Page 47 of Elusion

We go through them one by one, beginning with the most recent ones from May of last year.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile this much,” Felicia says.

She’s right, but the further back in time we travel, the less this girl resembles Callie. Her eyes lose their spark, and the vibrancy of her smile fades away. Felicia and I stop talking and stop recognizing the person on the screen.

Pictures from two years ago show her barely clothed. She poses with a number of guys. They appear to be random since they only show up once or twice. Each stakes their claim—arms around her, mouths pressed against her shoulder or neck, hands secured on her in different yet equally possessive ways. In several, she looks ready to lose consciousness. Worse are the ones where she already has.

Even further back, three or four years ago, a too-thin blonde’s empty eyes are bloodshot with dilated pupils. In the videos and pictures, she chugs out of liquor bottles, stands on top of a moving car, hangs off the ladder at the top of a water tower, laughs as Kevin puts handcuffs on her, jumps over a fire, and lies in a snowdrift, wearing nothing more than a tank top and gym shorts.

A few of the same faces show up in the background most of the time. Unease forms in my gut when I sift through the photos again, concentrating on these faces. Most of the time, they’re blurry and out of focus, but once I recognize him, my eyes quickly identify him over and over—Trey.

I try to call Callie.

No answer.

Again.

I close the laptop, my jaw clenching. I never should have let her leave.

Instead of writing a song, I tap the pen on my knee, thinking about Callie because that’s all my mind does now. Nine-thirty on Sunday night, and still no word from her since she walked out the door on Friday.

“She’ll be here soon.” Felicia’s attempt at reassurance fails, considering she looks as worried as I feel.

Someone knocks, and my heart almost flies out of my chest. Callie wouldn’t knock. I relax back in my seat while Felicia goes to answer.

“I am so sorry about this,” a man says.

“Jordan?”

The panic in Felicia’s voice has me on my feet. In staggers Trey with Callie. He’s supporting most of her weight, and when she laughs, her knees buckle. I race to catch her other arm before she topples them both over.

“I told you to wait over there.” She motions at a spot behind me.

Jesus, she’s drunk—adorable, but drunk.

Felicia leads us into Callie’s bedroom, and we lay her down. Her eyes shut the second she hits the pillow. Felicia pries them open again. “How much has she had to drink?”

Trey hovers nervously by the doorway in jeans and a T-shirt. “I lost track of her drink count around seven-thirty. But she only blew a point-one-five on the Breathalyzer in my truck a few minutes ago, so she’s come down a lot from earlier.”

“Only?” I say. “That’s almost double the legal limit. How drunk was she earlier?”

Felicia cocks her head to the side. “And how was she still drinking at seven-thirty? Isn’t the trip here three hours?”

Trey rubs the back of his neck. “I lost track at seven-thirty this morning.”

I almost lose my shit, my temper narrowly in check as I shoulder past him out of the room. I’m not sure of the consequences for punching an off-duty sheriff’s deputy, but I’ll find out if he keeps talking.

He’s there when I turn around, hands up in defense. “This is not my fault.”

Fuck it. I stalk toward him, no longer giving a shit what happens. He already has an excellent black eye going that I can add to. Or maybe I can bust back open the cut on his cheek someone already left him.

I halt mid-stride. “Wait, did Callie hit you?”

“She almost broke my nose.” He gestures to his eye and cheek. “These beauts came from her elbow blow.”

As anticipated, I find her hitting him incredibly sexy. I scrub my hands over my face and give myself a few deep breaths to calm down. She doesn’t need me to fight this battle for her. Plus, Trey looks miserable enough without help. He hangs his head, watching his feet.

“I’ll never be able to apologize enough to her,” he says.

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