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I don’t so much as blink when I admit, “Because if I thought someone hurt you bad enough to make you bleed, I’d burn the entire world down.”

Does she understand why I can’t stand the thought of her picking her head? She wants to relieve stress? Cool. Journal. Do Pilates. Play with Onyx. Make out with someone, preferably me, but hey, I can fight. But don’t do anything that could produce blood. Unless it’s someone else’s blood. Since Kota clearly doesn’t know how to defend herself properly, that’s not a possibility.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again, just as sincerely as I did last night. “I had to know.”

“And staying with me after, that was…?”

Do I tell her about the nightmare?

I put the blame on myself by saying, “Your bed looked more comfortable than the hallway did.”

“You would’ve stayed out there all night?”

“I’d do a lot more than that for you, Silver.”

My head lowers all on its own. Before I reach Kota’s lips, she speaks, breaking the spell.

“I need to be alone.”

“My lighter and I will be out here.”

I don’t actually have a lighter on me but the implication is clear—if her findings differ from mine, shit’s getting torched.

While she’s in the bathroom, I put my shoes back on. I also do a bit of browsing. Kota doesn’t have a lot of clutter waist level or lower, only eye level and above. So I walk around, taking in her shelf of trophies and wall of pictures, except for the ones with Guy in them. Those I skip right past. I’ve seen enough of that motherfucker to last a lifetime.

When the bathroom door opens, I turn around and wait.

It’s only after she says, “We’re good,” I let myself breathe.

I like that she said we. I like it a lot.

“I never drink,” she admits.

Since I already knew that, I stay quiet as I trail her over to the walk-in.

“I don’t usually lock my door either, at least not when I’m alone.”

“You should start,” I tell her, startling her when she finds me standing at the closet doorway. “Why did you drink last night? Because you’re going away?” For a whole-ass summer.

I keep the accusation to myself.

Barely.

“I don’t even know. I guess I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it?” I only saw her after, I missed her during. Maybe she had a blast before she blacked out. Maybe she—

“No. But I wanted to try. Everyone always makes it look fun, the drinking, the dancing, the…letting go.”

“You wanted to let go,” I state more than ask.

Her nod is halfhearted. “It’s like they say, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

I shrug. “Not me. I beat everyone.”

Assuming I’m joking, she laughs.

I’m not though. Even if there was someone I couldn’t beat, I sure as hell wouldn’t join them. That’s a stupid saying and an even dumber notion.