The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,87
still in Brooklyn?”
I frowned. She sounded super pissed. Understandably so after I’d sent her away and then disappeared. I just needed to get through to her.
“No, I’m almost to the poker party. I know that this wasn’t how I wanted our night to go.”
She sighed. “The party is already over. It was busted up by a police raid.”
“What?” I gasped. The cab driver looked back at me through the rearview mirror with disdain. “Are you okay? Is everyone okay? Did anyone get arrested? Do you need my help? Should I call someone?”
“We got out. Camden got a tip from a detective or someone he knew. So, we’re at a local diner called Waffles, waiting it out. You shouldn’t go to the party.”
“Right. Of course. I’m glad you’re safe and you got out. I’ll come to you. The place is Waffles?”
“Yes.”
I pulled the phone away for a moment. “Change of plans. Can you take me to Waffles? I think it’s nearby.”
“Sure thing,” the cab driver said, taking the next left.
“Sam, are you still there?” Lark asked.
“Yes. Sorry. Giving the cab driver directions. I’ll be there in ten, maybe fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.”
“Okay,” she said slowly.
“Lark…I’m sorry.”
“I can’t right now,” she said softly. “I’ll see you when you show up.”
“Okay.”
Then she hung up.
I threw my head back into the headrest with a muttered curse. Oh, she was pissed off. A hundred percent. This was going to suck so bad.
It was a solid fifteen before the cab came to a stop in front of Waffles. It looked like some kind of seedy diner, which probably meant that it had the best food in the world. On any other night, I would have loved to discover this kind of place with Lark. A new adventure and good food. This wasn’t how I wanted to find it. Not tonight.
I paid the cab driver and asked him to wait.
“I’ll have to charge you for the wait time.”
I waved my hand at him. I didn’t care. There was only one thing that mattered right now, and her shock of red hair appeared at the entrance to the diner.
“Hey,” I said with a worried smile. “How are you doing?”
She shrugged. “Everyone is a little shaken up and hiding it with greasy food.”
“I think…we need to talk,” I said.
But then she straightened, and there was something different about her. This was business Lark. The woman who ran a campaign without breaking a sweat. I could see it come over her. And I didn’t like what that meant for us.
“What I need is for you to take Court home,” she said.
“Uh…okay.”
“He’s drunk and eating waffles. And if his mother finds out what happened here tonight…” She trailed off with a shake of her head. “Fuck, what could have happened.”
“Yeah. If you all had been arrested.”
“I really don’t want to think about it,” she said with a shudder. “I just want this nightmare to be over.”
And when she finally met my stare, I didn’t know if she meant this night or us.
“I can deal with Court. That’s no problem. But Lark, what happened tonight…it’s not what you think.”
She arched an eyebrow as if she didn’t believe me. “Please don’t. Not tonight.”
“Come on,” I said, reaching for her.
But she pulled back.
“No, You got to choose when we talked after Claire left. And…and I get to choose now that she’s home. Which is not right now. I waited at the party with radio silence from you for hours, and I just escaped a police raid at what was an illegal, underground gambling ring. I’m in no mood.”
End of discussion.
That was written all over her as she turned and walked back into Waffles.
She was only gone a minute before she was all but dragging a drunk Court out toward me. “Here. Please just take him home.”
“Lark, please. If you’d just let me explain…”
Court stepped forward and put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey bro, even I know that’s not something you should ever say to a woman.”
Lark raised her eyebrows as if to say to listen to him. “I’m sure you have your reasons. And they all sound perfectly valid to you. But I assure you, anything that you say to me tonight won’t sound valid to me. All it feels like is history repeating itself. Nothing you say will change my mind about that. So…just deal with Court. Do that for me, and we’ll just…figure it out later.”
Figure it out later sounded like a death sentence. Like the end. And this couldn’t