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“Gary just texted me,” I sigh dramatically.
“What does he want?”
“He needs me to cover for Julie tonight.” I lay back down with a huff, my mood souring, having planned to do absolutely nothing this evening.
“I mean, you don’t need to say yes. You can just say you’re busy,” she adds.
“I know…but I need the money anyway.”
“Plus—” Lenix reaches over, her eyes still closed behind her giant sunglasses and squeezes my arm. “You’ll be working with yours truly.”
“Thank god for that,” I say. She's the only reason I haven’t quit yet. I’ve been sick of Gary’s shit for months now. He doesn’t know how to run a bar to save his life. “That place is such a shitshow.”
Lenix sits up, her nose slightly pink from the sun and pulls her sunglasses up on her head, revealing her deep brown eyes.
“I don’t know, I kind of like the chaos,” she says with a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
I laugh. “I know you do.”
Lenix starts to gather her stuff and stands up, pulling her summer dress over her light pink bikini.
“Come on, let’s go then. We can get ready at my place and have a few sneaky drinks before our shift later tonight,” she says as she brandishes her hand for me to take. I place my hand in hers and she pulls me to my feet.
After stuffing our beach bags in the trunk, we climb into Lenix’s car. Pop music blares through the speakers as she drives us to her place while I mentally prepare for yet another boring night at Sammies.
Chapter 3
Byzantine
“AndthenIcameso hard, I forgot my own name, I swear to god!” Connor barks out a laugh and takes a sip of his beer, raking a hand through his slicked back hair. We’re hanging by the pool at his place like usual, sprawled on the long chairs, my eyes squinting behind my shades against the sun.
I don’t even bother acknowledging what he says. He’s been giving me a play by play of his night—against my will—for the last twenty fucking minutes. And I’d rather tear my own fingernails off than to listen to any more of it.
“You finished?” I ask.
“Oh, I definitely finished,” he replies, giving me one of his quintessential cocky looks before laying back down in his chair, pleased with himself.
“You’re so boring to talk to sometimes,” he complains.
“Maybe you just tell boring stories,” I retort, running my hand over my shaved head and then taking a long swig of my beer.
“Fucker,” he mutters. “Remind me why I keep you around?”
He flashes a smile and I grin back at him. Our banter is cut short when Bastian storms out from the kitchen with a victorious look on his face.
“We got him!” he says, brandishing a stack of crumpled papers in his hand, heading our way. “I finally found the motherfucker.”
Bastian doesn’t need to elaborate who the motherfucker in question is—I know it’s Davis. The traitor who slashed my throat and left me to die in a dark alley. The scar on my neck itches with the promise of revenge at the thought. We’ve been looking for the fucker for the past five years, nothing but cold leads and empty results leaving us hungry for retribution. Especially me.
I spent weeks in the hospital after the assault, learning to reuse my vocal cords, nerves so damaged it made my smile permanently lop-sided. Days spent trying to speak, when I couldn’t even find the words to explain my near-death experience even if I wanted to. I was left uncomfortable in my own skin. My body feeling almost too heavy, awkward even, after the weightlessness of what I had undergone.
And what about Gabriel? How could I make sense of the visceral knowledge that I had been Anthony in another life and in love?
And it didn’t end there. I had seen a multitude of faces—and lovers. Deaths. Secrets. Love. An innumerable amount of lives. Different bodies. Different genders, personalities. But always the same soul.
It was so vivid when I first woke up and still is now five years later, the feelings lingering like a nostalgic perfume.
I never told anyone, even Connor, but it didn’t stop me from wondering. The question with no answer.
