The thinly veiled threat is filled with amusement, her eyes shining, lips pulling into a wicked smirk. Just looking at her now makes me realize how physically similar Arlo and Aria are; they could pass off as twins.
“Alright, alright, I get it.”
“Are Arlo and Dad inside?”
I nod, and she sighs, standing up.
“I’ll go see Mom.”
“Okay.”
She pauses, lifting a brow. “Are you coming?”
I blink. “Uh, why?”
“She’d want you in there, too.”
EIGHTEEN
The gloomy, dark sky stares right back at me as the soft flakes of snow fall all over the ground, covering it in the white, shimmering blanket. I went numb a while ago, and I can’t bring myself to go back inside.
I take a big gulp of the whiskey that I brought outside with me. It’s only about five in the evening, yet there’s no daylight. That’s precisely why I fucking hate winters. They’re too cold and oftentimes too depressing. Well, maybe that’s just me.
Blair is inside, baking a cake for Aria. She’s set to be discharged today, and all she had to do was convince Dad to be the one to bring her home. Otherwise, he’d never leave Mom’s side. But when it comes to Aria, he’d cave, even if for a little bit.
All of this is a fucking mess.
Blair getting kidnapped, Aria attempting suicide, and Mom being on the edge of death.
I take another big gulp of the whiskey.
Arson snuggles into my leg, purring softly. Since Blair and Arson reunited, Blair’s barely let the poor cat go. Now, I feel like I’m her favorite human, as I’m not the one snuggling her to death. Arson loves the snuggles, but only on her terms – when she feels like it. Even though the orange ball of fur seems to be complaining, she’s been sleeping the past two nights next to Blair — well, just watching over it. For a cat that values her nap time more than anything, she didn’t sleep a wink. She spent the two nights next to Blair, observing and protecting.
I bend down, sitting on the snow-covered ground, my thoughts drifting back to Blair. She’s hiding the complexity of her emotions well. She’s trying to bake the cake for Aria’s return, even making sure to buy her favorite drinks. The smile on her face is definitely fake, and when she thinks I’m not looking, I can see the mask slipping, the facade cracking.
She’s trying her best to remain strong, given everything that’s happened recently. I’m just worried she’ll start to blame herself, and worse than that, I won’t be able to convince her that none of this is her fault.
A deep sigh slips from me, and I take another big sip of the whiskey, emptying the glass. Disappointment rolls off me in waves, and I toss it aside, not caring where it lands. The sound of a bike entering the premises makes my eyes zero in on the person, only to spot Cove parking the bike, taking his gloves and helmet off, then taking steps toward me.
“You good?”
“Fine,” I responded, still not quite forgetting the way the bastard slapped me a while ago.
“You look like shit,” he says.
Something between a snort and a laugh slips out of me, and I shake my head. “You think?”
“I do,” he deadpans. “Let me guess, you’ve been drinking again?”
My jaw clenches, and Arson seems to notice the tension. She shakes off the snow off her fur, then makes her way back into the house, leaving me alone with Cove. My best friend stares at me, his eyes spotting the discarded bottle with ease.
“I do not have a drinking problem, Cove.”
“Never said you did,” he defends, raising his arms in surrender. “But you could tone it down a bit, you know.”
“You’re not my mother.”
“Speaking of her, any news?”
