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It’s Avery.
It’s the ghost of Avery past in dark sunglasses and a dress that’s a little too big. Short, but with long sleeves to cover her arms. But I’ll be damned—she’s very nearly the girl she used to be. I know she’s not. I know she never will be. But she looks like it. Or maybe I’m just hallucinating the fact that she’s here. That wouldn’t be so strange, would it?
It’s only been a couple of weeks since we were in that basement together but the time sucker-punches me like it’s been eighty years. A thousand lifetimes come crashing down on my shoulders.
Is she real?
If she is real, then I am fucked.
I stick my head out the door, not missing the way she flinches back. Nobody’s in the hallway. If my lawyer saw her, then I’m still fucked. There are two elevators in this hotel, one on either end of the hall. If they both came from opposite directions, it’s possible that nobody saw her.
A curl of delicate perfume strokes my cheek, makes its way up my nose.
Fuck.
I yank her into the room by her wrist. Not the best idea, given how often she’s been thrown around recently, but I’ve got to get her out of sight. Right fucking now. Once she’s safely inside the confines of my hotel room, I slam the door shut and hook the chain. There—the one silver lining.I’mthe one to flip the lock in this room. Just me.
My heart’s beating too fast. She’s too close.What the hell is she doing here?
I stalk to the other side of the room to try and catch my breath. A jumble of thoughts shout in my mind, each clamoring for attention. My skin has gone cold, then hot. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.What is she doing here?I can’t look at her. It’s like staring at the fucking sun.
Avery doesn’t move. She stands there in the silence, watching me. After a long moment she reaches up and takes her sunglasses off. They hit something inside her purse with a plastic click.
Finally, painfully, I look at her. I meet her gaze, the tiny golden flecks in her chestnut eyes still the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen. She’s been crying, with the way black mascara trails have run down her cheeks, forming twin black tributaries. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she’s pale. She’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
It takes all that I have to drink her in without rushing over and grabbing her.
“Rome,” she whispers. Something dark flashes in her eyes. My heart rockets up into my mouth. Something’s wrong. And yes, I know a lot of fucking things are wrong. But something’s wrong right now. Avery is pale, trembling. She looks like she’s been in the rain, little beads of water still dripping from the ends of her long, dark locks. She chews at her bottom lip. Holds her purse too tight.
“You shouldn’t be here.” It’s the wrong thing to say, but I have to say it anyway.
“I’ve done something terrible,” she blurts out, and an icy wash of pure panic spills down over my back. It freezes my back, my legs, all the way down to my toes. “It’s bad, Rome. It’s really bad.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
AVERY
I’ve lost it. I mean, I’ve really fucking lost my mind. I got behind the wheel of the kind priest’s car and every sob I’ve been holding back for the last few months came pouring out. I’m surprised I didn’t wrap the damn car around a pole on my way from Colma back to the city.
What was I thinking? What have I done?
Once I’m parked in the loading bay in front of the hotel my lawyer told me Rome was staying at, my heart starts to beat like crazy.
I shouldn’t be here.
Rome represents everything that is the antithesis to me getting on with my life.
I should leave.
But my legs propel me to the elevator. They propel me down the hallway two floors up. They propel me to the door marked 206. And then, after I’ve knocked, they threaten to buckle and send me to my knees.
When he pulls me into the hotel room, his hand on my wrist burns. Not in a painful way. It’s more of anI’d like you to throw me on that bed over there and have your way with meburn.
He tells me I shouldn’t be here.
I don’t care.Here I am, Rome Montague.
He looks worried. When I tell him I’ve done something terrible, he looks worse.Wait until I tell him what I’ve done, I think.Wait until he knows what a selfish, murderous piece of shit I am.
