She doesn’t hate me. Well, not the real me. But I respect that she never changes her mind about a thing.
The meeting offers no real answers.
Rippley hangs back. I tell Eric I’ll meet up with him later.
“Got a second?” he asks.
“What’s up?”
He rubs his cheek. “The pages from JFK’s desk… the stuff about…” He exhales. “Do you believe what was written about the Divinities and a possible imposter?”
What the fuck am I supposed to make of that?
“We don’t have much to work with. I’d say we can’t afford to be careless.”
“Yeah. What about the part where an imposter will pretend to be sick… or weak… frail… how did it go?”
“Do you have suspicions about something?”
Rippley keeps himself distant from us. I’m probably the closest to him. He lost his mother to cancer, and his younger sister is disabled. He’s not very trusting.
He bites his lip, his face flushing. “Uh…”
“We don’t have time to second-guess ourselves.”
“It’s just… I think I was lied to. Bizzy Ahrens told me she’s…” He paces in front of me, like he’s debating whether he should say it out loud. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
He’s a House of Eights member. We don’t keep secrets for outsiders.
“No. You obviously want to tell me.”
“Hart… she said she’s sick, dying. But JJ and Rett… they’re both dating her and don’t know a thing about it. She only started dating them after Liz Timms began hanging around. This is going to sound crazy, I’ve been having these dreams…”
He goes on to describe the same dreams Eric, Masaki, and I have had.
“Thank you for telling me. For now, don’t say anything to JJ or Rett. They’ll only think you’re jealous.”
“Are you sure? What if—”
“I’m sure. And I think we need to do what House of Eights does best.”
“What’s that?” His face pales.
“Declare war on Bizzy Ahrens.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bizzy (Elizabeth)
Shhh. My brain is closed.
It’s easy to pretend everything will be okay. That I’m healthy, that I have a long life ahead of me when I’m spending time with JJ or Rett.
To live happily in the moment.
Rolling over, I wrap my arms around JJ, my face pressed into his back. “Good morning, love.” Laughter bubbles up at Hobey banging his wooden spoon against the headboard.
This man has no business being this hot.
