Page 19 of Not Made to Last

I face forward, don’t bother responding. Really, it’s none of his business, and unless this cop is going to take it further, I have nothing more to say.

“I have to get back to work,” Curtis tells Rhys, finally breaking the silence. “But you’re still coming to Layla’s party this weekend, right?”

“Like I would miss my goddaughter’s birthday,” Rhys answers, tearing his eyes from mine to his friend. “You know I’ll be there.”

“Do me a favor?” Curtis says. “Don’t outshine us with whatever present you plan on getting her.”

Rhys chuckles. “So cancel that VIP tour of Disney? Got it.”

“Bruh.”

“I’m kidding.” Rhys laughs. “The ‘Uncle Rhys is my hero’ tattoo should be enough, right?’”

Curtis laughs at this.

“What did you guys get her?” Rhys asks.

Curtis sighs. “Belinda got her a dollhouse. It’s in pieces, of course, and she sure as hell isn’t the one to put it all together. Guess what I’ll be doing the night before?”

“I’ll come by Friday night and give you a hand,” Rhys offers.

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll supply the beers.”

Rhys’s hand goes to his chest in mock horror. “To a nineteen-year-old? How dare you, Officer Murphy.”

Curtis reaches into the truck, shoves Rhys’s head playfully. “I fucking forget how old you are sometimes.” Then he ducks his head again, focusing on me. “It was nice to meet you, Olivia. Thanks for taking care of my boy tonight.”

I nod but stay quiet.

“Later, Garrett,” Curtis says, and then he’s gone.

I have questions. So many of them. A goddaughter? Cute. But also: Who the hell is this version of Rhys I just witnessed? “Did you call the cops on your own party?”

Rhys nods as he winds up his window, then faces me. “Turn left up there,” he says, motioning to the T intersection in front of us. “I’m the third house on the left, just after the bend.”

I start the car and follow his directions, realizing quickly that his house is familiar. I pull over at the curb, just before the open security gates. “I’ll drop you here if that’s okay?”

“I don’t know,” Rhys mumbles. “It’s a long-ass driveway.”

“I know,” I tell him. “I delivered a pizza here tonight right before?—”

“You slammed into me with your truck and dragged my bloody and beaten body four blocks?”

I crack a smile. “You’re really milking it now.” I look toward his house, though it’s so set back from the road that it’s impossible to see. “I’d drive you to your door, but I’m sure youhave security cameras…” And the idea of him having physical proof that I was here, with him, makes my stomach turn.

His eyes narrow as I speak, head tilting to the side when he assesses me. And then he laughs. Just once. “You’re so fucking paranoid, Cheeks.” Shaking his head, he doesn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he seems to get more comfortable. “That’s what you were doing tonight? Delivering food?”

“Yeah.”

Rhys turns, looking to the back seat. “You guys don’t have a long drive, do you? Because you can crash here if you’re tired. I have the space.” He pauses a beat. “I can disconnect all the cameras just for you.”

“No, we’re good,” I’m quick to answer.

“You sure?” There’s that smirk again. “I’ll even let you share my bed.”

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