I move to the TV and bang my fist against the side a few times, because that’s what Dad used to do when his shit didn’t work. “The Voice starts in two minutes and the stupid TV won’t turn on!”
Destiny blows out a relieved sigh. “You scared the living shit out of me. I thought someone broke in or something.”
I throw a hand at the TV in exasperation. “It’s The Voice.”
She comes over and takes the remote from my hand. She clicks the power button then slaps the side of the TV. Apparently, we both learned electronics repair at our father’s knee. “Tiffany said it was on its last legs when she gave it to me.”
It, along with the double bed mattress and box spring in Destiny’s room and the kitchen table, were cast-offs from her friend, Tiffany, who had extra stuff to get rid of when she moved in with her boyfriend.
I glance at the clock and fresh jolt of panic catapults me toward the door. “I need to find a TV. Right now.”
“Where are you going?” Destiny calls as I yank the door open.
“Sam Hill!”
I fly down the stairs and nearly face plant into the door at the bottom when I lose my footing on the second to last stair. I catch myself and on the frame before I hit it because Bran is right. The rickety thing would blow right off the hinges without much provocation. I close it behind me and make sure it latches, then sprint toward the center of town.
Bran is leaning on the bar talking to Carol when I slam through the door. Both their heads pivot around when the door bangs off the wall. I instantly understand why he suggested I only come in on weekend nights when my wild glance flicks toward the TV and finds the tables between me and it totally empty. There is a guy on a barstool and a couple in the corner booth and that’s it. I blink at the episode of Ink Masters that’s playing and rush up to the bar.
“You okay?” Bran’s eyes flick past me to the door, looking for the stalker, no doubt.
“No!” I pant. But that’s when I see the shiner under his right eye and the purple bruise that the thick scruff on his jaw can’t fully hide. “What happened?”
He looks at Carol.
“She needs to know the truth,” she coaxes.
He takes a deep breath and his eyes find mine again, boring through me with their intensity. “Poser and his buddy ambushed me at closing Saturday. I need you to take me seriously when I tell you to be vigilant.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head and before I can think better of it, I’m touching his face. For the briefest second, his eyes flutter shut as my fingertips trail along his bruised jaw line. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but those guys are fucked in the head, Lilah. I wouldn’t put it past them to try something. Promise me you’ll let me walk you home.”
“So they can do that to you again?” I say, my heart lodging in my throat. “No. I won’t.”
“They blindsided me,” he says with a solemn shake of his head. “My mistake. One I won’t be making again.”
“Listen to him, Lilah. He can handle those guys,” Carol says with a jerk of her thumb at the door. “But what he couldn’t handle is if something happened to you.”
Bran cuts her a sharp look.
She shrugs and turns for the couple in the booth. “Just calling it how I see it.”
“What are you doing here?” Bran asks me, irritation bleeding into his words. I’m not sure if he’s irritated at Carol or me, but either way, I feel a jolt of panic when I remember why I came.
“Turn it to The Voice!” I realize I’m yelling when Carol and the couple she’s talking to turn and looks at me. I feel my face scrunch in embarrassment. “Please,” I beg, lowering my voice several decibels. “My TV broke, and it’s the results show. I can’t miss it.”
“The Voice,” Bran says, one thick, dark brow arching skeptically.
“Please,” I implore.
He looks the question at me a moment longer before reaching under the bar for the remote. He flips channels until he finds it, then clicks off the stereo and un-mutes the TV.
I hike myself onto a barstool and breathe a sigh of relief when the warm up band is still playing.
“Why all the urgency?” Bran says from behind me.
When I turn to look at him, he’s sliding a glass across the bar toward me. I take a sip and find it’s my standard rum and Coke. “My best friend is competing.”
His eyes widen. “On the show?”
I nod. “She’s kickass.”
He glances up at the TV and smirks as the intro band wraps up. “On The Voice.”
He doesn’t believe me. “Google her. Her name is Shiloh Luck. She’s from San Francisco and she’s the only contestant to turn all four coaches’ chairs in her blind audition. She’s going to win.”
“That’s what it would say if I Googled her?” he says, his voice full of amusement. “That’s she’s going to win?”
“If it doesn’t, they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.”
A smug smile lifts one corner of his mouth as he leans onto his palms. “Then why are you so worried about missing the results show? You already know what’s going to happen.”