Nash cracks his neck, finally moving. “Where is she?”
“With Ruby. Frankie said all the girls are up in her room, drinking and talking. Darla’s the only one not there. Still recovering.”
I glance at East, and he meets my eyes. Just a flicker, but it says enough. Darla. His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking with the strain of holding something in. Worry. Raw and unfiltered. Not because of the past—he’s never once thrown it in my face. But because she matters now.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.
Knox sighs. “Then we better go get her.”
I take a step forward, then pause. My chest aches, not from the fight, not from the storm brewing around us, but from the thought of her hearing that name. Hearing what her father did. What her mother became.
A whisper flickers at the edge of memory. A line she once sang under her breath: born from absence, not from grace.
“She’s going to hate me for this,” I mutter.
Nash’s voice is steady. “I’m pretty sure she’s past that.”
East adds, “But she still trusts you enough to break.”
Knox gives me a look. “So go be the one she breaks in front of.”
I nod once. Then turn and head upstairs, each step heavier than the last.
Chapter 36
Candace
Rubyishalfwaythroughone of her revenge tales—grinning, dramatic, practically glowing with mischief. The laughter buzzes through the room, crackling through the air with static energy. Loud, unruly, safe. Wine sloshed, popcorn flew, and for once, the weight in my chest let go. Just a little.
“No, listen,” she says, leaning forward, eyes sparkling. “We broke into Darla’s closet. Her closet. You know, the sacred one? Where the glitter boots live? Sloane distracted the night nurse, and we slipped into Trent’s room on a stealth mission we named Mission: Immasculate.”
Silence.
She blinks, then waves her hands. “You know, because emasculate… but impossible? Immasculate? It was brilliant. Don’t look at me like that. I stand by it.”
Sloane groans into her wine. “You really thought that was gonna land, huh?”
“It did in my soul,” Ruby says, dead serious. “Which is where the best jokes live.”
Sloane snorts, tossing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “It was my shift. Trent was all drugged up and pitiful. Still had his IV and his little ‘I survived getting my dick shot off’ blanket tucked under his chin.”
Frankie grins over her wine glass. “He looked neutered. Cat-level neutered.”
“We put the boots on him,” Ruby continues, practically vibrating. “A feather boa. And some fake lashes Sloane snuck out of the pediatrics unit.”
“Oh,” Sloane adds, “and I redrew his catheter label to say Princess Tinkles.”
I choke on my drink. Lemon wine fizzed in my throat, the sweet sting making my eyes water as laughter stole the air from my lungs. My cheeks ached. It felt… good. Too good. Undeserved in a way I couldn’t name. The kind of joy that felt fragile, always one breath away from being torn apart.
“No, no,” Ruby says, tears streaming now. “The best part? The card. I drew Trent getting wheeled into the underworld by glitter demons. It’s taped above his bed. Signed by the entire nursing staff. Sloane made it happen.”
“I work hard,” Sloane says solemnly. “And I play harder.”
Frankie cackles into her glass as Sloane flings popcorn at her head. The energy in the room sparks, chaotic and weirdly tender, a campfire shared between bruised warriors. I hum under my breath—an old melody I didn’t mean to summon, one I hadn’t written down yet. I cut it off before it grew legs. They didn’t need to know about that piece of me.
Laughter cracks across the room, unfiltered and free. I wish Darla was here, but she’s still recovering. For a second, everything felt light. Warm. Safe.
I lean back against the couch, eyes tracing the crooked string lights above us, the cheap bulbs casting soft amber halos. It smells like buttered popcorn, old upholstery, and wine. Not perfect. But close.
