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“Wanna fucking bet?” he dares, golden eyes gleaming.

I feel locked into his stare, barely noticing anyone else is even in the room before my roommate is barreling into Toren’s side. I wrap my hands around his wrist, barely able to hold it in my conjoined grip, eyeing Paloma as she gears up like she might knock him on his ass.

Oh god.

Chapter 28

Toren

Lily’s hands are tight on my wrist, pulling at my hand though I refuse to move any closer. Part of me wonders if I stopped resisting her grip, how soon would she pull my hand to the slim column of her throat.

But we’re already revealing too much—and now Paloma fucking Blake is privy to something I was desperate to keep to myself.

“Back off,” Paloma snaps, brown eyes fierce.

For just a moment, I pause, examining her. The protective stance, the genuine fear in her eyes. I try again to step away from Lily, but she keeps holding on to my wrist.

I’m not sure if Paloma knows that we know each other—and on a deeper level than passing by at the arena during practice. Can she see the threads of our history tangled up and wrapped tightly around us both? Can she see the one that feels like a leash perpetually pulled around my neck on a lead held by Lily fucking LaBlanc?

I’ve been careful, hesitant to draw more attention to my attachment to the little redhead currently holding my wrist, but it hasn’t been easy. Still, I know Paloma hasn’t seen me sneak into Lily’s room, so she doesn’t know the extent of our relationship.

It’s not a relationship. Get that romantic fucking notion out of your head.

Either way, this isn’t exactly how I’d like for Blake to discover any part of that history. I am well aware of my reputation, of the article titles out there about me, which makes me hyperaware of what this stance looks like.

“Stay out of this, Blake,” I order, my gaze locking back to the indigo blue eyes that are nearly swallowed up by Lily’s pupils. “This is between me and Lily.”

Lily has the nerve to look incensed. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Like hell I can’t,” I roar. An image flashes then, of her running in the dark, mixing heavily with the terror of further back blood-soaked memories. “You’re running around a busy-ass town with your headphones blaring!”

I’m not angry with Lily. I’m angry because she can’t seem to stop putting herself in danger, in a way that’s impossible for me to resist the call.

“So?” Paloma asks, defensive, arms crossed. My brain shifts focus for a moment, away from Lily to Paloma. To her clear defense of Lily, how ready she was to jump into the fray if Lily needed her. Something warmer settles in my chest, though I try to ignore it.

“So?” I’m still angry, though it’s calming down slowly. “Lily can’t hear out of her goddamn right ear. And she doesn’t wear her hearing aids.”

I can feel the waves of irrational anger and embarrassment wafting off Lily. She’s always been this embarrassed about her hearing, which is incredibly frustrating. She says it makes her feel different or “other.” I’d argue her inability to not bring up Vincent van Gogh in a conversation does that more than not being able to hear out of one of her ears, but she hasn’t listened to me once in fifteen years.

Still, I know I’ve hurt her by revealing this truth to Paloma.

It’s not intentional—and maybe it’s wrong, but it makes sense in my head. I don’t think a world exists where Lily will share this with Paloma, not yet. So maybe if I push . . . maybe that slip of vulnerability will let them grow closer. I know they both need it.

“That’s private!” Lily shouts, stamping her foot like a little bunny.

“Not when you’re running with headphones in,” I say, shaking her grip off me but keeping close to her body. If I’m honest, I don’t really care that we have an audience. Paloma has been witness to my fury before, seen me punch a few guys at a party or get in an all-out fight. It’s not my anger that’s making her hover nearby; it’s the girl she’s protective over.

Maybe Lily will get a friend after all.

There’s a strange bittersweetness to it all. Once upon a time, Lily and I were best friends—we were each other’s only friends, really. And it doesn’t matter that it’s been almost four years since I last saw her—the sting of replacement, the familiar burn of being left behind . . . it doesn’t hurt any less.

“You wanna run all by yourself?” I say gruffly. “Wear the fucking hearing aids.”

“She’s fine,” Paloma cuts in, edging closer but not between us. “She wears them all the time.”

A smirk pulls at my lips. Yeah fucking right. I don’t buy her words for a second. I wouldn’t, even if it weren’t for the shocked, awed expression on Lily’s face. Paloma is lying for her roommate.

Why does that make the warm feeling in my stomach only grow?