Page 64 of A River of Crows

Dylan thumped his fingers against the steering wheel. “That’s not what I meant.”

“And apparently, you’ve done more than answer a few questions if you’ve talked about me.” Sloan bit down on the side of her cheek. Dylan was a liar. Just like Liam, just like her father. “It was pretty clear during our dinner at Applebee’s that she liked you,” Sloan continued. “I mean, she practically held your hand. I don’t blame you for liking the attention or even liking her, but that’s why I mentioned it that day you came over.”

Dylan lowered his head. “I’m not and have never been interested in Felicity. I was uncomfortable when she took my hand and when you left us there alone. I was interested in you. Am interested in you. Where’s this coming from? I asked an innocent question about Brad calling. How did it turn into this?”

Sloan let out a long breath. “Okay, fine. Brad’s calling me because we’re trying to set up a meeting with Eddie Daughtry.”

Dylan’s face twisted at the mention of Eddie Daughtry, and though Sloan realized she had gone too far, a part of her was glad it had stung. “Are you happy now?” she asked. “You know why Brad called me. Now, tell me why Felicity is calling you.”

Dylan squeezed the wheel and stared into the distance. “I think it’s time for you to go inside.” He didn’t raise his voice, but it was thick with anger.

“Yeah, I’d say it's past time.” Sloan grabbed her purse and climbed out of Dylan’s Jeep, slamming the door behind her.

Sloan woke up on the couch the following morning wearing the previous night’s clothes and having the kind of headache born from hours of intermittent crying mixed with hours of incessant drinking. She had overreacted last night. She realized that now in the fresh light of a new day.

It hurt to imagine Dylan and Felicity talking about her. Even if it was as innocent as Dylan claimed, this proved Sloan wasn’t ready for a relationship—that she’d never be able to trust another man again. If she wanted someone trustworthy, she should have never broken up with Noah Dawson.

At the thought of Noah, fuzzy memories of the night before crept in. Sloan had texted him after her third or fourth glass of wine. She reached for her phone on the arm of the couch, but it wasn’t there. She dug into the cushions until she found it, quickly opening her messages to survey the damage.

Thanks for coming 2night Noah. I always feel stronger when you’re with me. ??

Sloan cringed. She wasn’t sure which was worse. The spelling of tonight or the heart emoji. She scrolled down to read Noah’s response.

Welcome. Sorry I wasn’t able to help find her.

Miraculously, Sloan hadn’t responded to that text. The next message in the thread was from Noah again, almost an hour later. Sloan read it and the ensuing conversation.

So, what’s with you and Dylan Lawrence?

Nada

Well, that’s good.

Oh yeah? Why’s that?

Because to use the poor man to get the information you want is low.

And what if I’m using him for sex?

Sloan brought her hands to her face, letting the phone fall to her lap. She didn’t want to read the rest of the texts; she wanted to curl up on the sofa and die. But she had to read them all, so she could do damage control.

She picked up the phone and looked at the last message from Noah.

Goodnight, Sloan.

She had let the conversation die there and thankfully hadn’t texted Dylan or Felicity. She needed to put some kind of lock screen on her phone, a puzzle she could only solve sober.

Sloan stood from the couch. She needed to take a shower before visiting her mom. She needed to return Brad’s call, then text an apology to Noah and Dylan too. But in Dylan’s text, she needed to clarify that an apology didn’t mean she wanted a relationship because she didn’t. Well, she sort of did, but she certainly didn’t need one. Not with these trust issues.

But Sloan wasn’t up for any of that, so she grabbed her keys. She needed to clear her head and knew just where to go.

She drove to the creek and hiked back to their old campsite. She was huffing by the time she made it. Hangovers and steep terrain didn’t mix well. The two-person black tent close to the fire pit caught her off guard. She had no claim to this land, but it felt sacred. Like whoever camped here was walking over her grave. As much as Sloan wanted to rest under that old swamp oak that bore her family’s names, she didn’t want to disturb whoever was inside that tent. She turned to leave when she saw something shiny behind the tent. A cage. She stepped closer and saw a sleek black crow resting on a wooden perch.

As Sloan approached, she expected the bird to be frightened. That he would beat his feathers, squawk, and begin a frantic flight around the cage. But he only turned his head, looked at Sloan, and muttered one word. One word over and over and over. “Ridge. Ridge. Ridge,” the crow echoed in a voice that sounded too much like a man’s.

Sloan stumbled backward into a shrub. A branch scraped against her skin. Blood dripped down the back of her leg, but she didn’t take her eyes off the bird.

She must have misheard. There was no way. She was still drunk, dreaming, or as crazy as her mother.

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