Page 48 of Single Malt

And recorded themselves doing it.

They’d run out of ammo, and for some reason or another, had sat down to talk about how awesome they’d been. Two had passed out, and the third had been close to doing the same when they were arrested. The first two had been taken by ambulance to a hospital where they could be examined to ensure that they weren’t in any physical danger from however much they’d drank. A few enterprising journalism majors had managed to follow the police and get a video of how things had played out. Thanks to them, the third young man’s arrest had already gone viral, mostly because, as he’d leaned against the police car to be patted down, he’d thrown up.

On the hood of the car.

And on the windshield.

The arresting officers’ responses were also everywhere. The police department had embraced the publicity, first because it’d given the media something to focus on instead of constantly badgering the department about the investigation, and second because it showed their people in a positive light.

The cops had done some creative cursing, but they hadn’t retaliated in any way. Two white officers arresting a person of color in a professional manner even after he’d helped terrorize a prestigious university and then threw up on their car was the sort of thing that offered a positive example of how to do the job the right way.

For once, something that could have turned into a tragedy in a lot of different ways actually had an optimistic outlook. So far, no real injuries had been reported, just some scrapes and bruises from people who’d been trying to get under cover when they’d first heard the shots.

Still, I kept seeing Freedom in my head. Her and Aline both, but I focused on her – and felt damn guilty for caring more about her than her sister. Even my concern about Aline was based on how it would hurt Freedom, which made me feel even more like an asshole. It didn’t, however, make my worry go away.

And that was why I was standing in the middle of the San Antonio airport and trying to decide if I wanted to find a flight home rather than staying in Texas. It might’ve been possible to get one if I wasn’t picky about seating or flying stand-by, but I had to admit that I didn’t know exactly what I’d do once I got back to San Ramon. It wasn’t as if I’d have another reason to drive to Stanford. While Cory and Fury lived in the area, I already knew that they hadn’t been near the campus.

Based on our last interaction, I didn’t think Freedom would want to see me, especially if it meant she’d have to acknowledge to her sister that we’d done more than simply worked on that event together, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t express concern.

Right?

“Man up,” I muttered to myself as I went to my contact information. I’d saved her number while we’d been talking about the exhibit, and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to delete it. Now I was glad I hadn’t.

I just saw the news and wanted to check in, make sure you were okay.

That looked casual enough, I decided. But before I sent it, I realized that she might not have kept my number. Feeling like an idiot, I added to the end of the message.

This is Brody, by the way.

I hit send before I could change my mind and then made my way to the car rental place where I picked up the sedan I’d reserved. By the time I reached my hotel, I had a reply.

Yes, we’re fine.

I sighed and pushed down my frustration. She’d answered my question, after all, and hadn’t told me to fuck off, which I supposed was something.

What exactly it was, however, I had no idea.

Perfect.

Thirty-One

Freedom

I remembered hearing oncethat those first few years before school shootings had become shockingly normal, the schools would close for weeks after one happened. Columbine had actually sent their students to a neighboring school to finish out the school year, and the shooting had happened in April. Now, students could be back the following week. If there weren’t any deaths or property destructions, they could return the next day.

Since the incident had taken place on a Wednesday and the media had descended on the campus like vultures, many seemed determined to make it out to be more than what it was. Before the end of the day, the university had canceled classes for the rest of the week, hoping that the frenzy would die down as the police finished their investigation and everyone saw that it had only been three idiots doing stupid things while drunk. They’d also sent out a campus-wide message, encouraging students to avoid the press, especially those of us who had been in the area and given statements to the police.

Aline and I were two of those students, but we weren’t in Palo Alto at the moment. Having a four-day weekend ahead of us and knowing how concerned our parents had been, we’d left this morning for L.A. The drive would’ve been too long for us to have just come for a regular weekend, so our parents hadn’t asked it of us, but as soon as I’d heard we wouldn’t have our Thursday or Friday classes, I’d suggested to Aline that we take a trip.

I honestly did want to be away from the university until things died down and give our parents the reassurance that we were all right, but there was another reason I wanted to be elsewhere.

A reason named Brody McCrae.

I’d been shocked to get his text yesterday. I hadn’t realized he’d kept my number, but he apparently didn’t seem to think I’d kept his because he’d said his name at the end of the text. His fairly abrupt and impersonal text.

I just saw the news and wanted to check in, make sure you were okay.

Maybe not entirely impersonal since he’d said he wanted to make sure I was okay, but it lacked…something.