Seth (Damage Control 3)

“You don’t believe me. You don’t like me anymore. I get it. I never thought I’d lose every single friend over this. My best friend.” She huffs. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Just tell me the truth.”

She gathers her purse and totters away, leaving me alone, sad and confused. I’ve known Cassie most of my life. I don’t recall any indications of any secrets. Her parents didn’t get divorced like mine. Her two brothers are fine, studying out of town. She says she never wanted to hurt anyone—and that’s the Cassie I know. Carefree, fun, living life to the full but not selfish. Not like that.

What isn’t she telling me, and why?

***

I nurse my drink a while longer, trying to sort through my thoughts and the things Cassie said. All the things. About herself, about my role as a friend.

About Seth and what she said. “Don’t think I didn’t see how you were looking at each other.”

Whatever. I’m not calling Seth again. I’m deleting his number from my phone. Deleting our meeting, violent as it was. Deleting him.

In any case, I’m in love with Fred, so it’s not like I need to see Seth again, hear his voice.

Of course not. Checking in with the guy you almost hit with your car is common courtesy.

So I’m done. Curling up on my sofa to watch Supernatural reruns sounds like the only thing to do right now, to take my mind off this crappy beginning to the week.

I pay for my drink—and Cassie’s—and grab my jacket to go. I’ll call her tomorrow, I decide, ask for a rematch. A coffee and some more talking. Maybe I can tease some more answers out of her. Understand her.

Get my friend back.

As I weave my way through the thickening crowd, lost in thought, I bump into someone and stumble backward. Thank God I’m not wearing Cassie’s stilettos, I think, catching my balance, wincing as my ankle sends warning twinges up my leg, and wave off the guy’s apologies.

And turn around to go only to spot a familiar face.

Zane, the tattoo artist with the tall blue Mohawk I saw this morning, the one who hinted that Seth needed a friend.

He’s got his girl with him, sitting on his lap, his arm around her. They’re on my path to the exit, and as I walk toward them, a tall, blond guy approaches them. He starts talking to Zane, head bowed, hands in pockets. Earnest. Nervous enough that his shoulders jump from time to time.

“He insists it wasn’t a hit-and-run,” the guy is saying, and he lifts his face as I come closer, cat-like, golden eyes taking me in. “But he’s got a concussion all right. Not too bad, though. Doc said not to leave him alone tonight, because his balance is shot and with his leg hurting it could be bad.”

I stop in my tracks. Cat-eyed man is watching me intently, and Zane follows his gaze to me.

“Manon?” he says, a question in his voice.

I glance from him to the other guy and back. “Are you talking about Seth?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He gestures at the other man. “Rafe was with him. Said someone almost hit Seth last night. Know anything about it?”

“It was me,” I whisper. “I didn’t hit him, but he slipped and fell.”

The tall man, Rafe, takes a step toward me, and I take a step back, my heart hammering. “You left him there?” he demands to know.

“Of course not!” Anger flares, warming my chest and neck. “I offered to take him to hospital, and he refused. It was raining hard. So I took him to my place.”

“Your place.” Zane’s girl is staring at me, wide blue eyes, so much like Cassie’s, assessing me.

“He had trouble walking. I have some experience with leg injuries, and I wanted to see if I could help. Gave him dry clothes, made him some dinner. He slept on the couch.”

In case you were wondering.

Zane’s dark eyes narrow. “That why you were asking about him this morning, huh?”

I nod, the heat rising to my face. “I was worried. Got his phone number, but he won’t answer.”