“Don’t need a babysitter, Colin, but thank you.”
“Fair enough.”
He exhaled loudly, sipping the new drink instead of shooting it. “Miles is here.”
I looked over my shoulder, finding Miles in the doorway with Hendrix at his side.
“Are you sure about him?” Grayson asked under his breath.
He was talking about Wesley, I knew.
I looked from Miles and Hendrix to Wesley and back again. “I’m sure.”
Miles scanned the room, finally finding Grayson and me in the kitchen. He waved, and we both waved back, but I got the impression neither of our hearts was in it. I knew mine wasn’t because it was in my throat.
“You look like you’re ready to make some bad decisions,” Miles greeted Grayson with the seasoned affection of a longtime friend.
“Not even close,” Grayson muttered, raising his still-full glass in greeting.
“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Hendrix said to me.
I smiled tightly, fingers tightening around the neck of my beer bottle. “Wesley invited me,” I said.
“He’s a thoughtful kid.” Hendrix smiled like a proud parent.
“He’s not a kid, for one,” I said, the edge on my voice much sharper than I’d intended. Miles gave me a slow look, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying anything else. Even though Wesley and I were on the same page about telling Hendrix, it wasn’t something I had any interest in spoiling on my own.
“Of course not. He’s twenty-one now.” Hendrix looked wholly unaffected. “So, where is the birthday boy? I have a present for him.”
“You can just put it on the table.” Grayson gestured toward the dining room table behind us that had already been stacked with a few small boxes from his friends, which was terribly kind.
“Not quite,” Miles said softly, eyes narrowed at me, like he was trying to decipher a puzzle.
I shook my head and he inhaled deeply, letting it out without a word.
“What did you get him?” Grayson asked.
“Not what.” Hendrix looked proud, stepping a little to the side to reveal a third man about Wesley’s age. He was shorter than me, built like a surfer, wearing baggy jeans and a graphic t-shirt. He had messy blonde hair that stuck out from beneath the brim of a ball cap that he hadn’t bothered to take off after coming inside. “Who.”
“Who?” Grayson asked, giving the newcomer a quick onceover before glancing at me, and then toward the window where Wesley and Rob were still deep in conversation.
“I’m David,” the man said.
Beside me, Grayson choked, clearing his throat and locking his shoulders upright. I swallowed, the move almost impossible for how tight every joint and muscle in my body felt.
“David,” I repeated his name, biting my lips between my teeth.
“Did Wesley not…” Grayson stopped himself.
“No,” I said softly, “I don’t think he did.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Wesley
Rob had just stepped awayto take a phone call when I heard a voice I’d never hoped to hear again.
David.
