Chapter 32

The flight wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. I cried for most of it, making the two girls Dante had called in as flight attendants very uncomfortable. I couldn't stop the churning guilt in my gut. I don't know how he's going to act. I don't know what he's going to do.

I know he wants me to be happy, though I don't feel thrilled right now. Still, I know it's for the best.

Mom envelops me into her, holding me like she never has before, and I lean into it. Embracing the physical touch I need. My emotions are in turmoil.

"So good to have you back." She peels back, eyeing me. "You've been crying. You've got those little purple specks you get on your face when you cry."

Broken blood vessels. The ghost of a thought about how Slate would feel seeing them passes over me, and I kick it away.

"Can you take me home?" I ask her faintly.

She nods. "We're both going home. I am moving you in with me. I know you're too proud to ask, but going on that show, I knew it was for money reasons, and I can't sit back and let you drown. Not when it almost cost me you. You're all I have left."

I want to argue. To kick and rage about how I don't want handouts. About how she raised me to survive. But I don't have the energy.

I nod. "Let's go home, then."

She helps me tug my bags along toward the doors that open out into the humid, salty air.

I let it wash over me, wishing it was still and cold. Wishing I was curled up with a book next to Slate in the cabin.

If only we could pretend the versions of us while we were there are our true selves. Then none of this heartbreak would've had to happen.

It was stupid of me to get so attached to him, anyhow. He's a killer, and therefore, by definition, emotionally unavailable because he's fucking deranged.

"Want to tell me how you got to New York?" Mom asks as we drive along the twists and curves of the roads that lead us out of the massive airport.

I shake my head, eyes burning again. "I can't. Not yet."

She nods. "To do with a man, then. All stories that make your lip tremble and your chest burn have to do with a man."

I look over at her, and she gives me a sad smile. "And it wouldn't work out, you and this man?"

One tear topples over my lower lid as I shake my head at her again. "No."

"Awe, Brynne. Honey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed. Time will make it better. I promise. It'll still sting like hell, but it will get better." She reaches over and squeezes my hand, and I squeeze hers right back.

While I don't know if all love feels like his, I could tell her now that I don't think this ache will ever fade. But I don't have the fucking words.

It's too overwhelming.

* * *

It's barely beentwo days since I got home to Mom's, and I'm back at work. Alyssa is always eyeing me when I look around the diner. I know it's because I'm different. I know am. I feel changed. And not because of the surviving, or the fact I'd come back with blood on my hands, but because I think Slate changed me on a cellular level.

I'm not the same Brynne who could go out and party with Alyssa and take home some random man for a night of fun. I'm a sad girl, one who needs more.

"You're sure you don't want to come out with us? I even got Beau to come. It's my birthday, so it's for a good cause!" Alyssa whines. Even though she's a couple of years older than me, I often feel like the more mature one between us. Especially now.

I shake my head.

"Baby girl, you can't hide for the rest of your life. I know whatever happened to you hurt you, but you need to get back to life and remember who you were before."

I try to hide the wince at her calling me baby girl, as he did. I eye her, as if to say, you know nothing.

She purses her lips. "You might act older, but you're not. Heartache is something you can't hide, B. It's worn like a coat of armor. One that won't let you free until enough time has passed."

I look down at the silverware I'm rolling. I've been rolling the same one while she carried on and did the entire bucket alone. Which was kind of her. She's been picking up my slack all day. I can't get it together.

I'm just not the same girl I was when I left.

"I just can't yet, Lyss."

She takes my hands across the table, holding them firmly in hers. Her eyes are filled with a knowing look. One that says someone broke her heart and scarred it so that no other love would ever be the same. And it's the very reason she disregards men.

"You're happy now, right?" I ask.

She smirks. "Wicked little thing, you are. Always reading my thoughts as if I've splayed them out on the table before you. I'm happy enough. Happier than I deserve." She smiles a little sadly.

That'll be me one day. Because while Slate is a powerful man, I know I've cut him deeper than any of his knives ever could. For that, I won't deserve to be fully happy ever again.

"On second thought, I'll come tonight. I don't want to walk, though. Come get me?" I tell her, and she squeals with excitement.

"She's in?" Beau calls from the kitchen.

"She's fucking in!"

I shake my head as we clean up the silverware and close everything down for the night.

"Told you she'd come!" Beau shouts as he pushes through the doors into the diner.

I smile as Alyssa bursts out laughing.

"What?" he asks.

And I move closer to him. "I hope you planned on showering tonight before you go out." I wipe the ketchup that had already dried off his cheek, showing it to him before grabbing a napkin off the counter and cleaning my hand.

"Well, of course, I was going to shower. Can't go out smelling like a burger."

Laughter follows us out of the diner as we exit. My walk home is colder than usual. Winter is still lingering, and in the south, it's a wet cold that seeps down into your bones.

I tighten my sweater against the wind breezing off the ocean that's only just behind the line of businesses across the street.

"See you in thirty," Alyssa calls as I turn for my apartment. I've yet to clear out. Even though I've been mostly living at my mom's house, I couldn't bear to give up this part of my freedom. Even though I know I need to empty it.

Once I'm inside, I lean back against the door. I'm not ready to face the world. I'm not ready to face anyone. Alcohol can't hurt. It might help to let that wall slowly crumble. Maybe the old me can shine through the cracks drinking makes.

I shower fast and apply the barest of makeup, checking my phone to see if Alyssa is on her way.

I wish I had the other phone. The one I could reach out to Slate with. But I'm weak right now. Too wounded and sad. Red lights and the feel of everything Slate had done to me in The Red Door haunt my dreams.

If I had the old phone, I'd beg him to take me back. Beg him on bended knee to let me atone for running.

And it's not wise.

My phone dings just as I'm pulling my knee-high boots over my leggings, telling me Alyssa is just outside. I steel my insides and look myself over.

I even look different.

Slate had changed even the smallest molecules of me. There's a scar that runs under my breast where he'd gotten a little too hasty with his blade in the basement. And last night, I'd shamelessly rubbed it as I made myself come, and then I'd cried myself to sleep.

A knock sounds, and Alyssa's frantic voice calls out from behind it. "Come on, bitch, it's already ten!"

I roll my eyes and shut off the bedroom light. I slip my phone into my clutch. Ensuring I have the house keys, I slip out the door and lock it.

"You look cute!" she says, looking me up and down.

No, I don't. She's being generous. Instead of the glitz and glam I normally shoot for—so that I turn heads and have a pick of the litter to take home—I'd gone for an oversized sweater, leggings, and flat knee-high boots.

I look like I'm ready for a night in the cabin.

My chest aches and I rub at it absently.

Alyssa gives me her softest eyes, reaching out for me. "It's going to get better. And until then, you've got me."

I nod, thankful that I have her as I get into her sedan and we drive off through the cold, Florida night to obliterate the memory of the bearded, brutish Italian.

* * *

"No way!"Alyssa slurs, leaning closer towards me over the table.

I nod. "Yup."

Beau and all the people Alyssa invited left long ago. The last people lingering until close are me and her, and a few regulars.

"He took your fucking clothes? And then he fed you while you sat on his lap?" Her eyes are as wide as saucers.

I nod.

"And what did you do?"

I scoff, feigning a face of disgust, but then it breaks, and Alyssa dies laughing.

"You let him, didn't you? Oh my god! You did! You dirty little whore. I'm so proud. If I would've known, I'd have been living through you." She shakes her head and downs the rest of her beer.

I snort a laugh. "Really? You don't think it's like…"

"No," she cuts me off. "Daddy vibes are a total turn-on, girl. I'd have been kneeling so fast if he looked even half as good as you described."

Something in me preens at the idea that Alyssa isn't judging me. Though, it could be the alcohol.

I look down, toying my finger through the condensation on my half-full beer.

"Oh, fuck," she says, shaking her head and sitting back in her chair.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask, frantically checking her over. We'd partaken of far too much to drink, which meant the bartender would keep our car keys, and we'd be walking home anyhow.

"You love him, don't you?"

I sigh, closing my eyes before nodding my head. "So fucking much that it hurts. It's hard to breathe when I think about him. About the loss of him. Was I stupid for running?"

Of course, I shouldn't have told her who he was, but she's my best friend and I have to tell someone. And…she's my best friend.

Her eyes look up towards the ceiling as if she's looking for the words. She never minces her words, so I'm ready for what comes next.

"You did the right thing," she says. "He's dangerous, Brynne. And from what you've said, he's always teetering some dark edge. That won't get better. If anything, it'll get worse."

Part of me shatters. The part that wanted her to tell me I was being an idiot and that I should go get my man.

When I meet her eyes, there's something unspoken floating in them.

"What?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "It's just…"

I've never seen her lost for words. So, it fills me with trepidation.

"Out with it." I slam my hand on the table, and she smiles.

"It's just that love isn't always the wisest decision, is it? I feel like something about love makes us stupid and uncaring, wild almost. You know? So, don't take my opinion as set in stone. Because I'll love you no matter what. As long as next time you leave home, you take your damned phone. Or better yet, take me with you!"

I laugh, and the bartender calls the last call.

"One for the road?" I ask.

She nods.