One. Seven. Three.
Because my best friends are psychos.
Before I open their chat – because that’s a Pandora’s box I’m not sure I can handle right this second – I open the next chat below and find a message from Jules asking how I’m feeling.
Good lord.
Scrolling up, I find the chat I don’t recall ever having.
Slut shoes. Alex’s back scratchers. Sick day. No pot. Drink lots of water.
At least he didn’t mention butt plugs or AIDS.
Scrolling back to the bottom, I reply that I’m fine, that I just woke up, and that I need more water.
Keep on topic. Pretend it was me texting last night and not the maybe-Mafioso, definite-murderer, possible-gun-runner Kane.
Jules came into my office months ago, easily more than six or seven, and said my main focus until the case against Abel Hayes was closed would be Kane Bishop.
To take Abel down and get him out of our town – which is Alex’s job – we first need Kane.
My job.
Half a year of sixteen-hour days didn’t net me nearly as much as Kane’s simple confession this morning. A murder confession, just that easy, is enough for me to take to Jules. To Alex.
But if I do that, then how do I explain why I was there? How do I explain his shirt on me right now? How do I explain the stitches in my side?
And they’ll know. Jules has a magical touch in getting people to admit things they really shouldn’t.
I need that confession again. But I need itnotin his apartment, and not while I’m wearing his clothes.
I need to go back to Infernos.
Opening my still flashing chat with the girls, I sigh as the replies come in strong. One after the other after the other.
Jesus, do they ever take a break?
Britt:SHE LIVES! I see you, Jess! I see you opened our messages. Finally!
Me:Shush. I’m reading. Stop replying.
I scroll… and scroll, and scroll, and scroll. I read every third message or so. Not once were any of them actually concerned for my life. There’s just talk of Britt’s husband’s sexual appetite; awesome. And the fact Laine’s boyfriend is away for work this week; also awesome. Kari remains appropriately silent on her boyfriend’s sexual appetite; because Laine and I will kill her if she shares about our brother.
Each message that passes, even the mundane‘Guess what I’m doing right now?’then Britt’s reply‘You’re pooping’makes me smile. It’s all soevery day, work, home, babies, toddlers. It’s justlife.
Until it’s not.
Stopping halfway down, my stomach threatens to explode.
My thumbs shake when I stop at three paragraphs of laughing emojis.
Me:Brittany Hope Turner! How could you?
Britt:Ruh-roh. What exactly are you referring to? I do loads of bad shit, so you need to narrow it down for me.
Me:You put a butt plug in my handbag! Wtf is the matter with you? I found it this morning and thought some dirty perv was playing tricks on me.
In reply, Britt sends another three paragraphs of laughing emojis. Then Laine does the same. Then my screen is filled with mocking laughter as Kari joins in.