Page 137 of Keep Me On Edge

“You?” I ask Callan.

“Good.”

“Does ‘good’ mean something different in Ireland?” Hendrix asks.

I glare at him. “What do you mean?”

“Does it have some sort of multifaceted meaning that relies on interpretation of the tone of someone’s voice? Because you both keep saying it, but neither of you sounds genuine.”

I shift my weight from foot to foot.

Callan rubs the back of his neck. He nods to Hendrix. “I like him. Is he always so blunt?”

“No. He’s normally worse.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Hendrix grumbles. “But I get it. I’ll vanish so you two can have a truthful conversation.” He waves and darts up the stairs.

“Truthful,” Callan murmurs. “Do you think we can do that?”

I suck in a breath. “How are you, really?”

Callan stares into my eyes. “Sober.”

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