Page 189 of Murder

“Oh, the comedown. Ehh. That can be managed, bro. You’ll be feeling good I tell ya.”

I shake my head. Don’t want good. I don’t deserve to feel good.

“She’s a good one. Gwenna, that’s her name.” He makes a low sound of approval. “Actress. Staying next door to Breck’s fam. The other one, the friend, is getting hit up by ole Nic.”

I nod, not really hearing. I drink water and wait for our server to bring more scotch. I could quit for the night, but I kind of want to fuck myself up. I need to sober up a little, then have a few more. Get just shitty enough to pass the fuck out in a bed at Breck’s. I’ll take a cab home. Get someone else to drive my rental.

I watch the girl some more, then look down at the table. I don’t know how obvious I’m being. I don’t want to leer at her, and I’m already fucking wasted, so I might be.

I feel a hand on my neck, see Breck lean around from behind my chair. “Hey, bro. Want to step out for a smoke?”

I get up. Follow Breck out some door, till we’re outside underneath the roof’s edge with our backs against the brick wall. Fuck, it’s cold and snowy. Everything looks glittery and crystalized.

Breck hands me a smoke. I pull a lighter out of my pocket. Breck hands me one. I frown until I realize I’ve been flicking mine, and it’s not lighting.

“Thanks,” I mumble. My hands feel heavy and numb, but they remember how to light a Marlboro. I inhale.

“Hey, man.”

Breck’s arm comes over my shoulders—heavy. “I’m gonna go back home. Wanna come with?”

I frown, trying to understand. For a second, my muddled mind can’t even place us on a map. The snow brings back a flash vision of Moscow.

Home, he said. “Like—your parents’ place?” My voice sounds weak and raspy. I swallow.

“Yeah. I might go back out later.” His hand slaps my shoulder. “Let me get ya home, brother.”

So Breck thinks I’m a mess. He lifts his arm off me. I watch him light his cigarette. I should go with him. Just end this shitty fucking New Year’s.

“Who’s the girl?” I ask instead.

Breck frowns, and I realize I should clarify. “The gorgeous one.”

He’s still frowning. I watch him pull his phone out of his pocket. Oh. He got a call.

“Ma,” he says affectionately. His face rises slightly in a smile that falls fast. Puzzlement twists his features. “Dammit. Okay—just sit down. Let me talk to Nic. I’ll call you right back. Don’t move.”

He huffs as he hangs up, and turns to me. “My fucking father and his fucking dick.”

“Damn,” I manage.

“I’ll be back in a few. Nic will go.”

Go home, I guess. That sucks for Breck’s mom. I’ve met her a time or two—not this trip, since I flew out by myself and got here later than everyone else. But she’s a nice woman. Acts like a mom to me, too. Breck’s dad is a dipshit.

I hear a creak and look over my shoulder. My stomach lurches and I have to blink my bleary eyes.

She smiles, looking so clean and sweet and shy. I watch her snap the buttons on her jacket. The fog of her warm breath surrounds her face, making her look ethereal. I watch her lips pinch as she digs into a pocket. Her mouth twists downward, then she laughs softly.

She holds something up: a broken cigarette.

“Could I bum one?” she asks, smiling sweetly.

“Sure.” With some effort, I manage to extract an almost-empty pack from my pocket. I don’t really smoke, but I got some after I left the cabin in New York and I held onto them.

I hold out one to her, and then the lighter.

“Thank you so much.”

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