Page 86 of Black Bird

“I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

“Well … you are now. I need you to make me your plus one.”

“Why?” That nervous feeling started churning like a blender. “What are you planning?”

“I don’t think that’s your concern anymore, Brent. I know what he wants. We’re gonna have a little chat.”

Brent decided it was time to start walking in case someone was listening in. He started down the rest of the pale steps and dropped his voice. “Are you gonna kill him, Sarah?”

“Only as much as he’s killed me. He’ll still live and breathe. But if he wants what I think he wants … then he’s gonna pay dearly for it. We’ll see how much it really means to him and what kind of monster he really is, then. And you’re gonna help me.”

Brent unlocked his car and shut the door behind him as he slid inside. “Sarah … I—I never meant …”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. Spare me of whatever bullshit you’re about to say. I should’ve listened to Wren a long time ago.”

He quieted … so did she. “She was right. I’ll admit that I didn’t expect her to be so bold, even after hating me for the past two years. But … she was right. I don’t know whatit is I feel for you, Sarah. But I’m man enough to admit it hurt to find out that it wasn’t real for you either.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The hospital. Isn’t that what you’re talking about?”

“Refresh my memory.”

“I’m assuming she told you about the conversation in the stairwell? When she told me to leave … and that you hadn’t loved me for a while?” Another long pause.

“Hmm …”Sarah hummed, simply.

“Sarah?”

“Get us into this benefit. Text me whatever I need to wear.”

Call ended.

He may have just fucked up yetagain. Brent blew out a long breath and rubbed over his face, staring over his steering wheel for a moment before starting the car and pulling onto the street.

Wren pulled up to Sarah’s apartment, excited to finally see her after three days of being told no. She was a little surprised to see Sarah’s text to come over, if she was being honest. She even told her to bring her appetite and that she was making dinner. Wren headed up the stairs and knocked, opening the door when Sarah called her in.

“Damn … it smells like cupcakes in here,” she said, closing the door behind her. Sarah smiled over her shoulder. “Did you go to work today?”

“Yeah. Not much luck with what I was trying to do, but … wasn’t a total loss.” She was standing with her back turned toward her at the stove, cutting something that was steaming in front of her. She looked better than Athan, Wren supposed. Her hair was up, and she was wearing the shirt Wren bought her with a pair of loose black shorts. “You cool with eating at the coffee table? I’m gonna sit on the floor.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wren shrugged, taking her jacket off and heading over to the table. She plopped down and sat cross-legged on a pillow then looked up at the empty space above Sarah’s bed. “What happened to the poster?” she asked.

“I’m over it,” was Sarah’s only reply as she brought over two plates. She sat one down in front of her and the other along the edge at the other side. Wren noticed the cuts on the sides of both hands that extended down the wrists.

“Dude, what happened to you?” Her brows drew together, and she tried to reach out, but Sarah ignored her and went back to the kitchen to get two wine glasses. Wren looked down at the plates. Homemade bread. Nothing else. Sarah sat the wine glasses on the table and started filling one.

“Say when,” she said, pouring slowly.

“That’s good,” Wren said, beginning to feel an awkward tension between them. “You make this yourself?”

“The bread?” Sarah asked, filling her own glass. Wren nodded. “Yep. With my very own hands.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook like that.”

“Seems there’s plenty we don’t know about each other.” Sarah smiled, sitting down across from her and taking a large sip from her wine. Wren stared at her. Sarah wouldn’t meet her eyes and she picked up the bread from her plate, breaking it into two pieces. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“What’s going on, Sarah?” Wren asked, not making any move to touch the food or the wine. “You’re acting weird.”

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