“What?” I demand, looking between them.
“You sent your girlfriend to meet your ex in a bathroom,” Remus states flatly. “And let me guess, you didn’t explain who Tony was. And you’re confused why she’s pissed?”
“Tony’snotmy ex,” I protest, bewildered by their reaction. “I’ve never even fucked her. She’s just a contact. A valuable one.”
“A female contact you have a history with,” Rafe corrects, his voice deadly calm. “Who you call by a nickname. And you’re completely oblivious to why this might be a problem?”
Put that way, it does sound… not great.
“You’re an idiot,” Rafe announces with finality.
“A colossal fucking idiot,” Remus agrees.
“Fuck.” The word falls from my lips like a prayer. “I need to fix this.”
“Flowers,” Remus suggests. “Women love that shit.”
Rafe scoffs. “Flowers won’t fix this level of stupidity. You need to grovel.”
Enzo raises his glass in a mocking toast. “To Matteo’s first relationship crisis. May he survive it with all remaining body parts intact.”
I flip him off as I down the rest of my drink. My mind’s already racing with how to fix this, how to make Raven understand that she’s not just a tool, not just a means to an end.
She’s the chaos to my fire, and I’ll burn down the world before I let her slip away.
Chapter 29
Raven
Iscrub at a wine stain on my counter with such violence you’d think it personally insulted my mother. Piper sits on my couch, legs crossed, watching me with a precise, surgical patience that makes me want to throw the sponge at her head.
She hasn’t moved since I started cleaning hours ago, just tracked me with those green eyes as I’ve frantically erased evidence of my breakdown.
All the empty bottles are now lined up for recycling, mascara-stained tissues crammed into the trash, clothes folded and tucked away like nothing ever happened. As if cleaning my apartment will somehow clean up the mess I’ve made of everything else.
“You know,” I say, voice sharp with false brightness as I attack another stain. “Most friends would help clean up. Or at least offer.”
“Real friends wouldn’t,” Piper volleys. “And the best ones don’t enable procrastination.”
I snort, tossing the sponge into the sink with a wet slap. “Big words from the woman who once helped me hide a guy’s clothes on a roof because he said my ass was ‘decent.’”
“That was justice, not avoidance.” Her mouth quirks up at one corner, then settles back into a neutral, therapist-like expression. “Lee, it’s almost two in the afternoon. I’ve been here since seven this morning. As your best friend, I’m not helping you procrastinate. If you don’t start talking soon, I’m leaving.”
The ultimatum lands like a punch to my solar plexus. I deflate instantly, shoulders slumping as the frantic energy drains from my body. My legs feel too weak to hold me up, and I stumble over to the couch, collapsing next to her.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I confess, staring at my hands. There’s a pink line around my ring finger from where I’ve been twisting a rubber band I found while cleaning.
“The beginning is traditional,” Piper suggests, not unkindly.
I laugh, the sound strangled and wet. “Right. The beginning.”
Taking a deep breath, I feel something shift inside me. Like unpinning a bulletin board and watching weeks of carefully secured memories avalanche to the floor.
“Let’s see… I slept with this guy and stole his lighter. Then I dipped out and intended never to see him again. The end.”
“That’s not a crisis, Lee. That’s most weekends for you, isn’t it?”
“It was engraved.” The confession burns my throat. “And he’s not just any guy. He’s…” I swallow hard. “He showed up at my apartment after midnight eleven days later. Broke in. Told me I owed him a favor.”
