11. Lyla

Ellie circles the couch, handing me a vodka tonic.

"We're drinking our problems away now?" I hitch an eyebrow at her.

She shrugs, dropping down onto the cushion beside me and crossing her feet under her. "Seems like as good of a plan as any. Now spill, why do you look like you've been run over by a truck?"

"Thanks." I roll my eyes, brushing my hair off my shoulder, but she's right. My mascara is smeared, and my hair is tangled from spending all day in bed. "I'm just tired."

Tired.

Depressed.

Ready to hide under the covers and never come out.

The opposite of my sister, who is practically glowing now that she's finally free of her deadbeat ex-boyfriend.

Every time I saw her these past few months, she looked like she was eating less and worrying more. It was clear she wasn't happy with him, which is why I think she barely spoke to me and didn't encourage me to actually take her up on the offer to move with her to San Francisco.

But since she moved back to LA, she's been smiling again. Playful like she used to be when we were kids. Her blue eyes are brighter, and her cheeks are rosy from our ice cream and pizza binges.

"You're tired? Really, Lyla?" Ellie narrows her eyes. "Reed already called me, so you can drop the bullshit."

Sinking back into the couch, I pull my blanket up to my chin and take a sip of my drink. "What did she say?"

"You mean… what has Sage said to her about you?" Ellie smirks.

"Sure." I take another sip. "That."

"Uh-huh." Ellie takes a drink and then sets her glass down on the table so she can turn to face me. "She said he called to ask how you're doing."

"That's it?"

"Lyla, Sage doesn't talk about you. Ever. Not even to his sister."

"I don't see how that's supposed to make me feel better." I roll my eyes, even if it doesn't surprise me.

It's been two weeks since I walked away from him at the clubhouse, and it stings as much now as it did then, but he hasn't reached out. Not a single call or text message. Part of me hoped he'd show up on my doorstep, but it's been radio silence. I haven't even heard a motorcycle idling on the street.

And I'd know. I've listened for one because I'm pathetic.

He probably moved on the second I cut things off, realizing how difficult I was.

"If you want to feel better, take another sip of your drink." Ellie glances at the glass in my hand. "I'm here to knock some sense into you. Because he asked about you, Lyla. The guy who doesn't open up to anyone—including his sister—asked how you're doing."

"Kane probably made him check in."

"Dad knows how you're doing; I already told him."

My eyebrows pinch. "You're talking to Dad again?"

"Yes and no." She shrugs. "He called to see what we're up to."

"How fatherly of him."

"Right?" Ellie chuckles.

"What do you think he's worried about?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. "He's the president of a motorcycle club. Being paranoid is part of his job title. I didn't ask what's crawled up his ass and bothered him this week. So stop trying to change the subject. This is about you and Sage."

"There is no me and Sage."

Those words sting. They must be made of metal because they cut me on the way out. A path of wounds where I keep throwing salt, and I'm not sure how to heal when the only person who makes it better isn't around.

"What happened between you two?" Ellie asks, reaching forward and resting her hand on my leg. "You still haven't talked about it."

I down another gulp and set my drink on the table, spinning my silver pinkie ring around my finger. "Remember when we made that pact that we'd never be like Mom?"

"Yeah."

"I broke it."

"You aren't Mom, Lyla." Ellie squeezes my hand. "And Sage isn't Dad."

"Not right now he isn't. But you know what the club does to those guys."

Ellie scoots closer to me on the couch. "Since when did you let your fear get the better of you?"

Since Sage Jackson grabbed me and rattled me around.

"I'm not scared."

"Aren't you?" Her eyebrows pinch. "Sage has only had eyes for you for as long as I can remember. He cares about you—and not the same way he cares about me. You're something to him Lyla. You can't just throw that away because you're worried he'll turn into Dad."

I tip my head back and rake my fingers through my hair, groaning. "I hate that he makes me question myself."

"I know."

"Let's say you're right." I look back at my sister. "Let's say Sage is different. Does it even matter? I don't want that world. I don't want that life."

"What? Being some guy's old lady?"

My face sours. "I hate that term."

Ellie leans in closer. "I think you hate it because you know that's what you were always going to be. Since the second you met Sage Jackson."

"I hate you." I shove her arm.

"You love me." She takes my hand again.

"I do." I spin my ring around my finger again like it can take me back in time. "I didn't want to be a biker's girl. I mean, look at Kane calling to see what we're up to because he's got a target on his back, and he knows it. Guys like Kane—like Sage—they have enemies, and we become their weaknesses."

"What are you saying?"

"It's better for both of us if I just keep my distance for now."

Ellie shakes her head, frowning. "I support you, but I don't have to agree with you."

"I'm still right."

Ellie opens her mouth to argue, but a knock at the front door cuts her off.

"What do you know, maybe he does care after all."

"It's not Sage."

"Stop being so pessimistic." Ellie frowns, standing up and making her way to the door. "Remember what Mom used to say? Have a little faith."

"Right before she left us."

"Still—" Ellie spins and her dark hair fans out around her shoulders as she walks to the front door.

Faith.

Belief.

I used to have all of those things. I used to trust what the universe had in store for me. Now, I don't know if I care anymore.