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He's already gathering his jacket, arms sliding into the holes, handing me mine. "Yeah. Come on."

"Marshall, what's wrong?"

He pretends he doesn't hear me. I almost ask again, but I can't. I know he won't tell me and I don't want him to try and dodge it.

As he rips us from the sweltering walls of the club, past the stream of people waiting in line, I can almost trick myself into believing everything is okay. That this was a good memory we created together.

Then I remember how he ran from the theater tonight.

What if he was running from me?

Chapter 9.

"Are you ready yet?"

It's the third time Marshall has asked me that in the past hour. I'd finished getting dressed and dolled up in the first twenty minutes. But, no, I wasn't ready yet. I was sitting on my bed, looking at my phone, trying to make sense of all the pieces to this puzzle that was Marshall Klintock.

He knocks lightly. I don't look up from my phone.

Me: Hey.

Me: u there?

I trace my thumb-pad over the edge of my phone. There's no response from Katy. I'm sure she'll answer eventually, I just wanted to talk before I walked out the door and saw Marshall's face. I need to clear my head of all the strange things swimming around. Between touching his gun, catching him with someone in the mall, then the weird way he behaved in the club, my brain is mush. Katy will hear me out, she'll have advice.

Me: I need to talk.

The knocking comes again, louder this time. "Leona, we have to go if we don't want to be late for the Gala. Are you okay in there?"

No,I think. "Yes," I say. Pushing my phone into my purse, I stand and dust my dress off. The mirror across the room reflects my red-velvet clad body back at me. It's like I dipped myself in rubies from my eye shadow to my lips to my toes. Way more dramatic than I've ever done.

I've taken out my frustrations on my own face. Makeup isn't my usual go to for passionate, artistic emotional outlet. There's no point in trying to tone it down now with Marshall tapping on the door. Taking in a full breath, I twist the brass knob. He's standing right there, his shadow slipping over me, his eyes twinkling as they take me in.

"I know," I say, smiling sheepishly. "It's too much, I just—"

"You look incredible," he whispers.