Page 124 of With a Cherry On Top

“Everyone walks.”

I nod. “Do it.”

He studies me for a long moment, then, “All right. Be right back.”

“Max?” I call as soon as he takes a step. “Can I talk to him myself?”

“No.” He crosses his arms. “Why?”

“Well . . . Charlotte—if her mom found out she was with me, she . . . wouldn’t be pleased.”

He shakes his head, as if he’s just been proven right about me. “I’m not doing this for you, all right? Only for Josie, because she doesn’t need any more of your drama.” He turns around and mumbles, “I’ll tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

I watch him walk away then drop onto one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area, resting my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands.

How could Charlotte do this?

Why the hell would she let things go that far if she was there with someone else? And why was she on a date with Peter, of all people?

But just as quickly as the anger rises, it deflates, swallowed by the worry clawing at my insides.

Is she okay? Did he hurt her? Her hand must be killing her if she hit him hard enough to break his nose. And what about Beatrice? Will she find out about this?

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it does nothing to ease the pounding in my skull. Between the hangover, the pain in my face, and the mess I’ve landed myself in, I’m getting a migraine.

“Aaron?”

My breath catches at the sound of her voice. A voice that once meanthome.

I lift my head, and there she is.

Josie.

What the fuck is she doing here?

She’s standing in front of me, red hair pulled back into a tight bun, piercing green eyes staring me down like I’m some criminal she’s about to book. My stomach twists as I notice her uniform, the way she’s looking at me—judgmental, disappointed, like I’m the one who’s let her down.

“What the hell happened?” she demands, stepping closer. “I was out on a call when a colleague phoned me. Were you arrested? For abar fight?”

She spits out the words like they taste rotten in her mouth, like she can’t even fathom that I, of all people, would be sitting here in the drunk tank of her police station, but I barely hear her, my eyes locked on her uniform.

She’s working. She’sback at work.

And I had no idea.

I force myself to stand, my eye throbbing with every beat of my pulse. “What—why are you here?”

Her expression flickers, just for a second. “I’m...” She glances away. “I’m back at work.”

Something inside me cracks.

“But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t come home.”

Her lips press together. “I’m staying at my parents’.”

At her parents’.

Not with Sadie.