Page 137 of You're so Bad

“Coffee?” Burke asks, rubbing his head.

“Way ahead of you, bud.” I grab the carafe from the machine and a few mugs. My heart’s thumping, and I keep sneaking glances at Shane, who’s still got that dramatic grin going for him. He’s really going to stretch this out, isn’t he?

I sit the coffee down on the kitchen island as the guys gather around, all three of them on stools. Adrenaline’s pumping through my veins, too much of it for me to park my ass anywhere, so I stay standing but pour myself some coffee because there’s nothing adrenaline loves more than caffeine.

Shane opens the bag of bagels, like he’s really going to eat his damn brunch before telling us why he’s here.

“Nope,” I say, grabbing it from him. “Bagels are for closers.”

“I bought the damn bagels,” he says, but he doesn’t seem too upset. He’s been waiting for this moment. I try not to hope.

I’m fucking hoping.

“The charges have officially been dropped,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “Who’s your boy?”

I whoop at the top of my lungs, then slap him on the back and hand over the bag. “You get all of them. You can put yourself in a starch coma, my man.”

“Is he getting the truck back though?” Danny asks, reaching around me to sneak a bagel from Shane’s bag. “That’s what we all really want to know.”

He’s grinning as he says it, but I can tell he and Burke aren’t flying as high as I am. It hits me that they knew this was going to happen or guessed it. Here I was, convinced I was going back to jail, and neither of them thought I’d be in any serious trouble. I guess they had a point. That cop did admit that he’d taken my report but neglected to file the paperwork.

I guess I owe my life to that man’s honesty. If that’s not a lesson for the ages, I don’t know what is. I’ve lied to plenty of people, but I’m not going to lie anymore.

Well, maybe that’s hasty. I won’t be lying about anything important anyway.

“Yeah,” Shane says, “but I’ve heard it’s in rough shape.”

“Good news,” Danny says. “I bet it’s just the way Leonard left it then.”

Burke laughs as he makes a grab for a bagel. “I guess we won’t have to get you a new truck then, seeing as this one’s so reliable.”

Shane starts telling them about the ongoing search for the actual crook, but my mind is on Shauna.

I start pacing while they keep talking and getting into their bagels.

I’m still fucked up, probably enough that I could keep that therapist in business for years, all by myself, but I’m not going to be in jail. And I’m committed to getting better. So maybe…

“You haven’t called her yet?” Burke comments. “Get a clue, brother.”

Shit, he’s right. I grab my phone out and make the call. Crickets.

I glance up at him. “She’s not answering. She didn’t answer my text last night either.”

“Maybe she’s getting something done with her hair,” Danny says. “When my sister got married, she talked a lot about her hair. She probably should have spent more time questioning the whole marriage thing, because it only lasted four months.”

Bianca’s definitely the kind of woman who’ll spend about ten hours getting ready, so he raises a good point.

“Guess you’ll have to wait until she gets out,” Burke says.

But waiting an hour to share this news is a non-starter. It’s her damn birthday. I have to see her. I have to hear her voice. I’ve been robbing myself of her these last few days, and it’s gotten to a point where it’s a physical need worse than any I’ve ever known, even when I quit smoking cigarettes after Gidget and felt that awful, aching wanting every moment of the day and night.

“No can do,” I say as my mind works through different scenarios.

I can’t ask Champ for help. He texted me in the clink, saying he was disappointed I’d lied to him about the whole doctor deal and asking me not to go to the wedding because his girl was still worried about the cake.

But maybe I don’t need Champ’s help. I already know the wedding is at the Arboretum. If it’s outside, at a place that’s open to the general public, how can they prevent people from crashing the party?

“I’m going to crash the wedding,” I say. “Who’s giving me a ride?”

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