Bright Before Sunrise(35)

Evy shrugs an acknowledgment. “I didn’t think you’d let her get hurt.”

“She’s not my responsibility.” I’m annoyed. Evy pushed her into a task she knew Brighton couldn’t handle, and yet it’s my fault she’s bleeding? It’s one thing for me to blame myself—another to hear Evy say it. “Who owns a dog they can’t even walk?”

“Hey.” She grabs my arm and pulls me to a stop. “B’s … Don’t be too hard on her. Just give her a chance.”

A chance to do what? God forbid anyone’s hard on Brighton—the girl lives a charmed life and now I’m supposed to feel bad for not joining her fan club.

I shake my head and call a greeting to the woman in a AAA polo shirt. “Thanks for coming.”

“I need your card.” I hand it over.

“And your registration,” she adds.

I point at my glove compartment and bite my tongue to keep from saying: If I could open my door to get my registration, I wouldn’t need you. I lean against the trunk, trying to give the woman room to work but impatient to get the hell out of here.

“Voilà. Door open.” The woman steps away and I practically dive for my registration and owners’ manual, handing her the thick file then digging my cell out of the door pocket while she writes stuff down.

I need to get away from here. Fast. Get anywhere. But is there anywhere left for me to go?

New text messages.

They’ve got to be from Carly. She’s realized she’s being insane. I can be there in twenty-five minutes if I push it …

But do I want to? I’m half-crazy with the desire to call her, but if I do, I can’t think of anything I actually want to say. My stomach twists.

You cheated on C? No way you got someone hotter.

Not. Carly.

The next text’s not either—it’s from Carly’s friend, Sasha: U dirtbag, loser, jerkwad. You didn’t deserve her.

What the hell has Carly been telling people?

The AAA woman’s holding a clipboard out to me, the front door’s opening and shutting, Evy’s calling something up the walk, and Brighton’s limping down it. I scrawl my name and thank the woman. The sooner she leaves, the sooner I can get in my car and go—but she climbs in the truck, turns on the cab light, and starts on more paperwork.

Three more messages:

Where U at? Get. Here. Now. Beer.

A CP chick? Heard she’s butt ugly.

Where RU?

The last one’s from Jeff—and he’s left a voice mail too. Can I go to his party? It’s easy to picture how it’s going down: Carly sitting on a countertop entertaining a group with stories about what a crappy, cheating boyfriend I turned out to be. Her audience soaking up the lies. The stories mutating and spreading as people wander in and out of earshot to refill their cups. By the end of the night I’ll be seen as a total tool—a Cross Pointe sellout. It’ll look like I’m too embarrassed to show my face. Like she’s telling the truth and I slunk off to lick my wounds. She’s taking Hamilton away from me, poisoning my reputation, claiming my friends—

Evy leans over my shoulder. “What’s so exciting?” I find myself aping her sister’s fist clenching and jerk away.

Headlights from the truck illuminate the three of us as the woman backs out of the driveway. I raise my hand in salute and to shield my eyes. Brighton’s at the end of the walk, making careful progress down the stone steps that lead to the driveway.

The light catches her hair, her eyes, her legs. Doing things to her silhouette that I could watch all night. No way you got someone hotter. Hotter? Carly and Bright are attractive in totally different ways, but Brighton can more than hold her own.

She pauses on the second step and asks, “Everything all set with your car?”

My reputation is already screwed—apparently eighteen years of knowing me is worth less than a piece of paper with a phone number. And if everyone’s going to believe I’m cheating scum, I at least want them to believe I’m cheating scum who nailed a hot girl.

“Brighton, want to go a party?”

“What?” she asks, while Evy claps her hands together and says, “Yes, yes, she does.”

We both ignore her.

“A party. You know, people, music …”

“Beer, hookups, gossip, and scandals,” adds Evy.

“Jeremy’s party? I didn’t even know you knew him. If you want to go, I’ll bring you.”

I’m not even sure who Jeremy is, but of course she’d assume I’m begging for an invitation to his party. “No, my friend’s party. You should come with me.”

“Why?”

“Look, come to the party and I’ll come to your book thing on Sunday.”

Her eyes go wide and she starts to nod, then pauses. “You’ll really come to the library? I thought you had plans.”

I’m sick of trying to coax her, impatient to get this over with. If compromise won’t work, maybe a reminder will. “I said I’d go. Come to the party. You’ll learn a hell of a lot more about me there than you did in my bedroom.”

“What?” Evy demands, grabbing her sister’s arm and dragging her down a step.

Brighton looks over her shoulder at the house and tests her sister’s grip on her arm. “Okay. I’ll go to the party.”