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Even on a day we planned for her. She fuels all the stories about us as if we’re the center of the universe.
Like now.
“My brother said he’s been talking to you more,” Jane says in an effervescent smile that sparkles her blue eyes. The brother she’s referring to is Beckett. Mud masks on our faces, we walk together to the poolroom inside the spa. Our next stop is the mud bath. She asks, “Have you two patched everything up?”
“Not exactly.” I pick at the dried mud on my cheek. It feels weird when I scrunch my nose. “I just call him more often.”
“You should call him today,” Jane suggests. “He might be feeling left out since he couldn’t make it here.”
I haven’t called him yet today. But I planned to do it after the bachelorette party. “Today is your day—”
“I don’t mind,” she cuts in. “Seeing you two be friends again would make me happy.”
It’d probably make a lot of people happy. Including me. But I’m not sure I can click my heels and go back to the way things were.
At her persistence, I say, “Alright, I’ll be just a sec. Don’t play Never Have I Ever without me.” I slip out of the poolroom while she heads to the mud bath. And I find some privacy in an empty massage room.
What is glaringly different: the temp bodyguard hovering around me. No Akara. No Banks. The temp is older, mid-forties, and buff like a pro-wrestler.
“I’ll probably be a few minutes,” I tell him.
He nods, scoping out the hallway.
Very professional, very vigilant. I’m pretty proud of Kits for finding a way to hire Michael Moretti. So far, from my perspective, the temp guard that Michael trained is really confident in his abilities. Which makes me feel safe.
I shut the door, and the temp waits outside in the hall.
Wearing a bathing suit and a towel tied around my chest, I hop up on the massage table. Full-length windows have eerie views of a mountain range. All rain and fog.
After dialing my cousin’s number, we start to talk.
“I wish I were there,” Beckett says. “A brewery sounds more fun than having to remind Leo he’s not Romeo for the fifth time. He still thinks he’s God’s gift to ballet.”
Beckett, along with all of Jane’s brothers, were invited to Thatcher’s bachelor party. But he had to pass because of his ballet schedule. He’s not the only one who couldn’t make it, though. Joana Oliveira had a boxing match in New York, so she’s also MIA. I’m a bit bummed that I can’t hang out with her again. When we were all stuck in Scotland, it was nice having someone else be on the “I’m not a Beckett Cobalt fan” train with me.
Lifting my feet to the table, I tuck my legs to my chest. “Maybe Leo is overcompensating for a small dick. You know what they say, big ego, little dick.”
He laughs. “That’s never true.”
I’m smiling. It’s weird I’m smiling talking to him. I’ve lost count the number of phone calls we’ve had since Charlie blackmailed me. Around ten? Maybe more. There have been days I’ve called him twice.
Though, he still hasn’t brought up cocaine or the cruel words he said to me. That topic is a shadowed figure sitting in the corner of our conversations.
“How’s climbing going?” Beckett asks.
I pick at the frayed strings of my anklet. “It sucks I haven’t free-soloed yet.”
“Perfection doesn’t happen overnight.”
My heart pangs, hand tightening on the phone. Those are words we used to say to each other growing up. When we were twelve and doing push-ups in the living room. When we were fourteen and watching our siblings go off to school, while we stayed back for homeschool. When we were sixteen and we declined invitations to parties. To trips. To fun things.
Perfection doesn’t happen overnight.
Being perfect is a fucking drain. I let out a sigh, “One day, we’re going to be old and gray and look at each other and ask, was it all worth it? And I hope we’ll say yes.”
Beckett takes a breath. “In that scenario, are we friends?”
“I guess so.” Lightning cracks outside, and I check the time on my cell. “Fuck, I have to get back.”
“I’ll tell Charlie you’ve successfully filled your obligation today,” Beckett says, trying to be casual but I catch a hint of sadness in his voice.
Pain swells inside my chest. Even if Jane suggested I call her younger brother, I didn’t feel like this call was an obligation. I don’t know when that changed, but I wanted to call him.
Before I can utter those words, Beckett says a quick bye and hangs up.
I stare at my phone for a solid two minutes before I pry my ass off the massage table. Leave it all behind.
Leave Beckett behind.
He hasn’t even apologized. We haven’t even really talked about what needs to be said. I try to mortar all the bricks back up between my heart and my friend who could hurt me again. A wall that no wolf—not even me—can blow down. But with each phone call, I wonder if I’ve built the wall out of twigs and straw this whole time.
