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Adira stiffens. “What about him?”
“Alec.” I sniffle. “He threatened... He said he would tell everyone that you pushed Christian off the roof if I didn’t do what he wanted.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” His voice is dangerously low as he untangles my hold on him.
I’m used to the more feminine tone he affects when he’s in drag or the happiness of his everyday baritone. The way he asks fills me with anguish.
“You didn’t think that was something I should know?”
“I was protecting you.” I wipe at my eyes. “It’s not your fault. What happened. And I couldn’t let Alec ruin you. I couldn’t. Just like I couldn’t let Rogue face off with Alec. Not if I could stop it.”
“Have you stopped anything, little girl?” Adira talks to me like I’m a child as he puts an entire island of space between us. He hasn’t done that since I was a child, literally. Despite the age gap between us he has always treated me like someone who could make my own decisions. An equal. “Don’t you think I should have been allowed to decide what to do about Alec in regards to Christian? Do you think I can’t handle my own problems?”
“I was scared you’d go to jail.” I exhale the words. “I was scared you would lose your business and the show at Mojito Bar.”
“Maybe I should go to jail.” He folds his arms over his chest. His eyes are brittle. “Maybe I should be punished. That’s what should have happened in the first place. That’s what I deserve.”
“No. It isn’t.” I don’t believe for a moment that he’s to blame for what happened. He was there and he was ashamed and confused and uncertain of who he was. That’s all. He wasn’t ready for everything he felt. Just like I wasn’t ready to open up to Rogue. And Alec used that against us. “You made a mistake. But you didn’t push him off the roof. You didn’t.”
“You don’t know that.” He pushes the words through his teeth. “You weren’t there. It’s not your history. You can’t just make decisions for other people. Do you think Christian isn’t living a life sentence? Because of me?”
Because of Alec.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I insist. “Alec… he—"
The pounding starts then. It makes me flinch. Makes the front door rattle.
“Ivy Love!” My name is hurled through the thick wooden panel. The cadence and depth is so familiar. My belly twinges. My heart flutters. “Open this door. We need to talk.”
Hope is a strange butterfly. I wanted to hear him so bad my ears got in on the act of trying to deceive me.
“Ivy, I know you’re in there.” The voice grows louder. “He called.”
“Rebel Maddox?” Adira asks. “They sound a lot alike.”
I nod. Tears are still brimming over my lashes and I scrape them away with my fingertips. My truce with Rebel has been uneasy at best. At worst he’s hated me all along. It can only be that much worse now. My voice is squeaky, barely there. “I have to get that.”
“You do what you’ve got to do.” The lines around Adira’s mouth and eyes deepen harshly.
He turns on his kitten heel and storms out of the room while l try to put one foot in front of the other. I’m aching and drained and somehow so broken inside that I feel like Alice when she cried all those big fat tears and almost drowned herself. And that isn’t funny either. The idea of drowning. Of being so weak. Of taking so many pills and washing them down with chardonnay because I couldn’t deal.
I wrap my fingers around the handle as Rebel threatens to knock the door in with his fists. It hurts so much… knowing Rogue hates me. That I broke us. Adira is so angry. Rebel too. I can only imagine what I’ll find when I open this door.
I’m stronger now. Rogue helped me find my worth. He helped me to see that I could fight, that I am a fighter, and I won’t ever throw that gift away.
With a sigh I open the door. Face my fate.
Rebel Maddox barges in before I manage to open it all the way. It’s not the first time, but it will probably be the last. He stomps across the living space, turns, glances around. He sweeps every entryway into the room. Heads toward the kitchen. “You alone?”
“No.” I trail after him, arms hugging my waist. My skin is still sticky under my dress from the chocolate and Rogue’s tongue. My breath catches twice on the inhale. It’s the last time he’ll touch me. I can practically still feel his tongue rasping over my skin, the point of it dipping into my navel. When I wash, that reminder will be gone. Like it never happened. It’ll be a few more days before my muscles forget how it felt to have him inside me.
“Actually, you are,” Adira announces, flouncing into the kitchen in a black ensemble that includes satin elbow length gloves andBreakfast at Tiffany’sshades. He collects his phone and wallet and keys from the counter. One hand holds the handle of a suitcase big enough to pack a week’s worth of clothes. Two weeks for anyone who isn’t Adira. “Because I am leaving.”
“Please don’t leave,” I beg my friend. It’s me. I’m the one who is ruining everything. “I’ll go. I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”
“Where?” He gives me a pointed look.
I don’t know. “I’ll work it out.”
