in my bra.
Me: I just want to be alone, Pheebs. I’m sorry.
Phoebe: You’re wallowing.
Me: I’m working.
Phoebe: That’s just grown-up talk for wallowing. You can’t stay cooped up in the flat forever. Eventually, you will run into him.
Me: I know. I just don’t want to go out tonight because I have another jingle to work on, and since Zander is in Watford for a football game, this is a good time for me to work before he gets back later tonight.
Phoebe: Has he still not replied to any of your “matey banter” texts?
Me: No, nothing. He hates me.
Phoebe: You broke his heart.
Me: He broke mine first. It’s better this way.
Phoebe: For who exactly?
Me: It was never going to work out.
Phoebe: And why is that again?
There’s a knock on my door, and instantly, I want to thump and hug my best friend because she never was one to respect boundaries. I march over to my door and swing it open. “Phoebe, I was being…” My voice trails off when I see it’s not my persistent best friend on my doorstep. It’s my brother.
“Hiya, Daph,” Hayden says, walking in like he owns the place, which I guess he kind of does.
“Hayden, what are you doing here?” I ask, glancing at the clock to see it’s after seven already.
“Just coming by to check on the building.” He walks around my flat, inspecting the walls, the ceiling, my music equipment. He even annoyingly strums my guitar before sitting down on my sofa and spreading his arms out wide.
I cross my arms and hit him with a flat look. “Why are you really here?”
