Page 30 of The Sidekick

“Let me up, you giant toddler,” I start giggling at his antics. It’s so hard to see him as a grump like this. I don’t know why he cracked out of his shell for me, but I like the results.

“No, we’re sleeping,” he says in a not asleep-at-all voice, and I give in, just a little because I’m weak to funny Max.

My laughter is interrupted by a throat clearing in the doorway, and I tense, expecting Felix and Blaze to be there again. When I see Trevor leaning on the doorframe, watching us, all the blood drains from my face.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I babble. Isn’t that what every guilty person says? This is off to a bad start. “I just came in to wake him up, and he grabbed me. He’s going to tickle me. I know it.”

They start laughing as if I’ve told them my best joke, and I look back and forth in confusion. How is this not awkward for them? They’re probably used to it with all the women throwing themselves at them.

I start struggling again, and Max finally lets me go. I flip my legs over his hip and grip the back of the couch to slide over him and onto the floor. I hop up before Trevor can finish taking a single step to help me and brush myself off like I do embarrassing stuff all the time, and this is nothing.

I do, just not in front of two drool-worthy men laughing at me.

“I’m going to grab my purse,” I try to tough it out as I walk past Trevor with all the dignity of a cat who missed the landing.

“You should spend the night,” Max calls, and I hurry my steps.

“Max,” Trevor’s stern voice fades out as I get farther away, and I’m thankful. I hate to be that person, but he needs to get his boyfriend in check. It’s hard enough to resist the temptation now that he’s all flirty.

I don’t want to be the butt of the joke when he says just kidding, you’re a loser.

Purse in hand, I hesitate in the bar, looking at all the depressing changes that feel wrong. It’s like someone came into my apartment and moved all my furniture around while I was sleeping.

The counter is scrubbed clean and has a fresh coat of paint over the side, and bar stools are stacked out of the way. There’s no evidence of holes or the scratch Sal left from falling last year. Everything is clean and ready to be used, all of the trash is taken out, and the floor is spotless.

My eyes find where Joe was shot, and my breath gets tight in my lungs. They moved a table over the spot, and I want to throw it as if he’s still lying there being crushed under the weight. I drop my purse and move it, messing up the clean area. Several tables and chairs protest as they get forced away. Once I’m done, I stand there, confused about what I’m doing, as tears roll down my face.

“Tera?”

Trevor’s voice calling from the office snaps me out of my stunned state, and I scramble to grab my purse as I call out a squeaky, “See you tomorrow!”

I run to my car, grateful he didn’t lock the door, so my escape was easy. I don’t hesitate to rush out of the parking lot as Trevor and Max come outside to watch. I pretend I don’t see them as I drive past, determined to get home before I break down again.

Chapter Eleven

Max

I never thought it would be so difficult to get close to Tera. There are so many roadblocks in the way it’s getting harder and harder to navigate.

Trevor is still in denial about having her as a partner, even though he gets hard whenever she looks at him for too long. Her supposed best friend, who was oh-so-safe for Tera to run away with, is a self-centered ass. Her boyfriends are egotistical douches, and her friends are useless toxic pieces of shit.

They’ve all had a hand in breaking Tera down to ground level, and now we’re stuck in this tight-rope walk of can she forgive them and whether we want her to. Thanks to the demanding asshole on my left. I would much rather bundle her up and keep her in our bed until she feels more like herself. But no, that’s selfish and unrealistic, according to Trevor.

“We should follow her,” I break our silence now that her car has faded from our view.

“Not right now, Max,” Trevor shakes his head as he tries to hide the concern written all over his face.

I glare at him and turn around without a word.

Once inside, I stare at the shifted tables and knocked-over chairs, leaving a blank spot right where she stood when Joe died. I will never forget that night as long as I live. The knowledge that she was right there, frozen in terror, and I couldn’t get to her.

Trevor knew I would try, even though I’m just as mortal as she is, and bullets were everywhere. I understand why he tackled me and held me down, even though I hated him for it. The guilt straining his features as she got into the ambulance with Joe is also stamped in my head.

He would have gone to her too, I know it. He just has a clearer head than I do, always has. Bullet plus person equals death. It's not a complex equation, but in the heat of the moment, logic flies out of the window for me. It’s all about instinct, not intellect. That’s Trevor’s skill, and I’m more than happy to let him have it. Even when it causes him headaches and guilt.

He follows me inside to give me some oh-so-helpful advice. “She needs a second or two before we bulldog over her.”

“She’s alone and having a panic attack,” I snap back. “In no world is that safe. She’s driving, for fuck’s sake.”

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