Page 9 of Mercy & Malice

“Yes. Let’s go.”

Watching the playfulness between them gives me hope that forgiveness is possible for me and Micah after all. Yes, there’s still some tension between them but overall, there’re good. Even as we climb into the SUV, I find myself stealing more glances at them than I should on the short ride to Belgrave.

This year is so different from last year. That consisted of a party bus loaded to the max and going to the Quarter to eat beforehand, then hours of partying before we even arrived at the masquerade.

Cain hurries around the vehicle, opening the door as he helps me out since my dress is not the easiest to maneuver in. Once we’re walking up to the school, I whisper to Ivy, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. What’s up?” She senses the reason I hesitate, and she turns to Luca and Cain. “Go ahead. We’ll be there in a few.”

They don’t question why, thankfully, and walk ahead as I finally get the nerve to ask her, “How did you forgive him?”

Her gaze automatically fixates on Luca. “I’m not sure that I have.”

“Y’all seem so okay. You’re smiling and joking around. You should hate him—well, all of us, actually. But you’re here. How do you get past a betrayal that deep?”

Ivy reads between the lines. “Give Micah time. It was just a stupid game that no one should’ve been playing. He cares about you. We all did things we regret.”

“It wasn’t just a game to him.” Or me. Mercy was supposed to be my key to freedom. Instead, I created a different prison for myself that I can’t escape. Since Mercy ended, I still can’t get rid of the knot in my stomach. The same one that’s been there since the moment I decided to play.

“You’re right. It was more than a game to all of us. Even to Cain, who didn’t play. But it’s over now. Micah should understand the desperation to win better than anyone. And if not, then he doesn’t deserve you.” She reaches forward, fluffing the brunette curls that are draped over my shoulder. “But let’s just focus on tonight. You should reward yourself with a night of fun for pulling this amazing event off.”

We walk ahead to where the guys are waiting. Cain holds his arm out as I place my hand in the crook of his elbow. As soon as we enter the gym, I stop and admire the space. The combination of the dim lighting and décor has the place transformed into a winter wonderland.

“Oh my gosh, Brooke. This truly is stunning. I mean, I saw stuff as we worked on it, but now with everything together and everyone in their attire—perfection,” Ivy says.

“She’s right. You really outdid yourself this year,” Cain tells me.

“Thanks.” I admire the scene for a few more seconds. Callie had suggested hosting the masquerade at another location that “wouldn’t take as much effort to decorate,” but I knew having it here and putting the energy in was right. Yeah, a ballroom would’ve been walk-in ready, but I wanted something to keep me busy. And it did just that. However, I thought standing here, seeing what I helped create, would give me a sense of accomplishment or pride. Instead, I feel more empty in this moment than ever before.

5

BROOKE

The evening is progressing wonderfully. Nothing major has happened or gone wrong. Yes, we’re low on petit fours, but we have other desserts for everyone to enjoy along with beverages. The punch with gold flakes is a hit, and we still have plenty of it.

Last year we ran out, but it wasn’t because of an inventory problem. It was a Remy issue. He spiked it, and my mom made him dump it all out. His punishment was a suspension and being banned from all dances for the remainder of the school year, though he managed to sneak into every single one without Mom realizing. His playful demeanor kept everything fun and lively. Picturing him smiling is quickly replaced by the horrid memories of the night he died. My throat constricts as I unfold my napkin then refold it carefully before adjusting items on the table.

Why can’t I make it through one happy memory without despair sneaking in? Grabbing my glass of punch, I take a sip, wishing it was spiked.

Ivy returns to the table, and we chat as I spot Luca across the room. When I take a second glance, I’m stunned. “Micah,” I whisper, watching him as he keeps his eyes locked with mine.

He’s wearing the same suit and mask, but it’s not Luca. I know with every part of my soul it’s Micah. There’re certain little differences that allow me to tell them apart, the most obvious being something about how he looks at me. And I’d recognize that intense stare anywhere.

I quickly stand, bumping into the table as Ivy asks, “What’s wrong?”

I realize I’ve knocked over my champagne flute, so I reach over, grab a napkin, and quickly pat the table dry a second before I look back up. He’s not there. Did I imagine it?

Ivy is standing now, helping me clean the table. “Brooke, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I did.” I can’t focus on cleaning the mess, so I search around the room. “It was Micah. He’s here.”

It was him. Please let it be him.

Her movements stop before she starts scanning around the gym. “Where?”

“He was over there.” I point and head in the direction where I spotted him as Ivy follows behind.

“He was wearing a mask and suit just like Luca’s.”