And before going home to tidy breakfast dishes, make a grocery list, go to my father’s and feed him (in order not to have to explain things to my dad, I made Sly stay outside, and he did not demur, saying, “Good call. You don’t want me anywhere near a man who called you a whore. Especially if that asshole is your father.”—seemed Brett had a type when recruiting henchmen)…

I sent:

Message is coming through loud

and clear.

But just so you know, I’m in to

do the work.

Now it was 2:23 in the morning.

And Axl still hadn’t replied.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, tasting my own medicine.

Dejected, I walked out of the dressing rooms and avoided Sly’s eyes after catching him giving me a narrow look.

We weren’t even at the back door when he repeated his question of earlier.

“Everything cool?”

“Everything’s great,” I lied, still avoiding his eyes.

He escorted me to the town car.

But before he opened the back door to let me in, he said, “You’re a great dancer.”

I looked up at him. “Pardon?”

“Best I’ve ever seen. I should have been watching the crowd, but I couldn’t take my eyes off you, because you were that good.”

Oh man.

I was in danger of crying again.

“Thanks, Sly,” I whispered.

“Just tellin’ you the truth,” he said, and opened the door.

I folded in.

After I did, Sly bent down and exchanged a look with Brett I couldn’t decipher before he closed the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Brett greeted.

“Hey, Brett,” I replied.

The car started gliding away.

“It go good tonight?” he asked.

“I worked things out with the girls,” I told him.

“Yeah, Ryn texted me,” he muttered.

Seriously, those two seemed tight.

We had so much to catch up on at lunch, and Evie had joined us, so I didn’t get around to asking about that with Ryn.

The good news of the day, I could call her or text her or talk to her about it tomorrow.

I’d fixed that.

I had my friends back.

The other good news, the day was done.

That was all the good news.

“What about Pantera?” Brett asked after the bad news.

I looked out the side window. “I think he’s still mad.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I’ve texted three times, apologized, he hasn’t texted back.” I turned to him, but only to glance at him before I looked back out the side window. “He’s entitled. I did the same to him.”

“Mm,” Brett hummed.

He then fell silent.

So I looked forward and asked, “How was your day?”

“Interesting.”

He said no more.

“Well, that’s good, I guess,” I mumbled.

“You didn’t freak,” he stated bizarrely.

I again turned to him. “What?”