I stumble out with one hand clamped hard over my mouth, choking back my sobs and praying Blackwood won't hear them.
The only thing I have to be grateful for is that I didn't park far.
I throw myself in Eris's white Hyundai Tucson that runs like a dream—probably because Blackwood maintains it—slam the door shut, and tear away from his garage with a squeal of rubber. I'm driving too fast, but I don't care.
Somehow, I make the fifteen-minute drive through town and to Eris's two-bedroom home in a quiet residential street without getting myself into an accident. I sit in the car, engine off, sniffing as I brush aside the last of my tears because I can't walk into Eris's house looking a mess. Eris isn't just a talker; she's nosy, too. Friendly and sweet, but nosy as hell. If I don't go in, she'll soon be out to investigate, and I don't need that. Not with my face this red and blotchy.
