“Make the usual donations.”
A thin smile pulls at her lips. “To battered women’s shelters. You, mi amigo, have a perverse sense of humor.”
Sophie thinks I’m a goof. I miss her. I need her. I can’t go back to looking like this. “So they tell me. Buenas noches, Carmen. I won’t be returning tomorrow.”
I head out into the darkness and back to my hotel. But I won’t be sleeping.
Chapter Eighteen
Sophie
* * *
Throwing a party on Gabriel’s coach is akin to being in high school and having your friends over when your parents are out of town. At least if feels that way.
The guys, Libby, Jules, and Brenna enter with caution, looking around as if Gabriel might pop out and scold them at any second.
“You are one ballsy chick,” Killian tells me, bringing in a cooler full of beer. “I like it.”
“I have Daddy’s permission,” I say with an eye roll.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Jax takes a seat and grabs a handful of chips. “You don’t even have coasters out. There will be hell to pay.” His smile is wide, as if this pleases him greatly.
And then I realize, they want to get caught. Because they want Gabriel here too. Oh, they love teasing him, but they’re happier when he’s around. Why can’t he see that?
Brenna hauls in a karaoke machine, and Rye helps her set it up. “I don’t know why I agreed to bring this,” she tells me. “It’s a completely uneven playing field.”
“We’ll go easy on you, Bren,” Rye promises with a wink.
“Going easy on us won’t help,” I tell him. But I’m happy they’re here. The coach is filled with laughter, chatter, and the warmth of bodies—a far cry from the cold and silent place it had become when I was alone. Doesn’t stop the pervasive ache in my chest, though. I miss him.
But I’m not even going to utter his name in my head any more. Out of sight, out of mind, out of heart. It has to work.
“I have this app,” Brenna says as she curls up on the couch next to me. “It gives you a category, and you have to choose a song that fits.”
“Okay.” Rye takes a long pull of beer. “I’m ready. Hit it.”
Brenna taps a button on her phone, and we all crane our necks to see. I’m too far away, but Brenna starts cackling as Jax and Killian groan. She holds up the phone and announces, “Yo! MTV Raps.”
“How convenient,” Killian drawls, giving Brenna a look I can’t interpret. She avoids his gaze with a little sniff.
“Fuckin’ A,” Rye says with a chest thump. “I will slay ya’ll motherfuckers.”
Jax blows a raspberry while making a jerk-off motion with his hand. “Sure you will.”
“You quake in terror, JJ.”
“Aren’t you the wannabe JJ?” he counters. And I bite back a laugh because Rye kind of does look like the linebacker, JJ Watt.
Rye gives him the finger before rubbing his hands together. “Okay, okay, this is gonna be good.” He glances around the room. “I’m picking Whip as my musical backup, and Jax, since you’ve been so encouraging, you’re with me on vocals.”
Jax makes a pained expression. “Hell.”
Rye nods. “We’ll go against Killian and Libby.”
Brenna settles down next to me. “He’s up to something good.”
“You know it, babe.” Rye winks at her.
Brenna flinches as if he’d pinched her instead before she’s back to her easy demeanor. “Well, get on with it.”
“Run-D.M.C.’s version of ‘Walk this Way’.”
Everyone starts laughing.
Killian grabs his guitar. “I get it. Libby and I are singing Aerosmith’s part, right? Because someone thinks he can rap.”
“Knows, Killian. Not think, knows.” Rye takes a mic and glances at Whip. “You good with the beat? Or are we using the karaoke machine?”
“You’re seriously asking me that?” he scoffs. He’s only got his small electric drum kit, but he’s already messing with it. “Don’t piss me off, Ryland.”
“Instruments it is,” Rye answers easily.
“This is going to be so good,” Libby says, her eyes bright. She doesn’t seem to be the type to get excited over trying to mimic Aerosmith, but she’s clearly in her element.
She and Killian put their heads together to plan, and the guys do the same in their corner.
“You know we’re next,” Brenna says to me.
I laugh a little. “I was terrified when I thought I’d have to sing in front of these guys. Because screeching cats is an understatement.”
Brenna grins. “So annoying, isn’t it? When they make it look effortless?”
“Daunting as hell,” I agree. “But rapping? Ha. I can rap.”
She raises one perfectly plucked brow, and I feel a twinge of heartache. That look reminds me of Gabriel. His brows are thick and imposing, but he and Brenna both have that elegant way of expressing themselves with a simple look.
“Most people would be more afraid to rap,” she says.
“Eh, it’s all about owning it. Besides, I had a babysitter who loved hip-hop. This is literally the music of my childhood.”