Page 116 of Brazen Mistakes

My breath matches hers, and the last thought I have before I join her in sleep is that while I have so many other things to do, this, right now, is the most important.

Chapter 41

Clara

Trips shakes me awake, the living room dark. “Crash, you’ve got to get ready.”

The couch is cold under me, and I blink back the confusion. “Where’s RJ?”

“Family shit. You’re covering for him tonight. He said he trained you, and Walker said you’ve been practicing.”

I struggle upright, disoriented. “Give me coffee and try again.”

He chuckles, holding a warm mug before me. “I added some of that sweet shit you got and some milk.”

“Thank you,” I say, my mouth singing when a bright citrus and chocolate combo hits it. It’s almost overwhelming, but it wakes me up faster than a black coffee would. Trips twists on a dim lamp, letting my eyes adjust before he sits in his chair, watching me with the drink. When I’ve made it halfwaythrough the cup, I set it on a coaster. “Okay. I think I can follow now. RJ went home?”

“Yeah, it’s a family emergency.”

My heart rate immediately spikes, making me dizzy. I’ve missed yet another meal. “Is everyone okay?”

Trips stares at the ceiling. “Not that kind of emergency. So, yeah, I assume so.”

Okay. Probably stuff with his dad. That sucks, but it’s better than the alternative. “And I’m doing his job tonight? What even is his job at these things?”

“On a normal game night, he’d be running the names of new players to see if we should extend credit to them, as well as monitoring the video and audio feeds as needed. But tonight was invitation only. You're responsible for double-checking anyone that loses a bunch to make sure they haven’t suddenly become poor, and that's it. He said he’d share the current status and limits document with you on your new email account.”

“I have a new email address?”

Trips tosses me a slip of paper. The address is a random collection of numbers and letters, like the most obvious of phishing scams, and the password looks the same, just with different letters, numbers, and symbols. “Burn it in the sink once you’re in and wash it down. I’ll need you upstairs with your laptop in thirty minutes. Dress is semi-formal.”

I blink up at him, wishing my brain would fully turn on. “Like, normal people semi-formal, or Westerhouse semi-formal?”

His lips twist into an almost smile. “Normal people should be fine.”

Nodding dumbly as he gets up, I stretch, trying to get my limbs to work. When I open my eyes, he’s still in the doorway. I stumble to my feet, the coffee warm in my hand.

“I’m glad you got some sleep,” he says.

“Me too.” And I didn’t wake from a nightmare. Maybe they can’t find me if I sleep during the day? Yeah. Right. More than likely, it was just a fluke. “Thanks for the coffee,” I add, not sure how to take Trips’ kindness.

He goes one way, and I go the other.

It’s just so unclear. I still want more from him, but it’s selfish. Only there are just enough hints that he wants more, too. He had coffee ready when he woke me. Which means he saw me sleeping, and instead of jolting me awake and insisting I get ready, he walked past me, brewed a pot of coffee, doctored it the way I like, then gently woke me.

I get why he wants to keep his distance. It’s obvious there’s more to his life than I even know about, as if today’s multiple house revelation didn’t drive that home in an instant.

Pulling on the dress I wore that fateful Thanksgiving where my old life shattered and Walker put me back together, I find there’s still the slightest brown tinge of bloodstains on the sleeve. It’s going to have to be good enough.

I slip on my new heels, the sparkles perfectly festive for New Year’s Eve. Having seen some guests this fall, though, I’m not going to impress anyone. Spiraling my hair into what I hope is an artful knot on top of my head, I swipe on my makeup, my features stark against my face.

Sighing, I close my eyes, not wanting to see that girl in the mirror anymore. Why do I look like I’m recovering from months of illness? Has it really only been a few weeks sinceChicago? Forcing myself to think about food, I know I gobbled up the feast Walker made before he went home for Christmas. But before then? I’ve been skipping meals basically since we got back.

When did I last buy groceries?

With a shake of my head, I hang hoops from my ears, the simple shape reminding me of the girl I’d been before I met Bryce, before everything turned heavy and dark. I need the reminder.

I’m the girl who tried to run her way out of her neighborhood.

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