And there, tucked in a yellowed envelope with my name scrawled across the front in distinctive black lettering, I found it.
CHAPTER 28
Sebastian
MID-MARCH IN NEW YORK WAS BRUTAL. ICY GUSTS OFwind howled through the streets, kicking up dirt and other things I’d rather not name. The skies were painted a dull, unrelenting gray, and everyone seemed surlier than usual as they trudged from home to work and back again.
It suited my mood perfectly.
I took the stairs down to my chosen bar for the night. I shook off a light dusting of snow before handing my coat to the hostess, who greeted me with a flirtatious smile that I didn’t reciprocate.
Her confidence visibly wavered—she didn’t look like the type who was used to rejection—but she recovered and led me to the back, where Xavier and Killian were already seated in a burgundy leather booth.
“I took the liberty of ordering you a drink.” Xavier pushed a glass of Scotch toward me. “You look like you need it.”
I took it without a word and downed it in one pull. After I was done, I signaled to our server for another glass.
My alcohol ban had exceptions, and the past two weeks had been one giant red exception.
Killian let out a low whistle. “What happened? Did someone piss in your food or something?”
“That’s disgusting, and no.” Although I would’ve preferred if someone had—not because I liked bodily fluids in my food, but because that was an easier problem to solve than the gaping hole in my chest.
I’d left India two weeks ago. Since then, time had crawled by with agonizing slowness. I’d ignored Maya’s texts and calls, but I didn’t delete them. They sat in my phone, waiting, taunting,daringme to call her back.
Knowing her, she was trying to make amends for how we’d left things, but I had nothing else to give. I’d laid my soul bare for the second time, and she’d stomped all over it, also for the second time. I was persistent, but I wasn’t a masochist.
I was done.
Our server brought over more Scotch and a selection of Cuban cigars, which I’d requested in advance since it was a designated smoking lounge. Killian and I plucked one each from the humidor, but Xavier passed.
“Sloane will kill me if I come home tasting like cigars.” He eyed me with curiosity. “I haven’t seen you smoke in ages.”
“Felt like it tonight,” I said tersely. I took a puff of my cigar, but the cloud of heady smoke didn’t do much to chase Maya’s specter out of my mind. Neither did the alcohol.
She was always there, haunting me. A persistent ghost I couldn’t exorcise.
I downed my second glass of Macallan, my jaw grinding.
Xavier and Killian watched me with varying degrees of concern.
“Okay, this shit is getting weird,” Xavier said. “You want to tell us what’s really going on, or would you rather brood like an emo asshole all night?”
“Second option.”
I wasn’t in the mood for psychobabble bullshit. I wanted to eat, drink, and maybe fuck. The bar was filled with beautiful women. I could take any of them home tonight.
But when I looked at them, I felt absolutely nothing. No lust, no attraction, not even a flicker of interest.
Unless it was Maya, I didn’t care.
It was yet another thing she’d ruined for me.
“Fine by me.” Killian reached into his pocket and slapped a deck of cards on the table. “I’d rather play for money while Laurent broods than listen to him wallow in self-pity.”
I flipped him off, but I accepted his poker challenge even though I hadn’t played in years.
Here was the thing about bad habits: they were hard to break and easy to fall back into.
