Keenan took off, tires of his Subaru spinning. I opened my mouth to ask Ash what the hell had happened, what he’d been thinking, that with his concussion another blow to the head could be deadly. I was about to start berating him when my eyes dropped to his shoulder, and I gasped when I saw the blood.

“Ash, you cut yourself.”

He waved me off. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. We have to get you inside.”

“It’s a cut, I’m not losing an arm. I’ll fix it when I get home.”

I disagreed, but he didn’t look like he was in the mood for another argument. Pushing him down on the bench, I said, “Fine. I’ll get my stuff. Give me a minute.”

Ash grunted but gave in, so I rushed inside and grabbed my things. That Keenan had gone after Ash was no surprise, with their history it had been a long time coming, but thankfully I’d been here to put a stop to it. What was it with everyone today? Fiona had always been such a goody-goody blabbermouth (translation: nosy bitch), but she’d blindsided me by telling Ash about Dealer Dave and triggering more of his memories with that damn postcard. The latter was a problem I’d have to handle somehow, and good thing I’d come up with the weed story so fast. The expression on his face when I’d told him I’d needed it because of his return was exactly what I’d wanted, and the revelation made him back off immediately. Still, if I needed another supply of benzos, and so far I hadn’t touched the stuff, I definitely needed to get them from someone else. Then there was Lily’s soccer comment, but that, too, could be handled. It was my word against hers.

I had a more pressing problem in Lily, who’d obviously been sharpening her claws and was digging into Ash more quickly and deeply than I expected. My mind sped ahead, calculating twists, turns and outcomes. By the time I stepped outside the Cliff’s Head to rejoin Ash, I’d reengineered my plan, and we were in my car, heading home. That’s what sly people do, adjust and pivot seamlessly without anybody noticing what’s going on until it’s too late. Of course, the cleverest among us never let on we’re doing anything in the first place.

As I drove us home, Ash pressed a clean damp cloth I’d taken from the kitchen over the gash in his shoulder. Goddamn it, my anger toward Lily and Keenan simmered right beneath the surface, ready to burst forth. A large part of me wanted to let it. See what would happen. But no, softly—softly would work far better in the longer run.