I deserve the chance to be who I want to be, and having closure is the best place to start.
At least that’s what I was telling myself, until the moment Zane stepped into my aura. It’s like my soul is drawn to his. I may be nervous as hell having him in my space, but I’ve also never felt calmer. Which might have something to do with the couple of shots I had before he arrived. But it also might not, because there’s something about him that always made me feel that way. Even when I was pushing him away and he was telling me he was leaving, I felt a sense of peace that I’d never felt before—a mix between knowing we were making the right decision and that nothing is forever. Except when people die…which leads us back to now.
Why the hell would I tell Zane we needed to talk about Sierra? Sure, it’s not healthy for him to hold back like he is, refusing to say her name, but that’s none of my goddamn business. And it’s likely to lead to other topics that I’d rather avoid.
After placing the bottles of vodka and Sprite on the nightstand, Zane settles in the armchair while I close the door and slowly walk toward the bed, lining the glasses up next to the drinks.
Not wanting to get too comfortable, I perch on the edge of Jenna’s four-poster guest bed, shifting the lace curtain out of the way.
Zane watches my movements, then studies the room, a frown gracing his lips. “Is this yours?”
I laugh. “No.”
Before it was relegated to the spare room, this had been Jenna’s bed. She thought it would make her feel luxurious, but quickly discovered it wasn’t for her. She’s a light sleeper and said that she stuck her foot out of bed once and felt the lace brush against her skin, giving her a heart attack. After that, she was done with it.
I had no problem sleeping here until Cade arrived and told me it was fitting for a princess, knowing how much I despise that descriptor.
“The furniture is all Jenna’s,” I explain, keeping my tone light. “I don’t have my own furniture in LA.”
“What?” Zane frowns again, this time in confusion.
“It doesn’t matter, but our condo came furnished, so I only had to bring my clothes.”
I wait for Zane’s smart-ass response, and he doesn’t disappoint, only I wasn’t expecting the words that come out of his mouth.
“I guess that makes the breakup much easier.” He shrugs, hiding a smile.
It’s not at all funny, and way too soon to be joking about that, but still, for some reason I laugh without restraint, filling the room with my hysteria. “You’re right. My entire life fits in those four suitcases.” I point to the forest-green cases on the floor. “I’m free.”
The thought of that stills me, and my eyes flash to the bottle of vodka, immediately reaching for a glass. “Want a drink?” I ask, filling half the glass with alcohol before topping it off with Sprite.
“Easy there,” Zane warns, but I wave him off.
“It’s needed. I’m not a drinker, but this entire situation has led me to drink.”
“I think that means you’re not coping.”
“You think? Did my hysterical laughter not give that away?”
Zane winces like my pain physically hurt him. “In that case, let me join you. I’m the one that asked for it. But you’re going to have to let me crash on your couch. I don’t drink and drive. For obvious reasons.”
My heart jolts, and I lower my glass before I’ve taken my first sip. “What am I doing?” My voice cracks as moisture fills the back of my eyes. “This isn’t me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. But I know it’s been a long time since I’ve recognized myself, and if I’m being honest, since seeing you again…it’s like tiny fragments are coming back to me. Like I’m finding my way out of the darkness, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
My eyes widen over saying too much, and it’s not lost on me that Zane mentioned feeling the same.
“Blair, I—”
“No. Please don’t respond to that.” I knock back a huge gulp of my vodka and shudder when it burns my throat. Despite knowing I shouldn’t be using alcohol to solve all my problems, it feels good to numb the pain for a while.
Zane gets up and pours himself a glass, his vodka to Sprite ratio similar to mine, as though he’s going down in solidarity. “To baring one’s soul and living through it.” He raises his glass to toast, and I can’t help but giggle again.
“To baring one’s soul andhopefullyliving through it,” I repeat, a little less convinced.
“So…” Zane trails off as he sits back down, resting his ankle over his knee. “How should we do this?”
“Let’s go back to the reason you’re here.”
“Okay.” He nods, slowly lifting his glass to his lips, drinking the contents in one go. “Wow. That was strong.” He half speaks, half chokes. “I don’t think you should drink that.”
