16. Mira

16

MIRA

"First, you hire a full-time bodyguard for me so I can't even use the restroom without it being logged somewhere?—"

"Exaggeration," Zane declares from the other end of the phone line.

"—and now, you want me to gallivant around the city?" I groan. "I can't keep up."

That's true in more ways than one. Between Evan checking in on me approximately eighteen thousand times per day— on Zane's orders, Evan reminds me each and every time—and my friends not-so-casually "being in the neighborhood" on a daily basis, I'm exhausted. My social battery, already unnaturally low, is drained.

"I think it would be good for you."

I want to ask what he means by that, but a quick glance down at myself answers the question for me. I'm wearing Zane's boxers and doing a Sudoku puzzle on "Expert" level on my phone.

Maybe, just maybe, I need to get a life.

"One truth per day?" Zane suggests, charging ahead with his before I can respond. "I did not want to go back to practice and leave you alone all day, but being back with the team has been nice. I've always loved hockey and it feels good to do something I love."

"You do something you love almost every night," I childishly grumble.

I know Zane is still having nightmares, but when he finds me in the middle of the night and pulls me close, I don't mention it. We both need the comfort more than we're willing to admit.

Zane laughs. "And I'll do it again tonight— after you go out for lunch with your friends and enjoy yourself."

I sink down into the couch. "I don't even know what I'm going to wear."

Zane hums, thinking. "The green dress with the white flowers," he decides. "The one with the ties on the shoulders."

I can't bite back my smile. "You like that one?"

"Enough to rip it off you with my bare hands."

A shiver moves down my spine at the promise in his voice. Suddenly, I'm ready to get the hell out of Dodge.

If only so I can hurry right back.

"Zane said he called ahead to the restaurant so we'd have a private room." I study the cafe through the tinted window of Evan's car. What there is to study, anyway. The shop is narrow and wedged between two comically large buildings. "This place looks tiny. There's no way they have private rooms."

"No, probably not," Taylor agrees. "But Rachelle chose this place because it's tiny. If anyone we don't like comes in, we'll know it."

"And I can see the entire restaurant from here," Evan points out. "I won't move from this spot."

"But you're double parked."

He chuckles. "I dare a meter maid to try making me move."

I blow out a breath. This seemed like a bad idea back at the condo. But Zane wanted me to try and I wanted to pretend that I'm getting better. Now that I'm here, it feels like the world's worst idea. Being here—exposed and without Zane—is "I know we're in a horror movie, but maybe we should split up" kinds of stupid.

Dante hasn't made a peep since the day he broke down my apartment door and I fled down the fire escape. I could take that silence as a good sign. Maybe he doesn't know where I am or he's given up.

But I know what it really is: the calm before the storm.

He's lurking in the shadows somewhere, watching me. He's waited seven years—why not a few more weeks? All he has to do is wait for me to make myself vulnerable.

And here I am, playing Marco fucking Polo with a man who wants to kill me.

Taylor tugs on my arm. "Come on, Mimi. We're here, I'm starving, and Rachelle said this place has a caprese sandwich that is to die for."

My mouth falls open. "You did not just say that."

"Say wha— Oh my God!" She swats at me. "Don't be ridiculous. You are not going to die!"

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Come on." She drags me across the backseat. "Wait for us here, Evan. We'll be back in an hour."

Evan gives her a salute. I glare at him for taking her side before Taylor slams the door closed.

The air is warm and a soft breeze toys with the hem of my dress. Even if this is a stupid idea, it feels nice. Then a sudden realization hits me: this is the first time I've been outside in a week.

I run through the last seven days in my head, and yeah, sure enough, the math is correct. I've taken the elevator down to the parking garage to load Aiden up for school, but we use the car drop-off line when we get there. I don't have to get out of the vehicle at all. Then it's back to the condo, where I workout on the first floor and spend the rest of the day inside Zane's unit. I haven't even been on the balcony because I was worried my brother might snipe me.

Last I knew, he only had a BB gun and a slingshot, but better safe than sorry.

A cloud floats out of the way and sunlight glows down on me. Fresh air is magical. I tip my head back and take a deep breath.

"Why do you look like one of those dogs who grew up in a lab and has never touched grass before?" Taylor asks.

Ouch. Accurate, but ouch..

I straighten my shoulders. "This may or may not be the first time I've been outside in a week."

She stares at me unblinkingly for a few seconds before she shakes her head. "I'm not going to get into the many benefits of Vitamin D for your skin and your brain, like how good it is for your bone health and the serotonin boost it gives you and?—"

"Remember when you said you weren't going to get into it?"

"We're going to start going for walks." She says it like a threat.

Before I can argue, Jemma and Rachelle show up.

They smile and wave. We hug in front of the cafe, and I feel halfway normal for a second, even if I am still clocking all of the windows across the street that Dante could be watching me from.

Okay, maybe one-quarter normal.

But the second we walk into the cafe, the panic closes in.

This isn't a cafe; it's a shoebox. Outside, I had endless exit plans. I could pick a direction and run.

In here, I'm trapped.

If there is a back exit, I sure as hell can't see it. It's probably through the kitchen. A kitchen that anyone, including Dante, could sneak through and be on top of me before Evan could even get inside.

Rachelle tells the hostess we need a table for four and the hostess points to a booth in the back corner, but I'm hyperventilating. I can't breathe. It's like my lungs are encased in concrete.

"Mira?" Taylor lays her hand on my back, and I twist away from her. I hit the hostess stand with my hip and send a bowl of mints flying. The ceramic shatters on the floor and mints skitter across the floor. People nearby gasp and pick up their feet.

I don't even have the energy to be embarrassed.

I need to get out of here.

I whirl towards the front door, but a waitress is blocking my escape with a friendly smile and a broom. I have no idea how she got here so fast. "Watch your step, hon. I'll clean that up."

The socially competent part of my brain is screaming at me to ‘Say something!' But I just stare at the woman while I take wheezing breaths.

Her smile wobbles and her brows pinch together.

"Come on, Mimi." Taylor grabs my arm and pulls me out of the woman's way. "Let's sit down."

I let my best friend drag me through the restaurant, but when we get to the table where Rachelle and Jemma are waiting, I can't force myself to join them. There's an open spot on each side of the booth, but I don't know which way I should face. Do I want to face the door so I can see when Dante walks past on the sidewalk? Or should I face the kitchen so he can't attack me from behind?

It's inevitable that he's going to crash this party, so I should be prepared.

Taylor takes the seat facing the kitchen, which leaves me with no choice, but I still can't sit down.

"Mira?" Rachelle pats the bench next to her.

Sit down , I think. Be normal .

" IgottagoI'llberightback. " The words spill out of me in a garbled, breathless jumble as I spin towards the back of the cafe and dive into the closest bathroom. I'm not even sure if I'm in the women's or the men's, but I slam the bolt home and collapse against the door.

"You're fine," I whisper to myself. But it's hard to believe when my heart is doing its damnedest to fly out of my chest and splatter against the wall.

I squeeze my eyes closed and try to breathe.

I manage one shaky inhale when someone knocks on the door.

It's Dante.

He's here.

It's over.

"Mira?" Taylor knocks again. "Open the door."

I press a hand to my aching chest and blow out a breath. "Bathroom emergency."

"No, you're freaking out," she counters. "Let me in."

Taylor wants to help. Some part of me even wants her to help.

But another part of me doesn't want anyone to see me like this. Taylor has always called me the logical, level-headed friend. I'm the one who counts drinks and orders Ubers and never lets her run off with men she just met who claim they know Prince William personally. I may not have an online presence or a couch, but I'm good in a crisis.

Or so she thought.

Now, she knows the truth. What happens when she sees the mess I really am? What if she decides I'm not worth all the trouble?

She sighs. "Mira, let me?—"

"No!" I drop my face in my hands. "I'm sorry. I just… Give me a second."

She doesn't say anything, so I assume she left. I wouldn't blame her. I just yelled at her through the door of a public restroom after embarrassing her in front of a cafe full of people.

There's a reason I've been a recluse for most of the last seven years: I'm a mess.

I'm trying to focus on my breathing, forcing air in and out of my tight lungs, when there's another knock on the door.

"Mira?" Taylor calls through the door again.

I squeeze my eyes closed. I'm not ready. "Just a few more minutes. I'll be out in?—"

"It's Zane," she says.

I don't think. Don't hesitate. I whip around and yank the door open, ready to curl against his chest and let him carry me out of here like the giant baby I clearly am.

Except, it isn't Zane in front of me. It's Taylor.

"I see where I rank." She gives me a sad smile and holds out her phone. "I called him for you. He wants to talk."

I wince in apology and take her phone. Then I close and lock the bathroom door before I answer with a shaky voice. "Hello?"

"You've got a thing for public bathrooms," he murmurs.

His voice is warm and familiar and I let it wrap around me like a cozy blanket. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. You absolutely can. You're Mira fucking McNeil."

I snort. "It's funny because… I'm not."

"You are," he growls. "You're whoever you choose to be."

If that's true, right now, I'm choosing to be Katerina Costa. Right now, I'm every bit that scared little girl curled up in the corner, bleeding and crying.

I'm the person I swore to myself I'd never be again.

I close my eyes and cling to the phone like my life depends on it. "I'm scared, Zane."

"I know," he breathes. "You have no idea how much I wish I could—Fuck, if I could take all of this shit away from you, Mira, I would. I would. But, I can't."

"It's not yours to take away."

"But you're mine. Which is why I made damn sure that cafe was safe before you stepped foot inside. Evan is out front with a view of the entrance and the back exit is locked."

"You… you did?" I breathe. "It is?"

"I wasn't going to let you walk in there without being positive you were safe. I wouldn't ever put you at risk, Mira. Ever."

Tears pour down my cheeks, and I've lost track of how many times I've cried in the last couple weeks. Once the floodgates open, they are awfully hard to close. "I did this for seven years. I don't know why it's different now. I don't know why?—"

Zane's words from the other night echo in my head.

You showed up and gave me something to lose.

The reason I ran from my brother for seven years without turning into a basket case is because, on some level, I didn't care if he found me. I had no friends, no family, nothing holding me in any one place. I was a ghost.

Now, I have all of that and more. I have a life to lose. A life I desperately want to keep.

And it's fucking terrifying.

The confession lodges in my throat. If Zane wanted me to give him one truth right now that's the only one that would rush out.

Thankfully, he doesn't ask.

"We can do this however you want," he says evenly. "If this is too much and you want Evan to drive you home, he will. But if you think you can handle it?—"

"I can handle it," I choke out.

I need to be able to handle this. If I cower in the shadows, Dante wins.

"That's my girl." I can practically hear his smile through the phone. "Try to have fun. You deserve it."