Cecelia is on me like flies on shit.
“Okay, we only have a few minutes, so listen up.” She gets in my personal space, rises to her tiptoes, and talks close to my ear, comparatively. “What’s your plan?”
“Uh…”
She throws her arms up in frustration, and I can hear her exasperated groan over the blaring music. “Ugh! This is the problem with you two. You’re both so awkward.”
Words fail me, but I manage to respond with, “Uh, yeah.”
Cecelia glances over her shoulder. “Shit, they’re already being served. Look, I know you didn’t keep the ring on purpose. Abby knows you didn’t keep the ring on purpose. And all this crap with your friends being rude isn’t anything I didn’t experience myself. I mean, Matthew’s friends are—ugh! Awful.”
She’s babbling, but I’m hanging on her every word.
“So the way I see it, you’re just going to have to suck it up and take one for the team. She obviously blew this whole thing out of proportion—and don’t you dare tell her I said that or I’ll kill you—but there’s no way she’s going to admit it. She’s way, way too embarrassed to approach you. So, you have to be the one to make things right. I see no other way around it.”
Abby’s best friend grips both my shoulders, bears down, and gives them a firm shake. “Are you listening to what I’m saying? Blink once if you’re getting this.”
I blink once, afraid she’ll whack me, and add a curt nod for good measure.
Cecelia smacks my right arm anyway, then releases me, smoothing down the rumbled sleeve of my long-sleeve tee shirt. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.” And just when I think she’s done with me, Abby’s best friend levels a finger in my face, her pointed fingernail hovering dangerously close to the tip of my nose. “You better not disappoint me, Caleb Lockhart. I know where you live.”
Shit, she’s kind of scary.
Abby
I wish I could tell you that before leaving Lone Ranger’s tonight, Caleb and I had the courage to talk.
That I had the courage apologize.
That I had the courage to look at him.
But I didn’t.
CHAPTER 31
CALEB
I stand in the dark, surrounded by thick, overgrown hedges that rise to my waist, and study the window before me. Flashlight app illuminated on my phone, I shine it directly on the eyelevel casement window.
Somehow, before I can swing it open, I’ll have to lift the pane until it’s off the lock. Only then will I have access to the dark room inside.
I dig into the pocket of my track pants for my pocketknife, flip open the bottle opener, and wedge it securely into a crack at the base of the pane, giving the knife a firm tug.
Only the echo of splintered wood and rustling bushes fill the quiet void in this space of yard I occupy.
Ignoring the recognizable cracking sound, I make a mental note to come back and calk it, my deft fingers grab hold of the window base, and I push up. The pane gives a loud creak, then a moan, and I hear the telltale give of the lock coming undone before the crank moves the window forward.
Grunting, I pull, and the window eases opens. A tad too accessible for my comfort level, but I’ll have to deal with that later.
Once I have the glass all the way open, I close the pocketknife and stuff it back in my pocket, along with my phone, and crack my knuckles. Bracing both hands on either side of the window, I stiffen my arms and upper torso, then bounce on my heels, warming up my body and preparing to hoist myself five feet off the ground and up into the window from a stand.
The curtains inside billow and wrap around my face when my waist is jackknifed over the side, half in, half out. I grunt, pulling myself forward, and fall into the dark room, bringing the curtains, curtain rod, and tiebacks crashing down with me in the process.
“What the fuck!” A loud screech comes from the dark recesses, followed by fumbling, banging, and a light being thrown on.
“What the fuck are you doing?” A voice that is most certainly not Abby’s shouts down at me from my position on the ground, and I stiffen as angry footsteps approach from the other side of the room.
Did I mention it’s a room that is most certainly not Abby’s?
Shit, fuck, shit.
“Caleb?”
I look up into Jenna’s shocked face.
“Um. Yeah?”
“What the hell are you doing? God, you’re such a jackass.” She throws her arm out and reaches for my hand. “Get up, you idiot.”
“Sorry.” I take her hand and she helps pull me up, but I stumble, my ankles wrapped in a heap of twisted curtains. “Shit, sorry.” Bending, I push down the gauzy purple fabric, yanking from under my feet and stepping out of the tangled chaos.