Chris grinned when Creed finished his parole at five-thirty in the morning, which wouldn’t be admissible in court. “I’m crashing at yours. Roland would kill me if I woke him or Lyric up,” Creed said, staring at Chris, who was trying to think of reasons why he couldn’t and was failing miserably.
“Sure,” he ended up saying.
The two walked in an awkward silence back to the car, and Creed bit his lip as he sighed. “Speaking of Lyric,” he said, frowning. “Don’t you think he’s been acting a little odd?”
“It’s Lyric,” Chris replied. “He’s always been a little odd.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Creed said as he put his seatbelt on. “He’s distant. He’s hardly speaking, and at first I thought, oh, quiet mode, but he will talk. He’s just an asshole about it.”
“Claire also brought it up,” Chris sai
