But hearing it confirmed by his own sister made it real in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
My friends’ brunch plans had fallen through, and my head was spinning with revelations, and I was alone in my apartment with my thoughts and no one to help me process them.
What was I supposed to do with this?
I was still staring at my phone, trying to figure out what to do with my suddenly empty Friday, when someone started banging on my door.
“RILEY.”
My blood went cold.
“RILEY. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. OPEN UP.”
The voice was slurred, angry and unfortunately very familiar.Damien.
“RILEY!” He banged harder, the door rattling in its frame. “You owe me money, bitch. You think you can just ignore my calls?! Imadeyou. Without me, you’d be nothing!” He yelled, and I backed away from the door, heart hammering against my ribs.
My chest was tight, a panic attack threatening at the edges, that familiar feeling of the walls closing in, of air getting thin, of my body betraying me at the worst possible moment. Damn. I shouldn’t have joked so much about going to therapy and should’veactuallygone instead. I could’ve had my cuckoo fixed by now. Well. Next time will be.
I forced it down. Of course this was happening. The universe just couldn’t let me have one nice morning thinking about a hot man. It had to send my garbage ex to bang on my door and just couldn’t wait until after coffee. Or a mimosa. No, it had to be now, while I was still in ratty pajamas with unwashed hair.
He was yelling about the royalties now, how he knew I was making more than I reported and how every single shit that happened in his life was my fault, but I just tuned him out. It was the same shit he always said. Things that weren’t true - which I only discovered recently, after believing them for years.
My hands were shaking as I pulled up my texts.
Riley:Hi. Are you guys perhaps downstairs?
Dom:Yeah. What’s up?
I was typing out a response, trying to figure out how to explain the “situation” without sounding completely pathetic, when I heard the lock turning. I froze immediately.
The spare key.The one I’d hidden under the mat for emergencies. The one Damien knew about because I’d told him back when I was stupid enough to trust him and hadn’t thought of changing its place.Stupid.
The lock clicked. The handle started to turn.
I grabbed the first thing I saw, a frying pan from the dish rack, and positioned myself behind the kitchen counter. If he came in, I’d... I didn’t know what I’d do. Swing. Scream. Both. Die, possibly. At least I’d go out fighting.
But the door didn’t open.
There was a scuffle outside. A grunt, the sound of someone being shoved against a wall hard enough to rattle the pictures hanging in my hallway, then footsteps, loud and purposeful, going down the stairs.
And then nothing. Blissful silence.
I stood frozen, pan raised, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After a long moment, I crept toward the door and opened it a crack to peer down the stairs. I caught a glimpse of movement in the alley beside the building. Damien, stumbling, his arm bent at an angle that looked uncomfortable. And behind him, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck like he was a misbehaving puppy being dragged to the vet...
Caelan.
My breath caught.What... how... why was he...
I closed the door, pressed my back against it, and tried to process what just happened. Caelan was here, and he had stopped Damien. He had Damien by the neck and was dragging him into an alley, a sack of garbage headed for the dumpster. I was grateful, confused, and, god help me, extremely aroused. This was so wrong.
My phone buzzed.
Dom:We handled the situation. Don’t worry.
We? So Caelan was friends with the tattoo guys now? Since when? How deep had he integrated himself into my life without me noticing?
I didn’t know if that was weird or sweet or both.
