Cormack laughs heartily. “We’ll get you home soon enough.”
I nod, distracted by the vibrations coming from my clutch purse. When I pull out my phone, an unknown number flashes across my screen.
“Who is it?” Cormack asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Let it go to voicemail.” He bends to meet my eyes, all smiles. “If it’s important, they’ll call back. The car’s just up ahead, and I have a surprise for you. We should get going or we’ll be late.”
I grin weakly. “It could be my brother calling from overseas. Or Lila calling from jail,” I joke. “You really never know.”
“Lila’s out with Padraic.” His eyes flash with frustration for a brief second, but he covers the slip so quickly, I think I must’ve imagined it.
“That doesn’t mean she hasn’t been arrested.” I try to smile but my lips are feeling numb.
“Of course.” Cormack’s jaw clenches in a surprising show of anger. “I’ll wait here, give you some privacy.”
“I’ll just be a second.” I stumble to a nearby bench overlooking the water, sliding my finger over the screen to accept the call. “Hello?”
“West, where the fuck are you?” a voice barks before the word has even left my mouth. “You’re not home. Again. I thought I told you to stay put.”
“Nate?” My breath huffs out — I see it steam the air in front of my face, but I don’t feel at all cold. Strange. “Is that you?”
He pauses. “You don’t have my number in your phone?”
“Lila deleted it last year.” I sigh. “Told me it was time to let go.”
Wherefore art thou, verbal filter? Why hast thou abandoned me?
There’s another stony silence, longer this time. If I were sober, I’d worry what it meant.
“Are you drunk?” he asks abruptly, something strange and gravelly in his voice.
“What? No.” I shake my head, perplexed when it takes my vision a moment to catch up to the movement. There’s a three second delay between my eyes and my brain. “Ugh,” I moan, feeling disoriented. “Okay, maybe I’m a little drunk. But I swear I only had a glass of wine…”
“West.” Suddenly, there’s steel in Nate’s tone. And, if I’m not mistaken, concern. “I’m coming to get you. Tell me where you are.”
“You can’t come. I’m on a date.”
“Fuck. You’re out with him, aren’t you?”
“I shouldn’t be on the phone.” My words have begun to run together. Everything is lagging, smearing around the edges. “It’s impolite.”
“I don’t give a fuck about polite, West. Listen to me, he’s not who he says he is—”
I snort. “And you are?”
“He’s dangerous!” Nate snaps. I hear the sound of an engine turning over through the phone. “Run. Get away from him. Right now.”
“Cormack isn’t dangerous,” I say, giggling. I don’t know why I’m giggling — I’m not a giggler. But I can’t seem to stop the hysterical noises as they bubble up from my throat.
There’s a small part of my brain — a part I can’t seem to access — that’s screaming at me to listen to Nate. The rest of my mind feels empty, dark. Like a switch has been flipped off, my neurons blinking out like a light.
“Tell me where you are. Please, just— fuck, West!”
I must be drunk because I’m surely imagining things. That’s not panic in Nate’s voice. He’s a super badass mercenary. He doesn’t feel panic.
I sense movement in my peripheral. My head turns and, after a second, my eyes catch up. Cormack is standing there, frowning at me. His green-blue eyes are flat. When he speaks, that charming Irish accent I love so much has disappeared entirely, replaced by the flat, rough tones of a native Bostonian.
“Give me the fucking phone.”
Gimme tha fahkin’ phone.
“What?” I breathe.