“Time’s up. We gotta go.”

I offer a hand, which he willingly accepts. But when I try to pull him up, my ankle throbs in rejection of the extra weight.

I hiss through my teeth, and Fielding’s eyes shoot to my face.

“Did they hurt you?”

I shake off his concern and bend down to undo the buckles of my shoes. There’s no way I’m going anywhere fast in these things now. RIP, braided tan wedges. I’m going to have to hold a memorial for this entire outfit after tonight.

“I twisted my ankle earlier,” I explain. “I just need to ice it, then I’ll be fine.”

“Well, aren’t we a pair,” he snickers as he takes a tentative step forward. He looks like shit, but he’s with it enough to hold a conversation.

“Did you say my brother’s on his way?” he asks with a grimace.

Dempsey. Shit.

I hold up a finger to Fielding and pull out his phone from my back pocket as we make our way across the yard.

“Hey, sorry,” I start.

“Fuck, Maddie. I’ve been screaming at you for the last five minutes!”

His fury burns through the line. But my priority was getting Fielding up and moving—not giving him a play-by-play.

“Relax, Haas. We’re good. Where are you?”

“I’m two minutes away. So he’s okay? He’s walking? Did he say you’re hurt?”

I ignore his questions and go into no-nonsense mode. “I’ll send you a pin so you can find the house. Pull up to the driveway so we don’t have to walk any farther than necessary.”

“Mad—” he starts, but I end the call.

“Here ya go.”

I hand Fielding his phone, and he turns it over twice in his hand.

“Wait, is this… How the hell did you get it unlocked?” he marvels.

Uh. About that…

“I used your face to open it, dummy. I had to get a hold of your brother somehow, didn’t I?”

I side-eye him as we walk, noting how his brow furrows and forms that stupid-adorable wrinkle above his nose, just like his brother.

Balancing my shoes in one hand, I pull my phone out of my wristlet and quickly send Dempsey a pin of our location before Fielding has a chance to notice that I have his brother’s number.

“Who are you texting?” Fielding asks.

“My friend Paige,” I reply without hesitation as I open up a new message.

Maddie: Lucky Lucy for me, too. Call me tomorrow.

I blow out a sigh of relief and stash my phone as we reach the end of the driveway. I scan the street in front of us, desperate for any sign of Dempsey.

“He drives a Range Rover,” Fielding murmurs, peering past the row of cars.

Fuck. Right.