She lowered herself and sat beside me, wrappingher arm around my shoulders with a sigh. “Honey, I totally get it. This has got to be a total mind fuck for you. But you have to trust that Razor will keep you safe.”
“I don’t understand why I keep self-sabotaging. I see what everyone’s doing for me, but I can’t seem to get past the ‘thing,’ you know?”
“Yeah, I get it. Our brain makes up narratives. It fucks with us.”
“I can’t sleep, I don’t eat... well, anyway.” I pressed my palms to my temples. “I miss him like I’m missing a limb, and yet, I can’t stop myself from pushing him away. It’s totally irrational.”
“It’s not irrational. It’s called trauma.”
“I’m sorry I’ve said unkind things about your friends.”
“I forgive you.” She smiled. “Come on, let’s go see what Maisie’s cooking. I’m starving and she’s the best cook I’ve ever met.”
I nodded. “Let me just get myself together and I’ll be right there.”
Katie gave me a squeeze. “Okay, honey. I’ll pour you some wine and have it waiting.”
“Thanks.”
Katie headed back up the stairs and I gave myself an internal lecture.
* * *
Razor
I limped into Hatch and Maisie’s home, my leg on fire, which, let’s be honest, wasn’t a surprise becauseI probably shouldn’t have taken my fuckin’ cast off so soon, but the feeling of having my bike back under me? Fuckin’ worth it.
I closed and locked the door behind me and the familiar scent of jasmine hit my nose and I frowned. But that was crazy. There was no way.
I headed back to the great room and stalled.
Apparently, there was a way.
“What the fuck?” I hissed.
Five heads turned my way. Hatch, Maisie, Katie, Buzz... and Waverly.
“Hey, buddy,” Katie said, a shit-eating grin on her face.
“Why is Waverly here?” I demanded.
Maisie stood and made her way to me, kissing my cheek. “Be nice. Do you want dinner?”
I nodded, and she walked into the kitchen, pulling containers out of the fridge.
“Hatch,” I continued as Waverly stared at me like a deer caught in the beam of headlights.
“Think of it like those—” Hatch turned toward the kitchen and asked, “Babe, what are those fuck books Darien writes called?”
“She writes all kinds.”
“Like, the ones where they’re stuck together and shit.”
“Forced proximity?”
He turned back to me. “Think of it like a forced proximity romance novel.”
“This ain’t no fuckin’ romance novel.”
