The Edge of Always(59)

“Nah, my serial-killing days are over,” I say. “He’s got nothin’ on me.” I elbow her gently in the side.

A few unnerving minutes later the cop joins us at the back of the car and hands my stuff back to me.

“What happened to your hand?” he asks.

I look down at it, for the first time feeling the throbbing pain now that he’s brought it to my attention. Then I point to the tree not too far away. “I sort of hit the tree.”

“You sort of hit the tree?” he asks suspiciously, and I notice him glancing at Camryn every few seconds. Great, he probably thinks I beat her or some shit, and considering she does look pretty rough after last night’s incident and our recent scuffle in the grass, it probably helps confirm his assumption.

“OK, I hit a tree.”

He looks right at Camryn now. “Is that what happened?” he asks her.

Camryn, nervous as hell and likely knowing what the cop is thinking really happened as much as I do, suddenly has a Natalie moment.

“Yes, sir,” she says, gesturing her hands. “He got mad because some *s—” she winces “—sorry, took advantage of us last night, and he was beating himself up over it all morning to the point of ultimately taking it out on that tree! I ran out there to stop him before he hurt himself and we talked about it and the reason I look like hammered shit—sorry—is because of the screwed-up night we had. But I promise we aren’t bad people. We don’t do drugs and he’s not a serial killer or anything, so please just let us go. You can even search the car if you want.”

Face. Palm. Moment.

I laugh it off inside. We don’t have anything to worry about if he searches the car. Unless… our temporary friends, Elias and Bray, just happened to drop a bag of weed or any kind of incriminating stuff somewhere in my backseat, by accident.

Oh shit… please don’t let this turn out like it does on television.

I glance over at Camryn and subtly shake my head at her.

Her eyes widen. “What’d I say?”

I just smile, still shaking my head, because it’s all I really can do.

The cop sniffles and then gnaws on the inside of his mouth. He looks back and forth between Camryn and me several times without a word, which only increases the tension we’re feeling.

“Next time don’t leave the door wide open like that,” the cop says, his expression as unmoving as it has been this whole time. “It’d be a shame to see a passing vehicle knock the door off a 1969 Chevelle in that good a condition.”

A slim smile brightens my face. “Absolutely.”

The cop pulls out ahead of us and leaves while we stay parked inside the car for a moment.

“ ‘You can search the car if you want’?” I repeat.

“I know!” she laughs and throws her head back against the seat momentarily. “I didn’t mean to say that. It just came out.”

I laugh, too. “Well, looks like your innocent rambling, which by the way scares me a little; I think that bipolar best friend of yours has rubbed off on you, but it charmed us out of that one.”

I rest my hands on the steering wheel.

She was smiling and probably about to comment on my Natalie joke, until she sees my bloody knuckles again. Then she moves over next to me and takes my hand carefully into hers.

“We need to clean this before it gets infected,” she says. She leans closer and carefully starts picking tiny pieces of grass and dirt from around and inside the open gash. “That’s pretty bad, Andrew.”

“It’s not too bad,” I say. “I don’t need stitches.”

“No, you just need to be slapped. Don’t ever do something like that again. I mean it.” She picks out one last bit of debris and then leans over the back of the seat, reaching for the small ice chest in the back.

I turn my head to the right, and all I see is her ass hanging out of those shorts. I reach up with my bloodied hand and slip my finger underneath her bikini bottom elastic and snap it back against her skin. It doesn’t faze her, but she rolls her eyes at me when she emerges from the backseat and sits down with a water bottle.

“Rinse it out,” she demands, holding the bottle out to me.

I open my door and take it from her, holding my hand out and pouring water over the wound.

As she’s rummaging through her purse for something she says, “The next time you get that pissed off and feel the need to take out your anger on inanimate objects, I’m officially going to jot your name down on my Psychotic List.” She holds out a tube of Neosporin to me.

I just shake my head and take it. Guess I can’t argue with her on that one.

She points at the Neosporin in my hand and tells me to hurry and put it on. I laugh and say, “You sure are a demanding little heifer.”

She play-punches me in the arm (which actually hurts her) and accuses me of calling her fat. It’s all in good fun, and I think it’s her way of helping take my mind off what happened. Within minutes we’re lost in conversations about music and what kinds of bars or clubs we might play in along the way to New Orleans.

Yes, we decided at one point that no matter where we stop on the way or how long we stay that eventually we’ll visit our favorite place along the Mississippi, no matter what.

*

That was two days ago. Today, we’re laid up in a decent hotel in the great state of Alabama.