“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
I looked toward the doors.
“I need to go.”
Captain Reyes nodded.
“I’ll drive you.”
“No. I can drive.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I said I can drive.”
My voice cracked on the last word.
That ended the argument.
Grant placed the cake on the table.
The balloons were still tied around my wrist.
I stared at them.
Bright blue.
Silver.
Red.
“Happy Birthday” was printed across several of them.
They looked obscene now.
I untied them and left them beside the cake.
Captain Reyes handed me my keys.
“He’s in good hands.”
I nodded, though I barely heard him.
The drive to St. Matthew’s felt twice as long as the drive to the station.
Every red light seemed personal.
Every slow car made me angry.
