“A claim?”
“A victory claim.”
“Hold up,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn’t make a victory claim last year when I beat that piece of shit into the ground for spying on you.”
“To be fair, you also kinda spied on me.”
I scoff, but it sounds forced. “Did not.”
“No? The way I remember it, you were pretty much in the wall, that’s how hard you were listening to me getting myself off.”
“I was listening to that pink tie motherfucker getting himself off to you. So, no.”
“Sure,” she says with a flat glare. She turns toward David, watching him for a long moment before she spins on her heel and levels me with ferocity in her green and gold eyes. “David.”
My gaze travels over to the vacant expression of the man who sits on the prep table, his legs still swinging in circles. “What about him?”
“Give him a job.”
I snort a laugh. “A job.” Another loud laugh whooshes from my chest before reality sinks in. She’s fucking serious. “What the fuck?”
“You heard me. A job.” Sloane’s eyes narrow when I shake my head. She takes a step closer and pins me with a murderous glare. “We can’t leave him like this.”
“Sure we can. He should be glad he didn’t get eaten. He’s in the clear. Dodged a bullet. Or a fork,” I say.
“And now he’s got nothing. You could give him a place to work. A purpose.”
“Have you noticed that we’re in Cali-fucking-fornia? I live in Boston, Sloane. How the hell am I going to get him from here to there without arousing suspicion?”
“I dunno,” she says with a shrug, her expression unconcerned by this dilemma she’s dropped in my lap. “If he hasn’t been reported missing by anyone, you could just…take him.”
“It’s not like Winston. I can’t just put him in a cat carrier and bring him with me.”
Sloane sighs and tries to tamp down an eye roll she’s desperate to unleash. “I didn’t find anything about a missing person matching his description in the area in my research. If Thorsten wanted a long-term servant, he probably took someone whose absence wouldn’t be missed by anyone. You could just claim he’s your brother. It’s not like he’s going to tell them any different.”
“This is an epically bad idea, Blackbird.”
“Then drop him off at the hospital and drive away. If his reappearance hits the news, you could reach out, offer to set him up. Just say you were so moved by his story or some shit.”
“I’m not.” I look over at David, who watches me with no spark of interest or awareness. “No offense, mate.”
He doesn’t respond.
I drag a hand down my face and pin her with a pleading gaze. “Look, Blackbird, it’s sweet what you’re trying to do for him. Really. But this is a huge ask, and he might be better off here. I’m sure he’s got family somewhere, people who need to know where he is and who will want to take care of him. We don’t even know what he can and can’t do now, thanks to that Thorsten fucker.”
“I bet he could wash dishes.” Undeterred, Sloane turns from me and approaches David. Her hand folds around his wrist and he looks down at her touch. “Come with me, okay?”
With a few gentle tugs, David slides off the table and follows Sloane. I make room for them to stop close to me at the commercial dishwasher. She takes a few plates and hands them to David before she guides him to the rack, her smile encouraging, that fucking dimple filling me with equal parts warmth and dismay.
“Can you help me with the dishes, David? You just put them in the rack and then open it like this.” She demonstrates how to open and close the freestanding machine before guiding him to fill the rack, which he does a little more quickly than I expected. He successfully navigates all the next steps with her encouragement, and when the cycle is finished he takes the clean dishware out and leaves it to cool on the counter. “That was awesome. See, Rowan? He got it no problem.”
I resist the urge to groan when Sloane’s bright smile alights on me. “For godsakes. You look like a kid asking for candy.”
“Please? Super please. Big extra pleases with cherries on top,” she says as she stops in front of me. Her dainty hands curl around my biceps in an uncharacteristically forward touch, her blood-red nails like talons against my skin. “I’ll even give you a victory claim to make up for last year. Whatever you want.”
I swallow and resist the urge to either maul her or run away. My feet stay planted as my eyes narrow with skepticism. “Whatever I want?”
She nods, but her brow furrows as though she’s just starting to realize what she’s gotten herself into.
My slow smile is wicked. “You’re one hundred percent sure about this.”
Her face scrunches. My grin stretches.
David burps.
And just like that, my smile disappears. “Fucksakes. I’m going to regret this, aren’t I.”
Sloane bounces in place.
“I’m going to collect,” I warn.
“I know.”
“And you’re helping me clean.”
“I thought that much was obvious, seeing as how I just washed your puke bowl.”
I let loose a heavy, lengthy sigh. “Fine,” I say on a groan, and Sloane beams. She bounces in place. There might even be a squeak. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her bounce or squeak, and I’m not sure it’s so much about David as it is about convincing me into something that she really, really wants.
“Thank you,” she breathes.
In one hop, she kisses me on the cheek.
And then she’s gone, the echo of her touch fading as though it was never real, just imagined. But I think I catch the wisp of blush on her cheek as she turns away. I think she hides it from me as she gathers supplies to start cleaning. In fact, I know it. It’s in the shy smile she darts in my direction before she lowers her head and leaves for the dining room.
It takes a few hours of cleaning to erase our presence from Thorsten’s house. When we’re done, I keep David occupied in the kitchen by loading the same three racks of dishes over and over, and then I walk Sloane outside.
We stand in silence, both of us looking up at the few stars whose light penetrates the pollution from the city sprawl beyond the dark hills. It was only a few hours ago that it felt like the universe had collapsed in on us. All its power was honed in a single blade. And now we’re a fleeting breath of time beneath starlight.
It’s Sloane’s voice that breaks the night.
“I think we’re officially best friends now,” she says.
“Oh yeah? Do you want to go do karate in the garage?”
Sloane grins at her feet. Her dimple is a shadow in the porch light. My heart is still turning over when her smile fades.
“I lied, by the way,” she says.
I wish she’d return my gaze, but she doesn’t. She can’t bring herself to. So I take a second to memorize the details of her profile, because I know the hardest part is coming, just like it did last year, just like it did in the restaurant.
“Lied about what?” I ask.
The delicate column of her throat shifts as she swallows.
And then her head turns, just enough to give me her eyes and a melancholy smile that tips up one corner of her lips, the faint trace of her dimple coaxed into view.
“Boston. I wasn’t there for a meeting.”
Her words echo in my head, and before I can absorb them or ask what she means, she hikes her bag higher on her shoulder and walks away.
I don’t just hate this part. I fucking loathe it.
“See you next year, Butcher,” she says, and then she slips into her car and disappears into the night.
I lied too, I want to say. But I just don’t get the chance.
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