Page 124 of Unleashed By Eden

I swear to God, if it’s a neighbor, charity, or a Jesus thing, I’m gonna lose my ever-loving shit.

I wrench the door open.

“So you are alive!” Hailee says with a bright smile.

“For someone so tiny, you knock like a six-foot guy,” I mutter. “What are you doing here?”

Hailee pushes her way past me inside. “Came to pull you out of your black hole of self-pity. I saw the pics. Dameon heard the rest from Carter and filled me in.”

She stops in the middle of my living room and wrinkles her nose.

Does it smell in here?

I tug my T-shirt up and sniff myself.

Okay. Fair.

“I tried calling,” she says, walking over to the window and cranking it open. “But your phone’s off.”

She turns back to me, hands on her hips. “Go shower. You can’t go to Eden smelling like a dead rat. I’m on the bar tonight, and I need another pair of hands.”

“Thanks, but no.” I wave a dismissive hand. “I’m busy mourning Carter and my career.”

“I wasn’t asking.” She points—in the wrong direction—to the bathroom. “Move it. You owe me, anyway. You bailed on me at Le Jardin with zero warning, remember?”

I sigh dramatically. “Low blow.”

“Shower, Henderson.”

“Fine,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.

Under the hot spray, I try to come up with a good argument to get back to my salt-and-vinegar chips and sparkly Edward. I give it a solid ten minutes.

Nothing.

I got nothing.

I wash, shave, then wrap myself in a towel—one for my body, one for my hair—and step out into the living room.

Old me would’ve thrown Hailee out of the apartment on her ass and deadbolted the door. New me . . . is too tired to be that much of a bitch. Plus, she’s too sweet to be mean. She’s only trying to help by being a decent friend.

Hailee is on my couch, elbow-deep in my chips, watching my sparkly vampire.

My eyes narrow.

Hailee. Friend, I remind myself. Nice woman. Here to help. Do not stab.

She catches my look and grins. “You were taking too long.”

I snort and head to my room. I pull on soft gray shorts, a clean black tank, do my own makeup so I won’t have to face Eden’s stylists, and blow-dry my hair straight.

When I come back, Hailee clicks the TV off and stands, brushing crumbs off her dress.

“Let’s go, bitch.”

We pile into her car even though Eden is within walking distance. Apparently, tonight, we’re burning fuel and not calories.

On the way, she speed-runs every scrap of Eden gossip I missed while I was away. Ten months of drama crammed into two minutes, her mouth moving at warp speed. It does exactly what she intended—it yanks me out of my own head long enough to breathe without choking on the what-ifs.