Page 42 of A Surefire Love
Mercy had camped out at the dining table most of an entire weekend, working on the paper. Then again, Blazehad seen her reading and surfing the internet a few times when she’d passed through. If Mercy had been able to focus, she might’ve finished the whole thing.
“Thank you for being honest with me.”
Mercy knotted her hands together and kept her eyes down like a convict awaiting punishment.
“You need to finish the report and ask your social studies teacher if you can have an extra credit assignment to make up for the lost points.” Blaze toyed with her hair, weighing her options. “I can see your schoolwork is still a struggle, and I do want that to get better, but I don’t want you to learn you get your way when you lie.”
Mercy’s gaze lifted in jerks until she met Blaze’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you, but I want you to clean the bathroom as a consequence.”
Mercy nodded.
“After you clean the bathroom, we can go fill the prescription.”
Mercy’s posture straightened until she had the poise of a pageant contestant.
Blaze held up a hand of warning. “Remember that the medication takes time too. It might be a few more weeks before anything changes.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Mercy bolted for the bathroom.
For better or for worse, they’d be picking up the prescription within the hour.
16
Despite its flaws, Blaze had to appreciate her brain’s capacity for multitasking. She processed Anson’s arrival at her Thursday night show without missing a note.
He chose a table and sat alone.
As far as she could tell, he’d been a recluse for the three weeks since she’d cornered him after Rooted. She hadn’t seen him talking one-on-one with anyone for more than a minute or two. Any interactions with her at Rooted or church had been strictly business, like the Sunday he gathered all of the youth leaders—including Sydney—to ask about the sleeping bag. Sydney appeared as surprised as everyone else, suggesting Anson hadn’t told her about it previously.
Had they broken up?
Blaze’s song wound down, and she took a swig from her water bottle to camouflage a peek at her watch. Anson once said he couldn’t attend Thursday shows because of a work meeting, but that might have wrapped up. It was after nine.
She kept tabs on him through her last set. Song after song, he stayed planted. His former high school coach’s widow, Gabby Voss, stopped at his table for a while. Then, he played on his phone. He watched the stage. When Blaze smiled directly at him, uncertainty shifted across his features. She ought to dedicate a song to him to get a reaction, but she couldn’t risk him running before she could satisfy her curiosity.
As she bade The Signalmen good night and gathered her things, she figured he’d disappear.
He did not.
She crossed the deserted dance floor and took a seat at his table, leaving one empty chair between them. “How are you coping with the breakup?”
His lips tightened. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
That was all the confirmation she needed. “You want to talk about it?”
“I don’t.” His glass was empty, save for some brown-tinged water at the bottom. Still, he stared at it like it held the mysteries of the cosmos.
Music streamed over the speakers. Everyone else in the venue left their tables, likely headed home or to the bar. Yet Anson stayed.
“How’s the situation with Eric Newsome going?”
He exhaled long and slow. “I shouldn’t have told you about that.”
“Why not?”
“Because telling people about it could stir up dissension.”
