Holding Her Breath (Indigo) by Nicole Green Page B

bed, she noticed a photo on the nightstand as he fell facedown onto the dark brown comforter. The picture showed him with a laughing brunette. The combination of the photographer’s mastery of his or her art and the woman’s beauty almost seemed to make a spotlight shine down onto her photographed face. Her oval-shaped face, thin and highly arched eyebrows, and creamy complexion combined in a very flattering way. She and Chace were holding each other by the elbows. Her face was turned slightly toward the camera and her head was thrown back in laughter, but Chace was staring at her with a huge grin on his face.
    Whitney wasn’t surprised there was a girlfriend in the picture. What did surprise her was that the girlfriend was nowhere to be seen at the moment. She wondered where the woman in the picture was that night. Looking closer, Whitney noticed fine, spidery cracks in the glass of the frame. As if someone had punched it with a fist.
    She heard a groan from the bed.
    “Chace?” Whitney called.
    Chace rolled over and placed his hands over his face. She noticed thin, red scratches on the back of his right hand. He muttered something unintelligible.
    Whitney forced herself to take her eyes off those scratches. “You gonna be okay?”
    Another unintelligible mutter.
    “I’m going to get you some water. I’ll be right back.”
    Melinda followed Whitney to the kitchen. “Can we leave now? This is creepy, being in some strange dude’s house.”
    “What’s he gonna do to us? He’s barely conscious.” Whitney looked into his fridge. It contained only a pitcher of water, a couple containers of takeout food, some wilted vegetables, a few beers, and a whole lot of Slim Fast. Whitney grabbed the pitcher and closed the door.
    “I’m not worried about that,” Melinda said. “What if he remembers just enough of this to say we drugged him and robbed him or something?”
    “What? That’s crazy. You worry too much. Even if something outrageous like that were to happen, he wouldn’t have a clue who we are or how to find us. If he remembers anything, he’ll probably be embarrassed and he’ll hope he never runs into us again,” Whitney said, heading back to the bedroom with a glass of water. She set it on the nightstand and looked down at him. His head had fallen to the side, his wavy hair across his face. He was fast asleep, his lips slightly parted. She had a sudden urge to run her fingers across them and took a physical step backward as if she might not be able to stop herself from touching him otherwise.
    He was out cold, lying there in his dark jeans, sweater, and even with his jacket still on.
    “Should we turn him on his side so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit if he throws up or something?” Melinda said. “He’s pretty drunk. I mean, maybe we should have taken him to the hospital or something.”
    “Oh, now you’re concerned.”
    Melinda snorted. “Yeah. If he dies, we were the last people seen with him.”
    Whitney laughed. “I think he’ll probably be fine. He’s just really, really drunk. Like he said earlier.”
    “Okay, then. Let’s get out of here.” Melinda walked back out into the living room. Whitney looked back and smiled at his sleeping form. One foot hung off the bed now, but other than that, he hadn’t moved since Whitney had gone to get the glass of water for him. He’d started to snore.
    She walked over and put his foot back onto the bed. She spread a throw blanket over him. She thought briefly about leaving him a note, but no. It was better to just go.
    She met Melinda, who was impatiently tapping her foot halfway out of the front door, in the living room. “Whit, let’s get out of here already.”
    “Okay, chill out.” After grabbing her purse from where she’d left it by the door, she followed Melinda out into the breezeway. They went down to Whitney’s car and drove back to Whitney’s mom’s house. Melinda was bunking with Whitney instead of at Uncle Larry and Aunt