“I didn’t talk about stealing the gas,” she says, and her eyes land on Brecken. Her gaze is softer. Hesitant. And her voice follows suit. “When they get here, we can explain. I know what it looks like, but we all know it’s not that simple.”

“Oh, it’s plenty simple,” Brecken says, face hard. His eyes flick to Josh. “And I’m looking forward to talking to the police.”

“That’s not going to turn out how you want,” Josh says softly.

Kayla scoffs, pushing her chair back and rising. “Yeah, they’ll simple that shit up real fast. And I’m not sticking around to get busted.”

“Sit down,” Josh hisses. “Where are you going to go?”

I look up, shocked at his sudden anger. “She can go if she wants.”

“It’s not smart,” Harper says, her expression flat when she turns to Kayla. “There isn’t anywhere to go. There isn’t anything open.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Kayla retorts. But, other than swaying on her feet, she stays put. Her red-rimmed eyes and slack mouth tell me she’s got enough chemicals in her system to have reason to be afraid of the police.

“You’re not going to get in trouble,” Brecken says. “The cops aren’t going to care about whatever shit is running through your veins. They care about what happened to that kid.”

“Corey,” I say, because it feels important. “His name is Corey.”

“They might care about the stolen gas, too,” Josh says.

Brecken bares his teeth in a sharp smile. “They’ll certainly care about my version of things.”

“Can you both knock it off?” Harper asks. “We just need to get our shit together and handle this. Do you understand? No one is going to try to pin this on anyone. Because it’s an accident.”

There’s something clinical about the way Harper phrases this. Like she’s discussing a class project that’s gotten a little out of hand. She glances around and notices our collective tension.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just… I can’t be held up here. I have things going on. I can’t…”

“Well, you won’t be held up,” Brecken says. “You weren’t driving when it happened.”

“Brecken,” Harper says softly.

He gets up and wanders to the far end of the bar. Harper follows. Joyce arrives with a tray of drinks. She sets them down hard, her gaze drifting to Harper and Brecken, their heads ducked in intense conversation.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Joyce says.

“No trouble,” Josh says brightly.

I don’t know if I believe him, but I still pull myself together and smile up at Joyce. “There won’t be any trouble at all.”

Chapter Nineteen

I am desperate to be home, desperate for sleep, and desperate to be away from these people.