She smiled tentatively at Tobias. She was hoping for some encouragement or any sign that he was glad she’d come over. But he didn’t give her that sign. He wouldn’t even look at her. And he moved away from her as though he wanted to avoid any accidental contact.

“Is it okay if I play with you guys?” she asked him.

He put down his glass. “Of course. But Atticus can be your partner. I’d better not start another game.”

Harper froze. He was leaving?

“Where are you going?” Jada asked, obviously as surprised as she was.

Tobias wouldn’t look at Jada anymore, either. “Home. With Carl at the house, who knows what might happen. I should get back.”

Maddox shifted uncomfortably. “But we were just about to start a game.”

“It won’t take Atticus long to get the drinks.”

“Tobias—” Maddox began, but Tobias talked over him by saying good-night. Then he walked out.

Tobias paced up and down the back alley of the Blue Suede Shoe. It was freezing outside and raining, but he was so numb he could hardly feel it. He was too preoccupied with trying to figure out what he should do. His first instinct was to go back inside. He hadn’t been very polite to Harper. He didn’t want her to think he was an asshole. But she’d caught him off guard. He hadn’t been prepared to run into her, especially when he was with Atticus. He didn’t want her to be anywhere near Jada’s brother. Atticus’s wheelchair would raise questions. It always did. People were curious to find out what’d happened to him, and if Harper asked that question, the answer would instantly destroy any positive feelings she might have toward him, even the memory of their time together before that pocket dial.

“Shit,” he cursed and finally climbed into his truck. He should just leave. Why would he do anything else? He couldn’t expect her to understand that he hadn’t really intended to hurt anyone that night so many years ago. That he’d been only seventeen when he’d made the stupid decision to drop acid. That he didn’t even know what he was doing when he pulled the trigger. No one cared about the circumstances; the results were all that mattered.

He was better-off getting out of there and never talking to her again. And she was better-off not associating with him. She could get just about any guy she wanted; why would she ever want him?

Hoping to distract himself from the emotions churning in his gut, he turned up the music until sound thumped through the entire vehicle, and drove home. He’d barely walked into the house when his brother called.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Maddox demanded.