He sucked in a breath, a subtle nod. He heard me, but he didn’t like it either. He turned to walk down the hallway, but I had to ask something before he left, while I still had spunk left in me.
“Wait,” I said. He returned to the doorframe. His brown eyes sparkled in the light, and I hated how perfect he was. “Why are you doing this?”
He studied me for a moment, a surprised look on his face, like I should have already known the reasons why. But I had no idea. It didn’t make any sense to me.
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I love you.”
My heart thumped wildly, but I couldn’t move. He smiled, then turned away, disappearing down the hallway, the sunlight from the windows flooding the area he left.
“Fucking asshole,” I murmured. Who says they love someone at a time like this?
Someone who means it, I thought.
But I shook my head. I had to move on. I couldn’t do this with him anymore.
***
The collaring ceremony was exactly like I would have expected a wedding ceremony from Heather. It was an outdoor gathering, set in their backyard underneath Mount Charleston. A driftwood arch decorated with flowers was set over what I assumed was the stage, with a pedestal holding a pillow and a diamond rose gold collar. The kind of collar that didn’t have any clear way to get it on and off. A damned eternity collar. Back when we were teenagers, Heather didn’t know anything about kink; I had to tell her that yes, sometimes peoplelikedbeing spanked. And now, here she was, a slave getting ready to swear herself to her master.
Wooden chairs were lined up in front, mismatched, but rustic. Burlap cloths wrapped around the tables, appetizers and drink jugs stacked on top. I needed a drink, or ten. But I didn’t want to lose control of myself. I could save that later, when I had to buy supplies for moving when I didn’t want to move.
Grant kissed his mother’s cheek, and she beamed, a proud mother. He had his suit pressed and tailored, and it fit his muscles perfectly. It was hard not to drool, and even harder to act like I was still mad at him.
“I’m so happy he’s finally getting married,” his mother said. It was as if Zaid was her son too. “And Hazel!” she said, her eyes finding mine. “You look beautiful.”
She hugged me. I was embarrassed. I wasn’t used to this kind of gesture. I was wearing a knee-length summer dress, with flat sandals, a flower tucked in my hair, one I had stolen from the bouquet in the apartment’s concierge lobby. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, respectful without being overly obnoxious. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.
“You look gorgeous, Ms. Tremmel,” I said, hugging her back. Her silver blond hair was in a single loose braid, a modest lace blue dress flowing at her sides.
“Oh, please,” she said. She leaned into my ear. “Call me Mom. If you’re Grant’s date to the wedding, you’re practically family.”
Guilt flushed through me. Was I supposed to correct her? Would it break her heart to hear the truth?
“Mom?” I had never even called my own mother that. I looked at Grant to save me, but he didn’t notice. His mind was somewhere else.
“Cindy works too,” she said, patting my arm.
Grant glanced around, then said, “I’ve got to prepare for the ceremony. You two will be alright?”
“Oh, we’re fine,” Cindy said, patting him on the arm too. “You go on ahead. We’ll be snacking.” Grant’s brown eyes searched me then, waiting for an answer, and I gave him a nod. Sure, I felt awkward as hell, but his mom was so nice.
As he passed, he squeezed my shoulder. Why did he do that? The mixed signals were driving me insane.
Though I should have felt uneasy about being alone in the midst of Afterglow members, no one seemed to pay attention to us. Cindy limped along, talking about how Zaid was such a sweet boy. My brain couldn’t quite comprehend how she could equate sweet with an outright killer. A man who had protected her life and her son’s, yes, but he was still a man who had turned her son into a killer. She knew that, didn’t she?
“I do hope Heather is a nice woman,” she said. I perked up. She put another cucumber sandwich on her small plate and dipped into the bowl of trail mix. “She must be a good person if Zaid is marrying her. That’s a big deal to him, you know.”
I held back the impulse to correct her. Wedding or collaring, it didn’t matter what we called it. It was still a union between two people. “Heather is my sister,” I said.
“Oh,” Cindy paused, glancing up at me. “She must be a good girl then.”
Good girl? Those two words together like that, took me back to that night with Grant, seeing his fiery brown eyes as he held me, watching me quake in weakness from the ruler and the belt. Did Zaid call Heather a ‘good girl’?
Did it matter what they called each other? They were going to be tied to one another for the rest of their lives.
“I’ve gotta go check on her,” I said.
After I helped Cindy find a place to sit in the garden, I wandered through the open sliding glass doors into the house. I asked a few people where Heather was, and finally found her in a large bathroom. Makeup was spilled across the counter, and a few dresses and outfits were hanging along the large shower stall. Heather was in a hoodie and jeans, a chrome collar gleaming in the light, her fingers pulling furiously at a wand of mascara.
