Page 48 of Quietly Falling
“Thanks,” I tell him, throwing cash down on the bar for the food and Ella’s drinks. His lips twitch as I stand and shrug on my jacket, before turning toward Roman. “Make sure she gets back safely.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
Because I don’t touch things that aren’t mine.
“Not feeling like much of afriendright now.” The way the word comes out as if it is vile seems to reveal too much if the way his lips twitch is any indication. “She’s with her family—she’s happy.”
She doesn’t need me.
“You call for a ride?”
“Sure.”
“Dude.”
“It’s not that far,” I tell him as I turn back for the food. “Need to clear my head anyway.”
He stares at me for a long time before shaking his head. “I don’t like it, but I get it.” Grabbing a napkin, he jots down a phone number and hands it to me. “Text me when you make it. Friend or not, she’ll kill me if something happens. And because I’ve walked that route a time or two, I’ll be sending a search party if you don’t.”
I shove it into my pocket without another word and head for the door, my lungs constricting in my chest as I make my way through the crowd of people.
The cool air is a welcome reprieve, the inky-black sky painted with stars, the scene making me miss Blackstone Falls.
Stop getting attached; you know how it ends.
It’s a stark reminder as I take one step and then another before pulling out my phone and calling Sorren.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is gruff as the sounds from the bar fade into the distance.
“I fucked up,” I admit into the quiet. “I don’t want to be her friend.”
* * *
ELLA
The energyin the bar is like a living breathing thing, people just having a good time and catching up.
But something’s missing.
It takes me longer than I’d like to admit to realize that the rush I feel whenever Bodhi is near is seemingly absent. Looking to the barstool he’d been perched on, I realize why.
Bodhi isn’t sitting at the bar—he’s not sitting anywhere. Dread fills my stomach as I excuse myself from the girls and make a beeline for Roman who looks guilty as my heart beats faster in my chest.
“Where is he?”
“Wasn’t feeling well.”
“And he didn’t tell me?” I nearly screech, and he shrugs while I glance at the clock on the wall.
It’s late.
Way later than I thought and way later than I planned on being here.
“He didn’t want you to worry, said he wanted you to have a good time.”
“But he gets migraines, Roman, bad ones and if he’s alone—” My head jerks side to side as I try and remember where I put my coat before my cousin’s hand wraps around my wrist.
“Not a migraine.”
