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My gaze slides down from the rotting beam to his. “What?”
“The four-leaf clover necklace. Did she win that off you too?”
But by the dry humor dancing behind his swollen eyelids, I know he already knows the answer.
Mattglancesupfromhis cell to the television just in time to see Ryan Gosling wading through the lake. “Shit,” he mutters, swiping the remote off the coffee table and stabbing the fast-forward button. “Close your eyes for five seconds.”
I do as I’m told. It’s pointless though, because we’ve been watchingThe Notebookon a loop for hours, so the kiss is burned into the backs of my eyelids anyway.
When it came on screen four showings ago, I let out a whimper so loud it woke Matt up from his nap beside me. He hasn’t let the scene play through since.
Keeping my eyes closed, I choke back the swell in my throat and pull the duvet I swiped from my bed over my face. “You’re such a good friend, Matty.”
He sighs. “Ah, we’re back in the feeling-sorry-for-yourself stage. You’re much more fun when you’re angry. Leaving scathing reviews onYelpfor all of Raphael’s casinos? Calling a premium sex hotline for three hours using his credit card? Great times.”
The last two weeks have been a tilt-a-whirl of emotions. On the highs, I want to burn down the planet simply because Raphael is on it, and on the lows, I want to curl up under this duvet and sob.
My plan to leave the Coast didn’t last long. I didn’t get farther than the Devil’s Cove bus station before Nico swooped me up. My guttural sobs filling his Tesla answered his question. I wanted—needed—to be distracted.
He took me to Hollow and put me to work at The Grotto, an elite casino buried deep within the cave network. It makes the Visconti Grand look like a bingo hall, and like most of the people above-ground, I never knew it existed. He sat me in his office, in front of a bank of security camera feeds, and patted me on the shoulder.
“You know every trick in the book, Little P. If you see any of our clients play dirty, you let me know.”
For the first hour, I stared past the monitors, disinterested and sullen. I believed Nico had done what desperate parents do to their annoying toddlers—dump them in front of a screen in the hope they’ll stop wailing.
But then I saw it. A roll of a wrist, a playing card sliding out from a shirt cuff and entering the player’s poker hand. My spine snapped straight, and Nico appeared over my shoulder. He rewound the footage and let out a dry chuckle.
“Good spot, Little P.”
Then he yanked on a pair of leather gloves and left the office. Only a few moments later did he appear on screen, dragging the man off his chair and out of view.
A dull thrill vibrated through me, then all night I stayed glued to the cameras, watching and waiting to catch another swindle in real time.
It was the best distraction I could have.
A week passed, my nights at The Grotto filled with CCTV and muffled screams coming from the next room over, my days spent in restless sleep at Nico’s cliff-side manor. When I rode the lows, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. But on the highs… Fuck, I wasangry.
I was glad Nico’d stopped me leaving town, because fuck that. It was exactly what Rafe had wanted, and I’d rather have carved my kidneys out with a rusty spoon than give that man what he wanted. The Devil’s Coast was my home as much as it was his. I was born and raised here too. Plus, I had friends who cared about me now.
And when I began to think of my friends, I started to feel sick with guilt.
After everything he’d done for me, Matty deserved better than coming back from his trip and seeing a goodbye letter on his punny welcome mat.
He was confused and a little grossed out when I came home and gave him a teary grovel, and that’s when I found out he wasn’t the only friend worried about me.
Rory, Wren, and Tayce had apparently been blowing up my phone, the one that lay shattered on my bedroom carpet. Apparently, they’d also been hammering on my front door and swinging by the diner late at night to see if I was there.
But they are one fewer degree of separation away from Raphael, and although I feel awful, I can’t bring myself to reach out yet.
Darkness seeps through the crack in my curtains, shading the stark white walls purple. When the movie credits roll, Matt snatches up the remote before I can reach for it.
“No. No more.” He flicks through the channels and settles on a World War II documentary. “Ryan Gosling’s abs have traumatized me. I swear; I’ll never eat junk food again.”
“Fair enough.” My attention roves around the living room for something to do. It’s too late to nap; Nico will be picking me up for a shift at The Grotto in an hour. “Wanna order pizza?”
Matt sits up. “Hell yeah.”
I swipe his cell off the coffee table and twirl Rafe’s black Amex between my fingers. I order two large pizzas with all the trimmings, plus every side on the menu.
