Page 87 of Darcy
“She’s right there.” But I’m secretly glad he hasn’t told anyone—even his only family member—about my mission.
He offers me a conspiratorial smile. “If we pretend she isn’t, maybe she’ll go away.”
What’s he playing at? Did he not invite her? Emma doesn’t look insulted by his comment, just resigned and a little guilty. I’m about to ask what’s going on when he diverts me into a coffee shop.
“This isn’t our destination,” he says. “But it’s before ten, so I’m guessing you need coffee?”
Another little piece of me thaws as he orders for me, pressing the white chocolate mocha frappe into my hands before giving Emma a caramel one and herding us back out of the shop.
“What’s going on?” I ask her, falling behind Arlo as he leads us across a street. Emma is busy checking her mascara in her tiny bejewelled compact, so she doesn’t answer me for a second.
“I agreed to be a mute third wheel,” she finally says, shooing me away with a sad half-smile. “He can explain himself, but he’s not going anywhere alone.”
Frowning, because her response has given me more questions than answers, I let the subject drop.
“So we’re going to a park?” I ask Arlo, taking a sip of icy cold heaven as I walk a little faster to catch up with him.
“Kind of,” he answers. “You’ll see.”
He turns a corner onto a tree-lined boulevard, looking far too at home in this city for it to be any coincidence. Before I can ask him about how he knows his way around so well, he takes my hand and tugs me past a tall concrete wall etched with words that declare we’re entering a… sculpture garden?
Despite the busyness of the street we just left, the garden is tranquil and almost empty.
Arlo’s pace automatically slows, and mine does as well. It’s as if the park itself demands we slow and appreciate what’s there.
I don’t get modern art. I never really have. A lot of the time, I just feel like I’m missing the point. Maybe it’s too subtle for someone as blunt as me, or maybe it’s just not my thing. Still, I have to admit these sculptures add interest to what would otherwise be a regular park.
“Come on. My favourite spot is over here.”
He tugs me across to a narrow staircase set into the wall and then up onto a glass and steel catwalk that seems to crisscross over the garden. It’s surprisingly spacious up here, and there are even thin benches spaced every so often to encourage visitors to linger.
The garden extends up here, along with the art. The trees are hung with more exhibits that change as you move around them. At some point, we lose Emma, but I catch sight of her again, sitting on a bench below, when Arlo pulls me to the rail and shows me the sculptures from above.
“She hates heights,” he mutters, ignoring her stare. “I figured this would get us some privacy.”
I look around, checking to make sure we really are alone. My eyes automatically scan for cameras, then people, before I feel happy enough to ask the question that’s been bugging me since he turned up.
“Privacy for what?” I ask, confused. “Why is she following you? What’s going on?”
Arlo sighs and collapses onto a bench. “She’s following me because I did something stupid, and now I need a babysitter.”
“Something stupid?” I take the seat beside him.
He takes his glasses off and tucks them into his pocket. “I relapsed.” His words are so quiet I can barely hear them over the city traffic. “The night we decided to end things. I felt like shit, and when Miguel offered me some I just… I wanted to feel good again.”
My heart sinks. “What does that mean?” I ask. “Are you using again now?”
I study his eyes intently, but his pupils aren’t dilated, and he doesn’tseemhigh.
He shakes his head. “It was a mistake. I’m not giving up all that I worked so hard for. I won’t give Miguel the satisfaction. It’s just… hard.”
He says the last word so lamely, and I can’t help but shimmy closer, offering silent comfort.
“It’s my mess that got us into this in the first place,” he mumbles. “The guys and Emma, they’re too good to me, really.” He takes a deep breath and turns away. “Anyway, I just… I brought you here because I wanted you to find out from me, rather than someone else.”
He goes to stand, but I stop him with a gentle hand on his leather-covered arm. “How do I help?”
Arlo freezes, jaw clenching. “Please don’t ask me that.”
