Bryce turns around. He looks at me, through me. And there I see a small hint of pride. His lip lifts a tad.
He smirks.
His blues shine and my stomach does flips.
That’s right, baby. I got your back.
My eyes slip away from him, over to Michelle. She swallows, but her sight doesn’t stay on me for long. They move to Jace and I see a fleeting glimpse of guilt flash in them.
She turns to the man beside her. “Leave them be,” she says. With one last glance at the man she tricked, Michelle exits the room and Bryce is urged forward. With his hands behind his back, he winks at me before disappearing through the closet we just walked through only minutes ago.
I grasp on to the stair railing and start to jog up after them, but as soon as I do, Jace grabs me by the waist and hauls me down.
“Stop,” I say, gripping his forearms and trying to push them off.
“No,” he says. I feel his chin on my shoulder and his breath against my cheek. “You have to stop this.”
“Jace.” I wiggle more.
“Harrison, Bryce won’t be able to deal with his shit if you’re sitting in jail, too.”
I clench my jaw, breathing hard through my nose. A switch clicks and I realize he’s right. I don’t want to put more on Bryce. My muscles loosen and he puts me down. Tingles run through my hands, down to my fingers.
He looks down at me. “She didn’t do this,” he says. “I did, and my brother will never forgive me.”
Guilt stricken and brokenhearted, he runs a hand over his head.
We are left alone inside the enormous room. Slot machines and the TVs playing are the only sound.
Everyone else is gone, and I’m sure it’s never been this empty.
I twist around and lift a tray that’s filled with unserved drinks. Glass bounces off the plush carpet, liquor spills and beer bottles roll. I lift my foot and kick the tray stand before picking up a beer bottle and tossing it at a slot machine. Glass shatters, satisfying me.
I need things to break.
I lift a few crystal glasses and throw them, one after another, smashing them into tables before I grab my head and scream.
Jace walks over to the bar and picks up a bottle. He doesn’t bother with a glass; he drinks straight from the bottle. I walk over and he offers it to me. The liquor burns going down, warming my skin and calming my nerves. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“We need to do something. We need to call someone.” I wince at the after taste.
I just got him. Things were finally okay, and now I’m losing him all over again. My heart falls and slams its fist against the pit of my stomach, splashing russet bourbon, like a child jumping into a puddle of rainwater.
My mind is on overdrive.
Wired and short-circuiting.
I’m discombobulated.
We have to figure something out here. I’m sure Bryce had a plan for this.
He had to.
You can’t run a place like this and think nothing would ever go wrong.
“We should call Pops,” Jace says. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Call him then,” I urge, looking down at his pocket, knowing that’s where he keeps his phone.