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“Huh?”
“You need to speak to my dad? You can commune with the dead then can you?”
“Robert’s dead?” This time it’s Saint who pales.
Uncomfortable, I clear my throat. “Umm, look, Saint. I’m sorry. Coming here was a really bad idea. And clearly there’s…stuff you guys need to sort out. So I’m just gonna take off…”
“I’ll come with you!” Lou jumps in quickly.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Saint growls – swear to god an actual growl which I feel rumble in my chest – and it makes me want to simultaneously salute himandflip him off.
Lou does the latter.
“You lost any right to a say in what I do the moment you walked out on us without a backward glance and left me alone to grieve twice.”
“I didn’t know!” Saint roars, making me jump. Holy shit he’s scary. Absolutely fucking terrifying. To me at least.
“If you’d never left, you would have!” Lou screams right back. How is she not quaking before this man? I am, and he’s not even shouting at me.
“Odi, let’s go.”
She turns on her heel to walk away, and I hastily neck my tequila, and immediately regret it.
“Oh god!” The burn, the smell, the memories it invokes…I can’t.
“Bathroom’s that way!” Saint yells, pointing to the left.
I race past Lou, out into the hallway and along the corridor to the nearest bathroom, which thankfully appears to be the ladies. I make it to the toilet just in time to throw my guts up everywhere. Fuck. I never even want tosmelltequila ever again.
A chuckle behind me makes me jump, and it’s Saint standing in the doorway, arms folded, not Lou.
“You okay, Odi?”
I nod.
“Good. Probably too soon for the tequila, eh?” Another nod, another chuckle.
“You know Louise?”
“Yes. We’re friends. I’m staying with her at the moment, because…you know?” It comes out as a question because I have no fucking idea what Saint knows. I don’t know this man, but apparently, Lou does.
“Okay. Do me a favour, yeah? Look out for my girl for me. She’s like a daughter to me.”
I raise my brows. The way he called herhis girldid not sound very fatherly at all. The heat in his eyes…yeah, not my circus, not my monkeys. I won’t ask.
“Okay. Can you, ummm, do me one in return?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Can you call us a cab and not tell the Trinity we were here?”
He roars with laughter but agrees. “Alright. But I can do one better than a cab.”
“An Uber?”
“You’re funny. I do like you. But I guess now I know you’re Louise’s age, I need to knock that on the head.”
“I’m actually only eighteen. August baby,” I offer up pointlessly. Saint grimaces, mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously likejailbaitand scrubs his hand through his beard.
