Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,140
windows were shattered, the bumper missing, and the tire screeched against the well when he turned the wheel.
He studied the ground before the headlights for more land mines, then let the car crawl forward.
He drove right past Declan, not even bothering to look over, though in his peripheral vision he could sense the gun swinging to stay aimed at his head.
The car bounced geriatrically up onto the road.
He drove away, the Civic wheezing and groaning. He just had to make the meet point and reclaim his truck.
Blinking through blood and sweat and grime, he tried to steady his hands on the wheel.
He got about a quarter mile before the boom shook what was left of the rear windshield.
69
The Love You Deserve
After dragging himself to the meet point, switching to his truck, and driving home, Evan slept on and off for thirty-six hours, a blissful block of hibernation in his floating bed.
Before parting ways with the others at the target range, he’d tasked Joey with contacting Andre and Veronica to inform them that they were safe so he could collapse and begin to heal. He’d tried to thank Candy, but she’d kissed him on the mouth, surprising him with her tongue. Before he could react, she’d climbed into her Jeep and vanished once more. The kiss had left him a bit breathless, but he told himself it was just from his injuries.
On Tuesday night he roused himself for good.
Cleaning and stitching himself up took longer than he would have thought, dozens of tiny injuries slowing his progress to an arthritic crawl.
He made his way downstairs, fortunately dodging any Castle Heights residents, and drove into Westwood Village. He pulled over at a drugstore and wincingly walked the aisles, finding the pet section. A dog bowl decorated with skulls and crossbones caught his eye.
He paid and exited.
En route to the truck, he passed through the scents of the college town—French roast and hookah pipes and gyro meat wafting from doorways.
Halfway up the block, he spotted a young man sitting on a park bench with a college girl lying beside him, her head resting on his thigh, blond hair spilled across his lap.
He did a double take at the kid.
Bridger Bickley, aka “Bicks.”
Evan stopped, facing them, his shadow falling across Bridger’s face.
Bridger started at the sight of Evan, the girl uncoiling from his lap and rising. Evan wondered if she was Sloane of karaoke-filibuster fame.
Evan said to her, “Can you please give us a moment?”
She looked to Bridger, who gazed back at her fearfully. That was enough for Sloane, who rose and hightailed it away, her leather saddlebag knocking against her hip.
“She was just young,” Bridger said. “Joey. And really smart. It’s hard to date a chick who’s the smartest one in the room, you know. And … I dunno, kinda too tough.”
Evan said, “Too tough for you.”
Bickley looked at his hands. “I guess, yeah.”
“So you disappeared. Never called.”
“It’s not like we were engaged.”
“True,” Evan said. “But you took your own insecurity and put it on her. That weakens her. And it weakens you. You treat a young woman like that with respect. If nothing else it’ll teach you about yourself, teach you who you want to be whenever you’re ready to be that person. Understand?”
Bridger gazed up at him, his face glowing yellow beneath the streetlight. “Yeah,” he said.
Evan turned to walk off.
“’Scuse me?” Bridger was on his feet behind Evan. “Uh…” He stood, one sneaker on end, grinding the toe into the sidewalk. “Thanks,” he said. “No one’s ever talked to me like that.”
Evan gave him a nod and kept on.
* * *
Standing in her doorway, Joey stared down at the dog bowl in her hands. “What is this?”
“I’m trying to buy your affection,” Evan said.
He waited for her to look up, those emerald eyes glowing through the sweep of her bangs. She bit her lip. “I like the skulls and crossbones.”
She stepped back from her front door, leaving it ajar, as close to an invitation as he ever got.
“But I don’t know what’s wrong with the Red Vines bowl,” Joey said. “Dog likes it.”
Over on his plush bolster bed, the Rhodesian ridgeback lifted his head at the mention of his name.
She walked past him, set down the bowl, and transferred the water from the Red Vines bucket. “There.”
Dog wagged his tail. Then rolled onto his side, his head flopping clear of the bed, collar tags clinking against the floor.