Chapter Eleven

Adele

The second I step into Kira's penthouse hallway, the explosive beats of DJ Snake and Lil Jon's "Turn Down for What" fill the room, the powerful bass making the walls vibrate.

Shit. People. Today, of all days.

I shut my eyes, leaning heavily against the door. If only I could just disappear.

Kira mentioned this morning that she was having a few friends over to celebrate her latest gig—she's the official DJ for some new club launch. But I completely forgot in the chaos of the day.

The shouts filtering out from the living room make it sound like the whole of Boston is crammed in there. I promised Kira I'd be up for a few drinks after work, but right now, all I want is to lock myself in my room and have a full-on breakdown. My life has become a monumental joke in just one afternoon.

But a promise is a promise, so I huff out a deep breath, shove my racing thoughts into a cold, hard box, and force myself toward the living room. The bass thuds through my chest, growing stronger with every step.

Entering the living room, I take in the scene. There are about thirty people, a kaleidoscope of brightly colored hair, glittering jewelry, and designer clothes as they dance and mingle. Laughter and the clinking of glasses rise above the pulsing music.

My gaze lands on Kira, who's laughing with an arm draped around the shoulder of a guy with a shaved head and enough bling around his neck to sink a small yacht.

"Resin is going to be sick, Kira, you're a rockstar!" the bald guy yells over the music.

Kira beams. "So, does that mean y'all are coming or what? I know it's out of town . . ."

"Girl, are you trippin'?" a woman with pink braided hair and more piercings than I can count yells, giving Kira a high five. "VIP passes to the launch night? I'd crawl on my hands and knees to get there!"

I plaster a smile on my face, hoping it hides the turmoil brewing inside me. Only night owls like this lot would throw a party bang in the middle of the day.

"Hey, you must be Addy," a guy with rectangular glasses and a beanie perched on his head spots me leaning against the doorway.

There's a boisterous chorus of "Oi, Addy!" and I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. As I approach Kira, someone hands me a glass of pink liquid with mint leaves floating in it.

"You made it, babe," Kira throws her arms around me. "And early as well. My friends just got here." She shouts over the booming music, "Hey, Zeddy! Where the hell are you? Addy's home." She leans in and whispers, "He's been dying to meet you."

"Zedd as in . . . the guy whose shirtless torso graced our wall all through college because you thought he was a God or something?"

She had a crush on Zedd, and it was one I got to experience with her since I was the one who had to describe the guy every day. By the time I'd gone over his looks a few thousand times, he'd started to grow on me. Until Dante happened, that is.

Kira has the grace to blush as she waves me off. "Yeah, well, we're friends now, and ever since he saw your picture, he's been obsessed with you."

Before I can say more, a tall, slim guy with spiked platinum hair saunters over, and I try not to choke on my saliva.

It's really Zedd in the flesh. The famous New York celebrity DJ. "You're serious! How is he even here?" I whisper.

"Same circles. By the way, close your mouth, babe," Kira teases, correctly guessing what my face is doing. "You'll give yourself away."

"Excuse me?" I snort. "Don't you mean give you away?"

She only gives me a playful nudge before Zedd reaches us.

"Hello, Addy," Zedd's voice is a rich tenor. His dark brown eyes warm over me. I already suspect he's interested. I should feel flattered. My heart should be racing, and my palms sweaty. But I feel . . . nothing.

Kira hovers while I smile politely and attempt to make small talk with Zedd. He's surprisingly easy to talk to, and within minutes I find myself starting to relax—until he asks, "So you're coming to Chicago too, aren't you?"

"Chicago?" I repeat, not quite following.

"Yeah, Chicago. The launch party this weekend."

Chicago. The city where my mother and I lived until she was shot twenty-four times.

Everything I learned today comes rushing back.

The gruesome attack.

The oppressive silence when I asked if my original birth certificate bore another name.

Bile rises up my throat, and I take a gulp of my drink to wash it down.

Bad move.

The cocktail, which should taste like lime and mint, lingers dangerously close to stale urine territory. Fighting nausea, I put my glass on the closest surface.

"Addy's coming to Chicago," Zedd tells someone behind him.

I'm already recoiling and shaking my head when Kira interjects.

"Zedd, Resin Club is actually in Evanston."

"Same thing," Zedd shrugs. "It's twenty minutes away from downtown Chicago. So, Addy, We'll be taking my new tour bus."

My mind scrambles for an excuse. "I . . . uh, have to work the day after."

"You work on a Sunday?"

Shit. "Yep," I say, feeling Kira tense beside me at my blatant lie.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Um . . . forensics," I manage, taking deep breaths to calm my roiling stomach. My voice sounds strained even to my own ears. "I do forensics. I'm a forensic analyst," I repeat, just because I need to sound like a complete idiot.

Mortified at my blunder, I excuse myself and make my way to the terrace.

As I move through the crowd, desperate for air, I plaster on a strained smile, trying to appear enthusiastic. But my dad's and Ms. Ida's words twist like knives in my stomach, and the urge to vomit grows stronger.

Shit, I should have gone straight to the bathroom, not the terrace.

Once outside, I take deep gulps of air and lean against the frosted glass railing. Below, Boston stretches out in all its afternoon glory; cars crawl along the streets like metallic beetles, their horns muted from up here. I wrap my arms around myself—a self-soothing act that feels hollow when what I really need are answers.

A soft touch on my elbow makes me jump. It's Zedd.

"You okay?" he asks, genuine concern on his handsome face. "You seemed a bit off just now."

"No, I'm good. I just needed a bit of air, I guess."

He hands me a drink—another concoction that looks like liquid gold. I accept it out of politeness and pretend to sip. My stomach feels like a washing machine on high spin, and the earlier drink nearly had me losing my lunch all over the living room floor. The last thing I need is an encore of today's office disaster.

Zedd flashes a dazzling smile that I'm sure sends women weak in the knees. "I take it, loud music," he gestures toward the party raging in the living room, "isn't really your scene, is it?"

"No, I don't mind it, to be honest," I say.

My idea of unwinding used to be curling up with a book, but knowing Kira—who lives and breathes sound on such a profound level—has made me realize that a little noise isn't always such a bad thing.

And Dante finds music calming. He always had some rock band playing in the background when we spoke and classical music in the hotel room the few times he visited.

"So, do you not like to travel then?" Zedd's heavy-lidded gaze sweeps over me slowly, taking in my baggy trousers, red Metallica T-shirt, and sneakers. Hardly lust-inducing attire, but the way Zedd looks at me, I might as well be naked.

"No, I'm good with traveling." Except to Chicago.

"In that case," he continues, leaning closer, his voice a low murmur in my ear. "Would you be open to attending one of my shows in New York as my personal guest? You can bring Kira if you want," he adds when he sees my less-than-excited expression.

His hand brushes against my arm, and I instinctively pull back. My response isn't lost on him, and a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face.

"That would be . . . nice. Thank you, Zedd." My voice comes out flat and emotionless. I can't even muster up the energy to pretend like I'm interested. And even if I were interested, I couldn't flirt to save my life.

Unless it's with a certain gray-eyed criminal, and then my mouth has a mind of its own. The things I've let that man do to me—things I've begged him to do to me—make me blush just thinking about it.

"That was a no, wasn't it?" Zedd says ruefully.

I give him a genuine smile, glad that he caught the hint. "A little bit, yes."

He holds my gaze for a beat too long before shaking his head and retreating back into the throng of partygoers.

I release a pent-up breath as soon as he leaves. If I didn't know better, I'd blame my abysmal afternoon for not being a little bit nicer to Zedd.

But I just don't like being stared at by men.

As an only child, I used to look forward to Dad having his business partners and their children over for dinner.

When I turned thirteen, I started noticing the lingering looks from some of his business partners. And as I got older, it only got worse.

At first, I thought it was my limp drawing attention, so I trained myself to mask it.

When that didn't work, I started dressing like a boy—baggy clothes, baseball caps, anything to deflect unwanted attention. At one point, I even considered cutting my hair, but I just couldn't do it. My thick, wavy red hair is my one vanity.

"Addy?"

Kira's voice, soft yet firm, startles me out of my thoughts. I turn to see her leaning against the sliding glass doors, a worried crease between her brows. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I'm just getting some air."

"You kinda spaced out there. Are you alright?" she adds, her tone laced with concern. Even with the music thumping behind her, Kira has an uncanny ability to sense when something's off. Especially with me.

I manage a weak smile. "Yeah."

"You don't sound like it, Addy."

"Just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"Is it work? Your boss still blaming you for the lost sample?" Kira picks her steps carefully on the cobbled terrace and moves toward me.

Doug just wouldn't let it go, always insisting that if I'd taken that earlier flight to Chicago like he ordered, I would have reached Ecolab before the fire.

"Everyone still blames me for that, but today's debacle had more to do with the fact that I threw up on his shoes."

"You what?" Kira gasps.

"It's been a crazy day, believe me," I say. "One minute I was trying to act like I had it all together, and the next I was decorating his shoes. Needless to say, he threw me out and gave me the next couple of days off to sort my shit out. Unpaid, of course."

"Oh my God, Addy. You threw up! You never do. You can't even gag."

I snort. "Trust me, I gagged plenty today."

"Remember that norovirus outbreak at Loyola? We were puking and shitting our guts out, and all you did was rub your nose."

"I had a very itchy nose," I say with a smile. "It was awful."

"Sorry, babe, not the same thing as severe diarrhea. Not even close. Anyway, so is that what's bothering you? The unpaid leave?"

"No, actually. It's not that."

"It's your dad then."

I shake my head, already feeling the weight of her sightless gaze. "Seriously, don't worry about me. This is your day, Kira. Let's celebrate. Enjoy it." I gesture vaguely at the party raging inside.

Kira, however, isn't easily deterred. She crosses her arms, her expression turning serious. "You finally went to see him, didn't you? How did it go?"

I hesitate for about two seconds before I cave. "Pretty fucking terrible," I blurt out.

I immediately regret saying anything. The last thing I want to do is bring Kira down with my messy family drama, especially not today. But it's too late; the words hang in the air between us.

"What happened, Addy?"

How do I even begin to explain it? How do I tell her that my entire world feels like it's been tilted on its axis? That the only father I've ever known, the man who raised me to be loyal and honest, also nurtured me on lies?

My mind is still spinning from the revelation, from the sheer magnitude of his deception. And now, faced with Kira's innocent question, I realize the full impact of it all. I have no idea who I am anymore.

"I don't know him anymore, Kira. He's . . . changed. Things can never be the same again."

Kira reaches out until she finds my hands and links our fingers. "Hey, Addy, he's your father. The man raised you into the phenomenal woman you are today. That part will never change. The rest, you guys will just have to figure out."

I nod, grateful for her unwavering support. "Kira, I'm so sorry for how I was earlier. It just hit me out of the blue. I had no idea the club launch party was in Evanston. I thought it was here in Boston."

"I know. It's a swanky new club, and they're offering me an ungodly sum to DJ for the grand opening and to bring my friends. But it was pretty much last minute." Then her voice brightens. "Zedd wants to take us. It'll be so much fun, you know."

I hesitate. "About Chicago . . ."

Kira raises an eyebrow. "What, don't tell me you won't come?"

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "I, uh . . ."

What exactly do I say? That someone tried to kill me in Chicago eighteen years ago? That I've been banned from stepping into Chicago?

"I really shouldn't be going there."

"Addy, did something happen on that last trip? You've been acting odd since you got back three weeks ago."

I take a deep breath. "I ran into my ex." I brace myself for her reaction and the inevitable barrage of questions.

Kira's eyes widen. "Your ex, as in Dan?"

"Yes."

"The New Yorker?"

I shake my head, my brows furrowing. "No, Kira, he lives in Chicago."

"Wait, what? You said he lives in New York."

Oh shit. I did, didn't I?

Dante's right. I'm a terrible liar. I close my eyes and say, "It's a long story. Anyway, we had sex," I add, hoping to distract her from calling me out on my lie.

"Bullshit!" Kira gasps, pulling her hands away from mine. "How? Where? Spill, dammit!"

My face burns as scorching memories wash over me again. I still can't bring myself to regret how I let myself go with him. "I missed my flight, so he dropped me off in his jet."

"Hold up, hold up, hold up." Kira raises her hands. "Dan has a jet?"

I nod. "Did I not mention he's filthy rich?"

"No, babe, you left out that key detail." Kira cocks a sardonic eyebrow. "So, you ran into the Chicago-based billionaire and then joined the mile-high club. Or should I say, revisited the club?"

"Actually, no. We, um, kinda lost our heads in the moment and ended up doing it on the tarmac, right against his car."

Kira's jaw drops. "Fuck me sideways! Girl, you did not do that!"

"I did. I so did, Kira."

"Wow. That is off-the-charts hot!" She steps back, her sightless gaze raking me up and down as if seeing me with fresh eyes. Then her expression turns grave. "I cannot believe you'd do something like that."

"I know. I can't believe it myself—"

"That you would keep it from me, I mean," Kira interjects, her voice laced with hurt. "I tell you everything, Addy."

Actually, Kira, you don't.

Kira is quite well off now due to her celebrity status, but even back in college, she always had the most expensive things—designer bags, clothes, perfumes—and she was never short of cash.

She never once explained where they came from, and I was much too polite to probe into how her single mom, who worked as a housekeeper, could afford to give her that lavish lifestyle.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything, Kira. He was so different from any other man I'd met, yet we had this insane connection . . . like we owned each other or something. It was frightening and . . . it felt forbidden."

A slow smirk spreads on her face. "So, was it still as good as it was when you were dating?"

Better. Oh God, it was so much better.

"Yes," I say blandly, firmly resisting the urge to elaborate.

There's absolutely no need to say that I can still feel the cords of his back muscles shifting under my fingers. Still hear his deep grunts and feel the sharp edge of his teeth sinking into the soft skin of my neck as he drove inside me. That my pussy still clenches at random times, as if in withdrawal from his thick cock.

So, a simple yes will have to do.

"Is he still married?" Kira asks.

"What do you mean? He's not married."

"But isn't that why you broke up with him? You found out he was married the whole time you were together."

Double shit.