“Were you that cold?”
“I can’t feel or move my fingers.”
“So dramatic,” I say, pulling out of the car park.
“Can we just drive for a while?” she asks, switching the radio station from my favourite to hers. Not once has she ever asked permission to do so.
“Sure,” I say, frowning. “Everything okay?”
“If we’re taking a trip down nostalgia lane, might as well do it right.”
We’d drive for hours sometimes. I think most of the miles I put on my old car were due to random driving trips with Indie. She would turn up on my doorstep and want to get straight into the car. To this day, I don’t know what prompted all that travelling.
“You going to call it then?” I ask.
“Take a left next.”
“You got it.” I make a left… the opposite direction to home. “You’re going to have us at this golf place on time, right?”
“Uh-huh,” she mutters, staring out of her window with her head resting back against the seat.
Something’s up.
“Care to share, Indie?”
“I’m not thinking about anything. It’s nice.”
“What do you usually think about?”
Jesus, I’m desperate for her to open up. I want to know all of her. I’ve been honest the whole way through, and while she doesn’t straight up lie to me, she just doesn’t tell me about her homelife. I’ve never seen any bruises on her and, believe me, I’ve looked hard enough over the years. She’s never had a lot of material things, but would she keep everyone away from her family just because they don’t have much?
“I think about things like the fact we pass the anniversary of our death every year, but we have no idea, and that our stomachs think all potatoes are mashed.”
What? “Indie…”
“You’re going to think about that, too, aren’t you?”
“Spend less time on the internet.”
She smiles and rolls her head towards me. “Spence, I need to book LA.”
“It’s already done. You just need to apply for an ESTA, or they won’t let you in.”
Sitting up straighter, her eyes round. “It’s done?”
“You’re sitting next to me… in first class.”
“Spencer!” Her voice almost shatters my windscreen.
“Rich now, remember.”
“You don’t need to spend money on me.” She pulls the princess into her chest. “Besides this, obviously.”
“There is no fucking way I’m having you sitting in economy when I’m up in first with my parents. It’s not happening, and I’m not arguing, so let it go.”
The temperature in the car feels like it drops below zero. “You can’t do stuff like that.”
“I don’t want to argue.” I sigh.
“Then you shouldn’t have bought my damn ticket!”
“You are the only woman who doesn’t like someone taking you abroad in first class. Where next?”
“Another left, and I’m not the only one. I don’t expect anyone else to pay for me.”
“I’m not anyone else.”
“And that makes it worse.”
I take a left at the lights, and I grind my teeth. Is she serious? “I need you there.”
“And I will be. I was going to book it. Take the next right.”
“Do you want to yell and get it all out of your system? I’ll wait.”
“Such a dick,” she mutters under her breath. “I can take care of myself.”
I glance at her for a heartbeat. “I’ve never thought that you can’t. Do you honestly believe I would have gone to LA if I didn’t think you could look after yourself?”
“You had a job.”
I scowl. “Fuck the job.”
“You can’t fuck the job.”
“What?” I growl. “I don’t even know what we’re fighting about now.”
She takes a breath and closes her eyes. Her fingertips claw at the stuffed doll. “I don’t want to fight at all. I’m not being ungrateful, Spence.”
“I know you’re not. I should have told you I was going to book your ticket with ours. Okay?”
“That’s the best apology I’m going to get?” she asks, her lips betraying her with a smile.
“You know it.”
Sighing again, she twists her body to face me. “First class, huh?”
“You’re going to love it.”
Nine
Indie
Spencer and I walk towards Serial Golf, the indoor course. So far, no one has noticed who he is. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses off, though.
I’m still annoyed about the plane ticket. I don’t need anyone to pay for me. We don’t have long together, so I’m not going to fall out with him over it now, but I’ll pay him back.
Mila, Wren, and Brody are standing outside the building.
Wren looks up, her blue eyes shine, and her mouth parts. Mila has a shit eating grin on her face.
My two best friends are going to love this. They can’t understand why I broke up with Spencer.
It had to happen. He can’t be chained to the train wreck girl from his childhood. Plus, the more famous he becomes, the more my life would be scrutinised.
“Well, hi,” Wren says, giving me a hug. “He’s back,” she whispers into my ear.
I nod before I pull away and hug Mila.
“Spence, you remember Wren, Mila, and Brody. Guys… Spencer.”
“Hey, man,” Brody says, doing one of those greetings of slapping hands together in the shortest handshake imaginable.
“Hey.”
“What’s it like on set? Is Ella really that nice or is she a total bitch behind closed doors?” Mila asks, her amber eyes wide at the thought of gossip.
Spencer chuckles. “Set is long, and Ella is genuinely lovely.”
Ugh, bitch.
“It’s good to see you. Indie’s missed you a lot,” Wren says, pushing her curled blonde hair over her shoulders.
My eyes cut to her. Stop talking.
Spence wraps his hand around my waist. “She’s always been needy.”
“Piss off,” I hiss, elbowing his side.
He laughs but ignores me. “We ready to go in?”
“Yeah,” Brody says. “Wren is ready for cocktails, and I’m ready for her to be drunk again.”
Wren shakes her head. “Such a pervert.”
Mila heads to the reception desk to sign us in.
Once inside, the place is relatively dark with neon lights in red and yellow. You can see the different courses well enough, each one a delightful display of murder. Our first course is some crazy clown dressed as
