“I’m trying to be respectful,” I whisper.
“And failing,” he says. “You’re onlysucceedingin being annoying.”
“You don’t want me to touch you,” I tell him. “You hate me, remember?”
His answering sigh is heavy. Then he grips my wrist and tugs me onto my side until my chest touches his back. “I’m too tired for more drama tonight,” he says.
Some of the tension leaves my body.
I’m exhausted—my insides scraped raw from the helpless fury that consumed me during the fight. Sometimes the heat of anger is comforting, but tonight it burned me, and I’m too wrung out to lie to myself.
The others fall asleep, their breathing deep and steady. Except for Ciprian.
There’s a lot I need to say to him. I just don’t know how.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “About using Sheena against you. I understand what she means to you now, but even if I didn’t, even if she was a total bitch, it was wrong of me. Cruel even. Celine and Luca told me it was. I didn’t get it then. Everything was out of control, and whenever I imagined trusting you with their safety, my body went ballistic.”
He doesn’t respond for so long that I wonder if I’m talking to myself.
“You can’t force trust, Alistair. You either trust me or you don’t.” Ciprian sighs deeply. “Too much has happened. It may be too late to fix us.”
He’s telling me we aren’t friends. That we’re too broken to be salvaged, but my stomach leaps when he says “us.” It doesn’t understand the context, only that it likes hearing him lump us together.
It makes me brave, or desperate, or dumb—maybe a combination of all three—because I inch closer to him, tighten my grip onhis waist, graze my nose against his damp hair, and whisper, “I hope not,” in his ear.
Ciprian doesn’t respond.
But he doesn’t shove me off the bed either.
I tell myself it’s a good sign.
I wake to a low, pained groan.
“Hey, Luca,” Ciprian whispers. “Easy there, you scared us.”
“I-is everyone?—?”
“Right here. We’re all here. Safe.”
My arm is still slung around Ciprian’s waist. I stretch my hand out to touch Luca. His skin is warm and smooth. Alive. My gut pinches at the memory of the blood, his injury, and the empty, endless nothing where his heartbeat should have been. My fingers crawl across his chest until I can feel the steady thump.
“Ali?”
“You need to rest,” I whisper.
“Celine,” Luca gasps. “Where’s Celine?”
Delicate, strong fingers lace with mine over his heart. “I’m here, Luca.”
His chest rises and falls beneath our hands as he releases a puff of air. “Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Am I hallucinating or are Alistair and Ciprian spooning?”
Ciprian groans, and I brace for a shove. “It’s cold in here,” he says.
“Ah,” Luca says. “You’re cuddling for warmth. Makes perfect sense.”
