Right. Water. That’s what I’d gone in the kitchen for.
I quickly grab a glass and fill it, then head back to the couches. My stomach drops when I see that Ali’s gone. She didn’t leave, did she? She’s been pale and jittery, but I didn’t think she was freaked out enough to ditch her plans of escape.
Killer squints at my worried expression, yawning as he runs a hand through his hair. “She didn’t leave,” he says. “She’s just in the bathroom.”
The RV door slams open, and Arrow comes striding inside a moment later.
“Hey,” I say to him. I set the water down on the small end table and sit on the couch across from Killer, moving so Arrow has room on the other end.
“Hey, Jace,” Arrow says. He sits on the couch, careful to leave a few feet between us, reminding me why I like him so much. Then he turns toward Killer and says in a way-too-bright voice, “And, hello, my darling sweetie. Are you having a lovely morning?”
Killer grunts and mumbles something before burying his face back into his cocoon of blankets. Arrow turns to me, a wry smile on his lips. “Someone wouldn’t listen when I said he couldn’t handle another shot last night.”
“Someone is going to hit you if you keep rubbing this in,” Killer mutters.
Arrow chuckles, but I can’t bring myself to laugh. I don’t like that the rest of the band drinks. I don’t like it at all. Sure, they don’t do drugs, but only because they know I’d leave the band if they did. But they insist on drinking, and even though they rarely do it in front of me, it freaks me out every time I see one of them nursing a hangover.
Arrow ignores my frown and stands from the couch, moving to the other one. “Scooch,” he says to Killer. Killer curls up into a tighter ball, and Arrow sits beside him. He drags Killer halfway onto his lap and gently smooths his hair. “You want some Tylenol or something, babe?”
“Can Jace get it?” Killer mumbles.
“Nope,” I say. “I’m not your servant.”
Killer ignores me and says to Arrow, “Just stay here, ’kay?”
Arrow rolls his eyes at me, but I catch the small smile on his lips. It’s a happy little expression, the kind he always wears around Killer. When those two are together, they’re always acting like the world is made of rainbows and butterflies, as if everything is perfect and nothing could ever go wrong.
But I can’t resent Arrow for it. Like practically every member of my family, the dude had a shitty childhood. His dad OD’d by the time he was eight, and his mom was sent to prison pretty soon after for dealing. Arrow drifted through the foster system like a ghost for a long time after that, too skinny, too scared, too traumatized to have much of a life.
Killer changed that. The dude might be annoying as hell, but I can’t help but like him. Without Killer, my cousin would probably still be in that ghost state.
Arrow strokes Killer’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Promise not to drink so much next time?” he murmurs.
“Promise. Swear. Cross my heart, hope to die,” Killer groans. “Never, never drinking that much again.”
I scoff, and Arrow shoots me a glare. “What?” I demand. “You do realize how many times he’s said that, don’t you?”
“Don’t talk so loud,” Killer grumbles.
“I’ll talk however loud I want. This is my RV. What are you doing in here, anyway?”
Killer shrugs his shoulders and winces. “Tony and Arrow were talking in ours. Really, really loudly.”
I raise an eyebrow at Arrow, and he gives me a thin smile. “I was distracting Tony while you got Ali into the RV.” He nibbles uncertainly at his lip. “You’re sure you want to keep all this from him?”
“Positive,” I say. “He’s too good at his job. If he thinks Ali is any type of threat to my reputation, he’ll report her.”
Arrow shrugs, but doesn’t disagree. I turn my attention back to Killer. “So you decided to crash in my RV? Without permission?”
“Yup. Besides, your pillows are comfier,” he says, like this is some sort of excuse.
Arrow smirks at me, and I throw him a half-hearted glare. Killer is a nuisance and an ass, but he’s also loyal and devoted. Mostly to Arrow, but also to Tone Deaf. We never would have gotten the band off the ground without his tech skills.
“Next time, ask,” I say.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Our conversation is interrupted by coughing coming from the bathroom. A second later, I hear a faint splashing sound and try not to cringe.
Arrow raises an eyebrow at me. “Your girl bulimic?”
“She’s not my girl. Not by a long shot. And, no, I think she’s just getting over the flu.”