Free Soul and Blade by Tara Brown

the walls that try to close in.
    “Ya have been looking off since ya came out of Rory’s head. Ya all right?”
    “No.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “It was a tough one.”
    “I don’t want to know, I’m sorry.” She says it looking up, avoiding the mirrors and my eyes. “I wish to tha gods I could help ya, but I canna.” Her accent thickens when she’s emotional.
    “I don’t blame you. I don’t want to know either.”
    Her response is a squeeze of my hand and that is all. She’s there for me, but she wants this one kept silent. She wants her clean start from that world.
    When the elevator lands on the main floor, we step off into a crowd of people. Even through them, all I can see are his eyes, hunting for me. I have seen the face he’s wearing, the “angry, but sorry he was such a dick” face, a few times. Yet never have I observed it from a hiding place. His green-gray eyes are dark now, not lively. Worried. We’re late and he thinks maybe not coming. He’s been blowing my phone up since I ran from the limo, but I’ve ignored it.
    When he sees Angie, that face fades away and he offers a wave and a smile. I can actually see the tension fade when his gaze meets hers. There is still something lingering behind his eyes, but he’s hiding it, even when he finally sees me.
    “Guess Dash’s meeting us here and riding over to the restaurant with us. His family must have gone on ahead.” We walk to him, but when he offers me his arm, I stay next to Angie.
    She remains oblivious, chatting on. “The reservations said they were for eight, but I had hoped we would be a wee bit early. Yer mother likes to make everyone feel late, even when they’re on time. Have ya ever noticed that?”
    Dash nods, smiling a little. “I have. She’s the master of making you feel bad. It’s why I like showing up a bit late. She’s already going to make it hard on you.” Dash walks to my side, taking my hand in his. The grip means we are going to be talking far sooner than I imagined we might be. I figured he would try to keep it in his pants until after dinner.
    He leads us out to the car, the very same one I ran from. The valet at the entrance to the hotel gets the door for us as we all climb in.
    Angie looks around the backseat, offering Dash a disappointed look. “No champagne?”
    His lips attempt a grin. “There will be plenty, you know that.”
    She shrugs coyly. “I suppose that will have to do.”
    Dash focuses on me. “How was your walk?”
    “Fine.”
    And there it is, fine . I’ve said it without thinking. Immediately Angie gives me a look. “Walk?”
    “I wanted some fresh air. So I grabbed my dress from the shop I was picking it up from and brought it to your hotel room. I needed to get ready with you anyway. Dash isn’t great at makeup.”
    She gives me a look that tells me she understands now that Dash hadn’t asked me to get ready at her room and he didn’t ask me to meet him at the restaurant. I hope she’ll forget and not ask me any questions about it.
    “You both look lovely.” Dash offers his best attempt at the American lovely , a normal lovely . It is one of the few words he doesn’t manage to pronounce without some inflection from the British accent he’s tried to shed while living in America. When he shouts, that accent comes through, fully. He is an angry British man and a calm American. It’s quite distinct when he’s drunk as well.
    My phone buzzes in my purse, almost scaring me. I pull it out, not expecting anyone, since the person who has been ringing me all day is with me, but when I answer, I get the person I expect the least. “Hello?”
    “Jane?” The voice belongs to Henry, Dash’s brother and lover of underage prostitutes.
    “Hi.” I don’t know what to do or say. What do you say to a man who is in jail because of you?
    “If my brother is right beside you, please don’t pass him the phone. I need to speak with you. I need you to ask my father to take some of