The Perfect Cover by Charlotte Byrd

Author:Charlotte Byrd [Byrd, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Byrd Books

17

Tyler

When we fight...

Mac says that he’s going out for a smoke, but he doesn’t stay on the landing or out front. Instead, he disappears somewhere out back, following a trail.

I want to follow him, but I don’t want to pry. Besides, the beers are hitting me pretty well and I’m not sure any comments that I’m going to make will do anyone any good.

I take a few deep breaths, lean back against the limpest pillow I’ve ever had, and stare at the television as I flip through the channels.

I don’t know how much time passes or why they both come in through the door at the same time.

I’m drunk but not enough to not sense the tension between them.

Mac covers it with a joke and Isabelle jumps in front of her computer screen. The fact that we’re staying in less than 100 square feet is not making this trip any easier.

“Listen, I’m going to head out,” Mac says, grabbing his wallet.

It’s filled with money that he borrowed from me and a $100 bill that the girl he met last night had given him.

If I didn’t know him, I’d suspect that the money was stolen, but I know how charming and sweet he can be and how women will fall over backward to help him.

I glance over at Isabelle, expecting her to try to stop him.

She doesn’t.

I don’t either.

It’s not worth the energy when the outcome will be the same.

Besides, I want some alone time with her.

A few moments later, Mac exits without another word and Isabelle and I remain, listening to the silence that he leaves behind.

“What happened?” I ask.

She buries her head behind her laptop, pretending not to hear me.

I ask her again, and again she ignores me.

“Did you have a fight? Did he do something?” I ask.

“Yeah, he did something.”

I clench my fists.

He hurt her.

He could have any woman he wants except her. She said no and he pushed himself on her.

“He burned my journal,” she says with tears in her eyes.

My hand opens up as I try to process what she just said.

“So, he didn’t attack you?”

She stares at me, shaking her head and saying, “Yes, he did. He grabbed my journal, ripped the pages out of it, and then burned them.”

“Okay, I understand. I just got scared that maybe he put his hands on you.”

“Typical,” she says sarcastically. “You don’t give a shit about what he actually did because you assume that at least he didn’t do something way worse.”

“That’s not what I said,” I protest.

I hate this anger that transpires between us. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but Mac’s presence seems to be bringing out the worst in us.

I ask her about the journal and she relays the details.

I try not to be relieved by what Mac did, but I am.

I offer her sympathy but she doesn’t accept it. I’m not a very good liar. If the Pittsburgh Police Department knew that, then none of this would’ve ever happened.

“Do you think that he did the right thing?” she says more as a statement rather than a question.

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