Page 11 of A Photo Finish
She glances over her shoulder. “Oh. Yeah.”
My eyes shift back to hers. “I don’t like you enough to help you bury a body.”
Billie grins, her teeth coming off a little vicious in the dark of night. “Fair. I won’t come knocking once I kill Patrick Cassel.”
“Patrick?” I ask, confused, as Vaughn bounds up the stairs. I already hate Patrick’s smug ass. If I had to help her with a body, it would be his. Maniacal laughter streams out of the truck, pulling me away from that thought. “You guys, what the fuck is going on?”
“She might actually kill him, you know?” a hysterical voice cackles out of the dark back seat.
“Is she okay?” Vaughn asks, slightly breathless as he comes to stand beside Billie.
“Yeah, yeah. She’s just really high.” Billie replies casually.
My teeth grind. This is so like them. Talking a lot but saying nothing at all.
“You. Guys.” I bite out. “What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?”
“Patrick Cassel took Violet and DD down tonight, and her leg is all mangled.”
Adrenaline courses through me as Billie’s words process in my head. If I didn’t already hate Patrick Cassel, I would now. I see dirt. I hear hooves. I taste bile. I rub at my leg anxiously.
“What do you mean,took her out?” My molars grind against each other as I’m transported back in time. To another day entirely. To a seventeen-year-old boy watching his dad ride a race he’ll never finish.
“Cut her off and bumped DD’s shoulder. It was muddy.” Billie sniffs. Her voice sounds brittle, and I don’t miss the hand that my brother snakes around her waist.
I feel like I could suffocate on my tongue as I forge ahead. “And can you elaborate on what a ‘mangled’ leg means to you?”
Vaughn’s eyes dart up to me, going slightly wide. Usually, that means my tone is too brusque. Trixie is always asking me how I think other people perceive me. I keep telling her I don’t care. She just ignores that and tells me to look at body language for clues. I think this wide-eyed look might be one thing I’m meant to watch for. Vaughn doesn’t like the way I’m talking to his fiancée.
“Hairline fracture on her fibula and a strain in her knee. It’s mild, but she’s kinda beat up. Recovery won’t be that long. A month if she’s lucky.”
I force a deep breath down into my lungs, willing them to fill and empty evenly so that I don’t start gasping with the ache of my memories. This could have beensomuch worse. I’ve seen worse. I was seventeen when I waved goodbye to my dad, my idol, as I clung to the railing at Bell Point Park. I watched him load up into the gates. I cheered and whistled and yelled until I was sure my voice would be hoarse the next day. I watched him closing in on the lead horse. I saw the grin on his face. And then I watched him go down. A simple trip and the crush of his mount’s body over his. I watched the horse get up and gallop away, its eyes wide with terror.
I watched my dad’s still form on the dirt track. I willed him to get up. But he never did.
This could have been so much worse.
“Is she okay?” I keep my voice cool, but even I can hear it brimming with rage, pain that’s had years to fester.
“Yeah,” Billie replies. “But she’s not supposed to do stairs. Which means she can’t get up to her apartment above the barn. We were going to let her stay at our cottage, but the bathroom is on the second level. And the whole place is pretty small for three people . . . ” She trails off, shooting big wide eyes up at me like a little kid who’s about to ask for something they’re not supposed to have.
I guess this is body language that I can read as well. This look has pleading written all over it—seen it before. I’m just not sure why she’s giving it tome, other than to irritate me and make me want to put Patrick in a choke hold more than I already did for the stunt he pulled last year.
So, I fall back on my default expression. I stare blankly at my brother and his fiancée, not sure what it is they’re expecting me to do or say here.
Vaughn groans and drags a hand through his hair. I don’t miss him mutter something about me always making things difficult.The feeling is mutual, little brother.“Can Violet stay at the farmhouse with you? There’s a spare bedroom and bathroom on the main floor. It’ll just be a few weeks.”
They can’t be fucking serious.
I keep my fists shoved under my biceps, hoping that if I look angry enough, they’ll both back off and come up with a different solution. My chest rises and falls heavily as my agitation grows, snaking out into every joint and muscle. They both just keep looking back at me expectantly. Like puppies.
And no one likes a guy who kicks puppies.
Violet bursts out laughing in the truck. She’s laughing so hard she can barely breathe. Let alone get her words out. I can hear her gasping for air between guffaws. I’d often wondered what her laughter would sound like. A year of talking and then another of forcing myself to recall her dainty little face . . . I hadn’t imagined the hyena howl she’s currently emitting.
“I told you guys he would never go for this,” she blurts out. “Look at his face!” She dissolves into another fit of giggles. “Iknowhim. This will never fly!”
Okay. I need to put a stop to this. Now. The last thing I need is Mr. and Mrs. Bigmouth knowing my personal business. And the path of least resistance to ending this interaction is . . . Fuck my life.
