Atone.
I let the word hang in the air as an image floated through my memory—the dark-haired woman I’d seen when I’d taken Asher’s soul. The immeasurable pain I’d felt as I’d watched her die through Asher’s eyes.
I wondered if Emilio knew about that—if Asher had ever talked about her. I wanted to ask him, but no matter what Asher had said to me tonight, deep down I still believed he was my friend. At the very least, he deserved my respect. It didn’t feel right to bring up the story of the woman with anyone but Asher. In fact, it didn’t feel right to bring her up at all.
“I’m not saying I want him to suffer, Emilio,” I said, softer this time. “But I didn’t sign up to be his emotional punching bag.”
“I know. I suspect Asher knows that, too. And on the off chance he forgot, I’m sure Ronan is reminding him of that right now.”
I bit back a smile. Not that I wanted anyone to fight my battles, especially with the infuriating incubus. But when it came to me, Ronan’s overprotective nature ran deep. I could only imagine the earful Asher was getting right now.
I almost—almost—felt bad for him.
“Emilio?”
“¿Sí, querida?”
“Thanks for the brownies. And, you know—the rest.”
“You’re welcome for the brownies. And, you know—the rest.” Emilio reached across the blanket and squeezed my hand, his gentle laughter fading into a sigh. “Actually… There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Gray.”
The tenderness in his voice made my heart go soft, and the Tarot card inside my pocket suddenly felt warm and heavy.
“Sophie,” I breathed, and he tightened his grip on my hand.
An image of her danced across my vision, and I allowed myself to get swept up in the random memory. They often came like this now, unbidden but not unwelcome, and each one felt like a treasure washed up on the shores of my heart, just for me.
I knew what Emilio was going to ask me about, but I wasn’t ready. Not yet. I just needed this one last chance to remember her as she was—vivacious and alive and crazy and incredible and so full of life, she almost seemed immortal.
“Wait,” I whispered, closing my eyes as I tumbled headlong into the memory…
“Um, Sophie? Do I even want toknowwhat’s happening in here?”
I’d just gotten home from the grocery store, and I found her in the living room with her hands planted on the floor, her ass bobbing up and down to some kind of nightmare bubblegum pop music blasting from her laptop.
“I’m teaching myself how to twerk.”
“You’re a few years late forthatcraze.”
Sophie stood up and shook her head, her red ponytail swinging in time with the music. “Twerking is timeless. Put that stuff down and get over here.”
“I’m… not really in a twerking kind of mood right now.”
“That’s the beauty of it, Gray. Twerkingautomaticallyputs you in a twerking kind of mood. It’s very meta.” She waved me over and cranked up the music, and I joined her on the makeshift dance floor, caught up as always in the tide of her crazy.
“Like this?” I asked, swerving my hips. I couldn’t help the smile that broke across my face.
“That’s it! Get it, girl!” She clapped along with the beat, and it wasn’t long before I was following her lead, the two of us working it for all we were worth, laughing our asses off the entire time.
It wasn’t long before we brought alcohol into the mix, rearranged the living room furniture to make a temporary dancehall, made a playlist we dubbed “S&G’s Twerkalicious Beats,” and recorded our own dance video.
“And this,” I said to her just before we finally passed out, “better not ever see the light of day.”
Sophie winked. “No worries, Gray. Your twerkaliciousness will remain forever our dirty little secret.”
I opened my eyes and sucked in a shuddering breath, pressing a hand to my pocket where the Page of Cups still sat.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, more to myself than to Emilio.
