Renie burst out laughing.
“Shut up,” Blythe muttered. “You’ve gotten to be worse than me.”
“No,” Renie spit out between giggles. “No one will ever be more dramatic than you, Blythe.”
“I thought the whole point was to stay away from her.”
“It was, sort of. I mean, if we’re where she is and don’t ask her to dance, or if neither one of us is workin’ hard to get in her panties, she’ll realize faster that we’re backin’ off,” Jace told Tucker.
“I don’t know. I’m having a pretty hard time not thinkin’ about her panties. It might be more than I can handle, watchin’ her dance. What if some cowboy comes on a little too strong? You’re not gonna be tempted to stop him?”
“Would you rather be there to save her from someone like that, or be at the hotel wonderin’ what the hell she’s up to for the second night in a row.”
“I’m gonna punt. You have fun.”
“Seriously? You’re tellin’ me to go, and you’re not gonna? I can’t believe it.”
“Fuck off.”
“You’re goin’, aren’t ya?”
“Of course I am, asshole.”
In the end, it didn’t matter what they did.
Blythe was line-dancing when she saw Renie, who was sitting at a nearby high-top table, look at her phone. Eyes wide, Renie’s face drained of all color. Blythe stopped dancing, stopped moving at all, as everything around her shifted into slow motion.
Renie stood and sought her in the crowd. When her best friend’s eyes filled with tears, Blythe took a step backward, and then another. She kept moving backward until she felt a hard body behind her. Strong hands rested on her shoulders and squeezed.
“Renie’s gonna drive you home, darlin’. Lyric’s goin’ with you.” Billy’s voice was quiet and soothing in a bar where loud music reverberated from gigantic speakers lining the dance floor. It was as though
his words had been mixed out of the background, and the volume increased so she could hear him as clearly as if they were standing in an empty, silent room.
“What happened?”
“Let’s go outside.” Lyric pulled her toward the back door of the club; Renie and Billy followed.
Blythe started to shake, unsure whether it was because of the frigid winter wind, or if it was her body’s reaction to hearing the bad news she knew was coming.
Billy covered her bare shoulders with his heavy barn jacket. Her eyes met Renie’s and she waited for her friend to find the words to tell her what happened.
“It’s your dad,” Renie said, handing her the phone.
8
Blythe listened to her father’s words, trying to process what he was telling her.
There had been an accident, he told her. They were waiting for word, but the news coming out of Afghanistan wasn’t good. Her sister Bree’s husband was reported dead after an IED hit the truck he was riding in.
Where is Bree? The same three words repeated over and over in her head, like song lyrics. She couldn’t remember where her sister was, and when she asked, Renie said she wasn’t sure.
“My mom is on her way to your parents’ house,” Renie told her.
Blythe nodded. If anyone knew how to counsel their family, it was Liv. Her first husband had been killed in the Gulf War shortly after they were married, before Renie was born.
When Blythe walked into the kitchen of her parents’ house, her mother was on the phone. Whenever there was a crisis, Paige Cochran took over. It didn’t matter what it was, the first words out of her mom’s mouth were always, “What can I do?” This time the crisis was in her own family, but her mom still went into management mode.
Paige put her hand over the receiver. “I’m talking to Zack’s parents. Your dad is talking to someone with the Air Force. We’ll know more in a minute.”