freak my folks out when they’re away, and no need to wake anyone up because I decided to have a drink.”
“Also, no need to sit here when you have someone who can get you out of here.”
“Actually”—I laugh—“looks like I’m standing.”
Never knew I could sleep while standing, but I did, off and on, all fucking night.
Uncle Cyrus got a call at seven this morning and was down here, panicking at 7:05. I assured him that Truth was fine and gave him the address. He was so pissed that he didn’t talk to me, but he did send a text, letting me know she was fine.
I feel like shit for making him worry, but just as shitty for what Truth’s going through.
I called my parents and explained the situation. Mom was pissed that I didn’t call. Dad was pissed that the cops didn’t just bring me home. Then they said they would be home in as little as five hours. I told them not to. I actually insisted they get Divina under control or kill the contract, because I wasn’t going to continue handling her when she obviously either didn’t trust my parents or wanted my attention. I’m a hundred percent sure it is the latter, but I’m still tripping on Savvy.
I showered and planned to spend the entire weekend in bed. And I was just about to sleep when I got a message alert.
7:49 a.m. - I went to get coffee and came back. I think you’re home. If you are, I’m in your driveway and would like to offer you a ride to get your Jeep, and an apology.
7:50 a.m. - Go home and get some sleep. I’ll catch a ride later from someone.
The doorbell rings within seconds, and I hit the security app on the phone to see who it is, even though I already know.
7:51 a.m. - Please let me at least say I’m sorry.
7:51 a.m. - You did. We’re good. And me, too. I’m gonna try to catch some ZZZZZs. Chat later.
The doorbell rings again, and I look at the security camera app. She looks like the walking dead.
Annoyed as fuck because I want to make sure she’s okay, but I know I’m too tired, confused, and pissed off to deal with her properly, I still punch in the code to unlock the door as I get up.
Truth is that the Jeep got towed, and I don’t want her to feel like shit, but I don’t feel like making this okay for her either. Yet, here I am, walking down the stairs to let her get it off her chest.
I open the door, and her shoulders lift as if she hasn’t taken a breath in a solid five minutes, and when she exhales, her whole body shakes. Then, her voice doesn’t just crack, it shatters when she says, “Sorry.”
I lean against the door frame and nod. “Shit happens, Savvy.” I have to grip the fucking doorjamb to stop myself from dragging her inside.
She nods and thrusts a cup of coffee at me, her hands shaking so badly that she drops it. Then she covers her face and cries as she squats down to pick up the travel mug from The Bean. I grip her shoulders and pull her up. Unable to say anything, she taps her fingers to her chest, sniffs, and starts to turn.
Logic tells me to let her go, but my heart tells me she can’t fucking drive like this. So, I reach out, take her hand, and pull her back.
When she turns around and looks at me, I nod toward the house. She shrugs then uses her sleeve to wipe her eyes then under her nose.
I walk in the house, holding her shaking hand, and she shuts the door behind us.
“Give me a minute?” She sniffs. “I don’t want to tell them I’m sorry until I can do it without looking like this.”
“You thought my parents were home?” I ask, a bit shocked because of the whole doorbell ringing before nine on a Saturday morning and the whole parents thing.
“They’re not?” she asks then sniffs.
“No.” I turn and walk toward the stairs. “I need sleep, and so do you. I don’t want to talk about shit. I wanna sleep.”
“My shoes.” She sniffs.
“Kick ’em off.”
As soon as we hit my bedroom, she shrugs off her coat and pulls off her hoodie. Then she slips in my bed and shimmies around a bit. Her socks and leggings come out from under the covers.