Call It What You Want(54)

“Yeah? Doesn’t look like you’re trying too hard. Looks like you’re hassling this girl.” When he shoves me, he definitely has the strength to knock me back a step. I have to grit my teeth to keep from retaliating.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands.

“Ask your mom,” I snap. Then I turn, catch Maegan’s hand, and start plowing through the crowd.

I should know better. Connor never backs down, especially when he’s got a few beers in his system. He grabs my shirt by the shoulder and spins me around. His mouth is open, his eyes are dark with fury, and he’s about to unleash some comment that will make me want to wither into the carpeting.

I don’t give him a chance. I draw back and hit him right in the face.

Maegan gives a little yip of surprise behind me. Connor goes down. Blood, almost black in the shadows, glistens on his mouth.

He’s trying to get back to his feet. Most of the crowd has sucked back. Nothing draws an audience like a fight. But Connor has friends here—and I don’t.

“We need to go.” My voice is almost breathless.

“Okay,” says Maegan. “Okay. But Sam …”

Her voice trails off. Sam is gone.

“Go,” says Maegan. “Go.”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Maegan

We’ve been driving for a while, and the car is heavy with warm, silent darkness. My head is spinning with so many things that I don’t realize Rob isn’t heading toward my neighborhood until he hits the turn signal and I see the sign for the interstate.

“Where are we going?”

Rob takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know. Sorry. I was just driving.” He glances over at me, oncoming headlights flickering across his features. “I can take you home.”

“No!” I swallow. “I can’t go home without Samantha.”

“Tell me what you want to do,” Rob says.

“I don’t know.” My voice is barely a whisper.

He keeps driving aimlessly. Now I get it.

I want to pull my phone out of my bag, but I’m terrified of what I’ll find. Would Samantha have gone home? I can’t imagine her going home drunk—but I also couldn’t have imagined her drinking while pregnant, so my imagination isn’t worth a whole hell of a lot. Could my parents be looking for me? Dad told me to stay away from Rob Lachlan, and now we’re rocketing down the highway at seventy miles an hour.

“Slow down,” I say. “Please. The last thing I need is for us to be pulled over.”

He eases off the accelerator. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s—it’s fine.” I rub my hands across my face. My cheek still stings from where Samantha hit me. I can’t believe she did that. “Maybe we shouldn’t have left Sam there.”

“Text her.”

“I don’t want to look at my phone.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You think she might have told your parents?”

“It would serve me right.”

“No.” For the first time since getting in the car, his voice is sure and steady. “Why? Your pregnant sister was drunk at a party, and you tried to get her out of there. She had no right to hit you.” He grimaces, and his hands flex on the steering wheel. “I shouldn’t have hit Connor, either.”

I can’t figure out all the dark notes in his voice, and I wonder what happened with Connor’s father, before everything went to hell in the living room. “Does your hand hurt?”

“I’ll be all right.”

I’ve spent enough time around police officers to know that’s guy code for “It hurts, but I’m not going to admit it.” I reach out and take his hand off the steering wheel, laying it across my palm, then stroke my fingers across his knuckles. It’s too dark to see anything, but they feel swollen.

His hand closes around mine, and he laces our fingers together, then brings my hand to his mouth to brush a kiss across my knuckles. Goose bumps spring up all the way down my forearm.

“Does your face hurt?” he says.

“No,” I say, and I mean it. “She didn’t hit me hard.” I swallow. “I was more shocked than anything.”

“Good.” He kisses my hand again.

I’m glad his eyes are staying on the road, because I’m melting in the passenger seat.

Then he very deliberately puts my hand on my knee and lets go. “Would you mind checking your phone? Your dad is a cop. Everyone already thinks I conspired with my father to steal millions of dollars. I’d rather not add kidnapping to the list.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, so I know this must be weighing on him. It’s so strange to sit here judging my own choices, while he’s sitting beside me worried about how other people are going to judge his.

I tap the button to unlock my phone. “No messages.”

He sighs, but he doesn’t sound relieved.

I slide my fingers across the screen, typing out a quick message to my sister.

MAEGAN: Please tell me you’re OK.

Nothing. I type another.

MAEGAN: Sam. Please. I’m worried about you.

Nothing.

MAEGAN: If you don’t tell me you’re OK, I’m calling Mom.