Page 72 of What Happened Last Night

It was a crisp, sunny fall day, the air clean, the sky blue. I’d left early to make the drive to Bend, my luggage in the back, ready for this trial called a boys’ trip. Last night, before I left, Luna had told me yet again that I could say no to this stupidity, that I didn’t have to go. I’d replied the same way I’d replied every other time: Of course I’d go. It was important to her brothers. Everything would be fine.

So now, the first trial would begin.

When I walked into the clubhouse, I could see it in the faces of the three men waiting for me. Mack, the golf pro, looked at my clothes, his eyes bugging briefly before turning amused. Tanner, the big one who had it out for me because he’d seen my hand between his sister’s legs, stood with his arms crossed and an impassive look on his face. Jay, the youngest and blondest, wore a smug smirk he didn’t bother to hide.

You’ve failed already, those looks said. We knew you’d fail, and you’ve come through.

“Morning,” I said, dropping my car keys into my pocket. “Are we doing this?” Might as well get my torture over with.

“Nice outfit,” Mack said.

“Thanks.” I pulled a black baseball cap from my back pocket and put it on, completing the ensemble. It would look like a SWAT team had descended on the course to golf the terrorists away. “You told me not to bring clubs.”

“No need to buy clubs,” Mack said. “You’ll use Jay’s. He isn’t playing today. He’s caddying.”

Jay nodded, still grinning, and I had no doubt that the clubs I’d be given would not, in fact, be Jay’s. They’d probably be discards and leftovers, bent or rusty. Maybe they’d be starter clubs meant for kids.

“Sure,” I said, making no comment on the obvious setup. “That’s very generous. Thanks, Jay.”

“No problem, man,” Jay said.

“You sure you want to do this?” Tanner asked, his arms still crossed. “You’ve never played before. I’m good, and Mack is a pro. You can still back out. We can just sit here and drink all day instead.”

I gave him an impassive look. “I think I’ll play. I’ve played golfing video games before, so I get the idea.”

“Video games?” Mack’s eyes bugged again. I could already tell that he was religious about this, a game in which grown men wore weird pants to hit tiny balls into sand traps. “You think you can play because of video games?”

“Obviously the real thing is different,” I said. “But I’m clear on the concept.”

Tanner shook his head, his expression pitying. “This is going to be sad, but it’s your funeral. You’re packed for the rest of the trip?”

“My bags are in my car.”

“Bag,” Tanner corrected me, holding up a finger. “You get one bag, and I hope it’s a backpack, because you’re going to be carrying it for four days.”

“Really?” I said, deadpan. “I brought a stack of luggage. I assumed there would be a servant to carry it all for me, as well as wipe my ass in the bushes.”

For a second, he believed me. It was going to be a very long trip.

Tanner’s cheeks went red. “Let’s get going, smartass,” he said. “I’d like to make you cry before three.”

THIRTY-THREE

Luna

I had to remember that it was just a game. No one was going to get hurt or die. They were my brothers, and they knew Will was important to me. They weren’t going to hurt him. What could they do, after all? How bad could it be?

Still, this morning I’d done something I’d never done before: I created a text group for me and my brothers. I had never done this before. If you wanted single-letter answers, unintelligible autocorrects, and replies that came after three to four business days, then my brothers were ideal. Those things drove me crazy, so I usually texted them as little as possible.

But today, I created the group, then blasted them at seven in the morning—in all caps. BE NICE TO WILL. HE IS MY BOYFRIEND. I LIKE HIM. IF YOU HURT HIM IN ANY WAY, I WILL TAKE REVENGE ON YOU UNTIL THE DAY I DIE.

I could have written more, but I thought that got the point across.

There was no reply, of course. At ten, Mack sent a single question mark. At eleven thirty, Jay sent the head-exploding emoji with no context. I had no idea whether he was trying to say something or whether his thumb had slipped.

I took my laptop to the studio and settled on a sofa in the songwriting room. When I remembered how I started this job, sitting alone at a desk in the office all day, it was distant and a little embarrassing. There were so many more comfortable places to work, and I was more productive when I was comfortable. I wore leggings and light sweater, my toes digging into the soft cushions of the sofa as I worked through Will’s inbox. With the band on break, the studio was quiet and clean. There was something about the air here, a hum of creativity under the surface, that made work not feel like work at all.

Other people felt the same way about RKS, apparently, because Sienna Maplethorpe showed up, too, laptop in hand. “Mind if I write here?” she asked. I gestured to the other sofas, and she sat without another word and got to work. I heard a few faint notes from somewhere in the studio.

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