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Lucifer, who had been lying on the floor in his usual spot, lifted his head as I wrapped a towel around my waist.
A second later, there was a knock on the door—probably Deuce.
I winked at Lucifer.Good boy.
I padded across the hardwood, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind me because I hadn’t bothered to dry off yet. I tightened the towel around my waist, then swung the door open and came face to face with Chandler goddamned Carmichael.
The fuck?
I tipped my head out the door, holding my hand out to feel the temperature in the air. “Nope. Doesn’t feel like Hell is freezing over.”
He pushed past me, brushing my shoulder as he stepped inside. “Fuck off, smart ass. I’m here to give you this.” He handed me a solid white envelope.
Lucifer growled. I rubbed the top of his head, letting him know it was okay.
Chandler chuckled, fucking chuckled at a goddamn devil dog. Every time I saw him, I became more certain the dude was more fucked up than I was.
I hadn’t seen him since the night he did me a solid and helped save my sister—along with the other four girls. I would always be grateful to him for that. It didn’t mean we were friends.
“What is this?” I asked.
My first guess? A restraining order telling me to stay the fuck away from his dad.
He leaned against the wall, feet crossed at the ankle, and shrugged.
“You don’t know?” I plopped down on my leather sofa.
Another shrug.
I stretched my legs out, propping my feet on the coffee table. “Right. And my dick doesn’t make girls cry.”
Chandler pushed off the wall. “If your dick is that ugly, that’s your problem. Just open the fucking envelope so I can leave. I got shit to do.”
“I never said it was ugly, motherfucker.”
He nodded toward my hand. “The envelope, Lincoln.”
“Fuck you.” I should have gotten up and poured myself a drink, smoked a cigarette, and made that dickhead wait until I was fucking ready. Instead, I slid my finger along the seam and opened the envelope.
Tatum Elaine Huntington
and
Caspian Rhys Donahue
Request the pleasure of your company at their wedding.
Saturday, the twenty-sixth of March
Two thousand and twenty-two
at two o’clock
A wedding invitation.My little sister was getting married—to a guy I was born to hate. But I didn’t hate him. How could I? He’d saved her.
Caspian saved Tatum the way I should have saved Lyric. But I was clueless. Selfish. Too wrapped up in my own shit to worry about anyone else’s, too lost in a cloud of blow and smoke to save myself, much less anyone else. And the one person on this earth I would have given it all up for ended up dead—or taken—because I was too weak to even try. Now it was too late. I was beginning to think I’d never know the truth.
I hadn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep in four years.Four years. She’d been gone four fucking years. It felt like a lifetime—a lifetime of wandering around like a lost cause.
“You gonna be there, or what?” Chandler asked.
Shit, I forgot he was even here.
I tossed the envelope onto the coffee table and sat up straight. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
