“You know,” she says after a moment, eyes still on her screen, “you don’t have to be quiet all the time.”
I glance at her. “I talk.”
She hums softly. “You perform and...comply.” She finally looks at me then. “That’s not the same thing.”
I don’t answer. Shocker.
She locks her phone and sets it down, turning toward me fully now. “If you want to talk…you can. To me.”
I let out a breath through my nose, staring at the opposite wall. “About what?”
“Anything,” she says. “Or nothing. Sometimes that’s easier.”
I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny—because it’s absurd. Especially with her. “I don’t think you actually want that,” I say quietly.
Her brow creases. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because once I start,” I say, voice flat, “it won’t be pretty. And it definitely won’t make you feel better. Considering our history and all the shit you’ve done to me.”
She considers that. Then she shrugs, one shoulder lifting. “I’m not offering to fix you. I’m just saying you don’t have to disappear.”
Disappear.
I glance at her again. She’s still Adriana—composed, sharp, dangerous in her own way. But there’s something else there now. I don’t really care enough to ask her what’s changed. Not long ago, she was a raging, evil bitch. Now, she’s a little softer. Honestly, it might be because she’s scared. She’s just trying to survive, just like I am. It’s obvious that Nolan isn’t the big dog anymore. So I imagine that’s making her feel a little nervous.
“I’m going to disappear anyway. You should know that,” I finally say.
She gives me a look that says she knows better, but she lets it go. “Okay.”
Silence settles between us again.
She reaches out, hesitates, then rests her hand lightly against my forearm. “For what it’s worth,” she says softly, “I see that you’re still in there. And, um...” she trails off, looking away from me now. “I’m sorry for everything.”
I swallow. Part of me wants to believe her, but the rest of me knows better. It’s all self-preservation for her, I’m sure. Plus, beingheredoesn’t mean anything when pieces of you are already fucking gone.
Her phone buzzes a second later on the table. She doesn’t check it. I don’t either.
“I should get my guitar ready,” I say finally, standing.
She nods. “Yeah.”
I head toward the bedroom, then pause. I don’t turn around when I speak. “Thanks.”
I can hear a smile in her voice. “Yeah.”
But as I close the door behind me, I know the truth. Neither talking nor connection will save me at this point. All it does is remind me of what I’m losing. And how much easier it’s becoming to let it go.
Chapter sixteen
EMMA EASTON
I fall asleep snuggled beside my friends. Heather is curled close on one edge of the massive bed, Micah sprawled in the middle. He’s in the middle of the bed because Heather demanded an edge and refused to negotiate. Her reasoning has always been that she wanted the extra few seconds to run if someone broke in, and that getting caught in the middle was surely a death sentence. Micah was offended that she’d be okay with him dying. I just laughed at them, and then stared at the ceiling long after their breathing had evened out.
I wake sometime later with no clear reason why. The room is dark and still, lit only by moonlight pouring across the floor. The blankets tug slightly as Micah shifts in his sleep, his backwarm against my arm. Heather mutters something incoherent and settles again.
I ease myself out from under the covers, careful not to wake them, and pad toward the window. The terrace stones glow pale beneath the moon, ivy crawling along the edge where a small table sits beneath a pergola. I press my fingertips to the glass.
I don’t recognize the woman I was before Jude came back into my life. She feels completely distant now...convinced the world worked a certain way if you followed the rules. I try to remember what she cared about, what scared her, what she thought love was supposed to look like. I do know that no one ever made her feel even an iota of what Jude did.
