Chapter Thirteen
I drive back to the restaurant with my music up and the windows down. The muggy night air stings my eyes and whips my hair against my face, but no amount of warm air and thumping beats can erase the sting of Christopher’s words. I’m halfway to the restaurant when Anthony calls to tell me the freezer will be delivered soon.
“You sound tired,” he tells me. “Go home. Cass and I’ll take care of it.”
I end the call, blinking back the exhaustion weighing down my eyelids, then make a sharp right toward my apartment complex. But I drive past my apartment, past the new construction and old houses that dot Pointe Hill’s landscape like pieces on a checkerboard. Past the park where the whirring buzz of tree crickets and cicadas compete with the music coming from my truck’s speakers
