Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Sun Tower #3)

19. Zinneerah

19

Zinneerah

A lex stumbles toward me like she’s forgotten how to walk, her arms outstretched, her face already crumpling.

I meet her halfway, throwing my arms around her neck.

Neither of us lets go.

The door clicks shut behind us, but it feels like the whole world has closed in, leaving just me and Alex.

Her sobs break against my bare shoulder. Mine fall just as freely, staining the faded white of her band tour tee.

“Alex,” I choke out through the lump in my throat.

“Zinnie!” she cries, high-pitched and cracking. Then she jerks back suddenly, holding me at arm’s length. Her hands tremble as they cup my face, her thumbs brushing away my tears. Her eyes widen as they roam over me, to memorize me all over again. “Oh, my god. I missed this stupid, sexy face of yours so much.”

I let out a laugh, but it dies the moment she pulls me back into her arms. “Talk. Please.”

“Oh, we’re talking,” Alex says between her leftover sobs. She snatches a tissue box off the vanity, shoving it toward me before grabbing one for herself. She dabs at my face, and I do the same for hers—two broken halves trying to clean each other up. “Where the fuck have you been, Zinnie?”

“Hell,” I whisper.

She freezes, the tissue halfway to her cheek. “Zin . . .”

“I mean it.” I look down at my hands, trembling in my lap. “I can’t . . . sing anymore, Alex.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “Car accident. My voice is like this now. Permanently.”

The tissue box slips from her hands and hits the floor with a hollow thud.

Her glassy, brown eyes lock on mine. Before I can brace myself, her hands shoot up to cradle my face, shaking as she brushes her thumbs along my cheekbones. Her touch lands softly at my throat, where my perfect voice once lived, where the faded scars are. “He did this to you,” she whispers.

I nod, swallowing against the knot in my throat. “Much more.”

The words detonate something inside her.

She staggers back as if she’s been struck, her hands clenched into fists. “Fuck!” Her hair tangles in her fingers as she grabs at it, pacing the small room like a caged animal. “Fuck, Zinnie! He better not still be walking free. Tell me he’s not.”

“Prison.” I force out the answer. “Shahzad and Azeer helped.”

Her pacing slows, but her anger doesn’t abate. She turns, her face blotchy with tears. “Your voice, Zinnie,” she murmurs, and sinks down onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. When she looks up again, her tears flow freely. “Your voice was everything to you.”

My breath catches. I move to sit beside her, my hands fidgeting before I reach for hers. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I use ASL now. I’m still learning, but it works.”

Alex gives me a wobbly smile. “You’re so strong. You always have been. You just . . . figure things out, no matter what.”

I smile faintly and lean into her touch, letting my cheek rest against her palm. “I don’t know if I feel strong anymore, but I want to tell you everything.” I dig into my bag, my fingers brushing over random odds and ends before I pull out my phone. Unlocking the screen, I scroll to the Notes app, hesitating for just a second. “I wrote it all down. The good, the bad, everything.”

Alex takes my phone hesitantly. “Fuck. Okay.”

I sit beside her as she begins to read.

Occasionally, I reach out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear or squeezing her hand when she starts shaking too much. Her tears keep falling, and soon enough, mine join hers. Quick glances. Tight hugs. Choked apologies.

When she’s done reading, she hands the phone back to me, her knuckles white from gripping it too hard. “I’m going to kill him,” she grits out. “I mean it, Zinneerah. I’ll end that fucker.”

I shake my head. “It’s over. He got what he deserved—” I start racking out coughs.

She grabs a bottle of water and presses it to my lips before I can protest. The cool liquid soothes the soreness in my throat. Her thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, wiping away a stray drop.

“Did they give him life?” she asks quietly. “Or just some bullshit bail to get out?”

I lower the bottle and look at her. “Latter. Two hundred thousand.”

Her expression twists into rage, disgust, despair. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she snaps, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “Two hundred thousand? For what? So he can go back to destroying someone else’s life when he makes bail?” She laughs bitterly, shaking her head as her leg bounces restlessly. “God, the system is such trash. A man can tear his girlfriend apart—mentally, physically—and he still gets a second chance. What about you? Where’s your second chance?”

“I’m working on it,” I mumble, glancing down at my hands. “Every day.”

“Well, I hope that bastard rots in prison. For the rest of his pathetic excuse for a life.” Her voice breaks at the end, and before I can say anything, she pulls me into another hug. This one lasts longer than the others, both of us holding on like the world’s ending.

My temples pound from discussing my ex-boyfriend so I quickly change subjects. “How’s Ophelia?”

Alex gasps, smacking her forehead. “Ophelia! Jesus, I almost forgot. She’s hooking up with some hotshot lawyer. Jack or Jake—something like that. Honestly, they change weekly.”

That makes me laugh. “Is she happy?”

“Well, she’s currently in St. Lucia with him.”

“And her job?”

“Her job?”

Alex exhales, slumping against the couch. “She’s a single mom working at a Food Basics.”

My eyes pop open. “ Mom ? Since when?”

She stares at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. “Wait, aren’t you on Facebook?”

I shake my head. “He made me delete it, and I never went back.”

Alex’s face softens. She scoots closer, already pulling out her phone. “God, Zinnie.” Her fingers tap against the screen as she searches. Then she turns the phone toward me, a collection of photos lighting up the display. “Here. Meet Juliette. She just turned eight last week. Isn’t she a doll?”

I take the phone, staring at the photos. A bright-eyed girl grins back at me in each one, with curls so yellow and wild they practically bounce off the screen. The kind of kid who’d say ‘hello’ to everyone in a grocery store.

“She’s beautiful,” I murmur.

“You’ll love her. She’s so much like you were . . . well, before everything.” Her voice drops on the last part, but she recovers quickly. “But I know my rockstar is still in there somewhere.” Alex’s finger pokes my chest. “She just needs her best friends to root her out.”

I chuckle, and lean my forehead against her shoulder. “Think we could visit her?”

Alex’s reaction is immediate. “Fuck yeah, we’re gonna visit her!” She launches herself at me, arms enveloping me whole. “As soon as she’s back. And since I’m done touring, we’ll get the whole gang together. Maybe we’ll even make some music again—if you’re up for it.” She nudges me with her elbow. “What do you say?”

I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Summer festival. Professor Daniels asked me to play.”

Alex freezes mid-reach for her water bottle, her jaw dropping. “ No. Freaking. Way . Daddy Daniels?”

My face twists in immediate protest. “Ew, don’t call him that.”

“What? It fits!” She grins wickedly. “You know I’ve got a thing for older men, and women. Something about all that emotional intelligence . . .” Her eyes twinkle. “And let’s not lie to ourselves, Zinnie. Daniels is hot. He’s like Patrick Swayze and young James Dean had a baby. A very distinguished baby.”

“He’s in his mid-seventies.”

She shrugs. “I have no notes. Just taste.”

Before I can even try to argue, she shifts gears, her eyes narrowing as she taps my wedding ring with a perfectly manicured nail. “Speaking of daddies.” Her voice dips into a purr. “You gonna tell me more about the big, manly man you’re married to? Or do I have to bribe it out of you?” She pinches my cheek. “And why the hell were Ophelia and I not invited to the wedding?”

“Mama,” I say flatly.

Alex throws her head back with a groan. “Makes sense,” she mutters, sinking back into her chair like she’s mourning a great injustice. Which is fair. Not having your best-friends at your one and only wedding is a crime.

“Raees,” I say. “His name.”

Her head snaps up. “Reece? Baby, that’s a white man’s name.”

A hoarse laugh bubbles out of me. “No, silly. Rah-ees.”

She rolls her ‘ Raah’ dramatically, dragging out his name as she shimmies her shoulders. “More like Rawr -ees.” She curls her fingers into mock claws and winks. “Tell me this man’s not boring. What does he do?”

“Journalism professor. At SLU.”

Alex moans, her head lolling back like she’s just tasted the world’s finest wine. “Goddamn, Zinnie. You married a literature nerd. I bet he’s whispering Shakespeare in your ear during sex. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’” She fans herself. “‘Thou art more lovely and more—’”

“Alex.”

But she’s already knee-deep in the fantasy. “Does he wear those sexy tweed sweaters with the elbow patches? Oh, God. Tell me he adjusts his glasses right before he lays you down on a pile of freshly graded essays. Just tosses his red pen aside and says, ‘Baby, the only A-plus you’re getting with me is this D.’”

“Stop it, God!” I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts, but Alex is on a roll.

“And while we’re on the topic of A-pluses.” Her eyes narrow to slits. “Be honest. Have you role-played as his student yet?” Her lashes flutter as she slips into her next role, sitting primly and folding her hands like a Victorian debutante. “‘Oh, Professor Rrrr ah-ees, the only thing I want you to teach me is how to be your good girl.’”

“Alexandra!” I’m trying to smother my laugh as she grins and trails her hands sensually down her torso like some burlesque performer. “You’re ridiculous. Stop it. He’s outside.”

“So? Juicy details. Now.”

My cheeks burn, and I shake my head quickly. “There are no details.”

“Zinnie. Don’t tell me—”

“Uncomfortable.” I look down, fumbling for words. “At the moment.”

Alex’s jaw drops. “Girl, he’s your husband. What’s he waiting for, a calendar invite? An RSVP? Does he need a PowerPoint presentation? ‘Reasons Why It’s Time to Fuck.’”

“It’s not like that—”

“Then what’s he doing?” She throws her hands up. “Reading you bedtime stories? Quoting Hemingway over tea? I swear to God, if you tell me you’ve been playing Scrabble instead of—”

“We’ll do . . . it . . . at some point.”

She grins, satisfied. “Last I checked, you swore you’d never marry. You were all ‘marriage is a capitalist scam’ and ‘I’ll never need a man.’ And now you’re out here married to Clark fucking Kent. I don’t know if I’m jealous of him or you.” Her hand darts out, tickling me under my chin like I’m a baby. “If you ever need a third—”

I clap my hand over her mouth. “No.”

She peels my hand off her face. “Fine, fine. But just so you know, I’d do it for free. You’re welcome.”

I groan. “You’re impossible.”

Alex shrugs and slings her arm around my neck. “But for real, babe,” she whispers. “You don’t have to rush anything if you’re uncomfortable. Let your body and mind adjust. You’ve been through a lot. This is just the fresh, slow pace of change, and there’s no deadline, okay?”

I answer her by wrapping my arms around her waist.

She responds immediately, tucking my head under her chin and pulling me down with her as she reclines back into the cushions. “I’m not letting you go,” she murmurs, her fingers absentmindedly combing through my hair.

A small smile creeps across my lips. “Me, too.”

“And I mean it,” she adds sharply. “Your husband better be prepared for weekly visits from me and Fifi. Actually, scratch that. He should just clear out the guest room permanently. We’re crashing whenever we want.”

I snuggle closer, smiling into her side. “Festival?”

“Of course!” she says, waving her hand like it’s a given. “Plus, I miss Daniels. Is he still serving ‘silver fox realness,’ or what?”

I lift my left hand, wiggling my wedding ring in response.

She snaps her fingers. “Right, my bad. Forgot you had your own personal fox now. Guess I’m stuck drooling over academia’s finest alone.”

“You?” I ask, tilting my head curiously.

“Nah.” She stretches out her legs, her sneakers knocking against the coffee table as she gives a languid shrug. “Tour’s kept me busy, you know? And let’s be real, I’m not exactly the dating-and-relationships type. People come and go, but my music? She’s loyal. Never breaks my heart, never ghosts me, never eats the leftovers in the fridge with my name on it. Guess you could say I’m married to it.”

I lift my head from her chest. “Happy?”

“Very.” Her smile spreads slowly, wide enough to flash the tiny diamond gem embedded in her left canine—a little sparkle of her personality literally shining through.

“Good.” I grin and reach up to squish her cheeks together like she’s a mischievous toddler. “That’s all I want.”

Alex, of course, doesn’t let it slide. She immediately squishes my cheeks in return. “Ditto.”

We both burst into laughter.

She tucks my hair behind my ear again, slower this time, like she’s trying to put every strand exactly where it belongs. “Zinneerah,” she says quietly, the humor in her voice fading into something earnest, “if the pain comes back to you in flashes, or in your sleep, or even just while you’re brushing your teeth, I want you to text me. Right away. I don’t care if it’s 3 a.m. or during an episode of Yellowstone . I’ll show up.”

Tears prick the back of my eyes, and right as I open my mouth to counter, she cuts me off with a pointed finger. “And don’t even start with the whole ‘it’s not your fault’ thing. I’m your best friend. My job is to insert myself into your life, whether you want me there or not.” She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitching. “I’m like that weird mole you can’t get rid of—always there, a little inappropriate, probably a little concerning, but ultimately harmless. Okay?”

That draws a shaky laugh out of me. “Alex . . .”

“I mean it,” she says. “I want to make up for not fighting harder for you. I didn’t push hard enough when I should have. I let you slip away when I knew something was wrong.”

“No,” I whisper. “He would have hurt you. Badly.”

Tears blur my vision, and I duck my head to hide them, but Alex isn’t having it. She tilts my chin up with two fingers, forcing me to look at her.

“I don’t care what he would’ve done to me, Zinnie. I would’ve gone through hell for you. Hell. I’m stubborn as shit, remember? The same girl who went head-to-head with a campus cop for giving me a parking ticket is not someone who just gives up. Please don’t shut me out again. Not even if you think you don’t have another choice.”

Her lips press gently to my forehead, and I crumble, the tears breaking free. I don’t even try to stop them.

“I’m here now,” she murmurs against my skin. “Ophelia’s here, too. We’re not going anywhere. And together?” She pulls back, her hands sliding up to hold me by the shoulders. “We’re gonna make new memories. Kickass ones. The kind that makes the bad stuff look like a boring rerun you don’t even remember watching.”

A half-sob, half-laugh escapes me, and she grins, brushing a tear off my cheek with her thumb.

“You think I’m kidding, but, baby, I’m dead serious.” She starts counting down on her fingers. “We’re talking road trips with zero planning. We’re talking breaking into a country club pool at night. We’re talking matching tattoos, probably astrology or some sentimental shit.” Then, her face softens again, her fingers squeezing my shoulders. “I love you, Zinnie. So freakin’ much. For whoever you are now, whoever you were, and whoever you’re gonna be next. And there isn’t a single goddamn thing I’d change about you. You got that? Not one.” She leans her forehead onto mine. “I love, love, love you. Like, stalker-level love, but in a healthy way. The kind where I’ll stand outside your window with a boombox if you ignore my texts for more than a day.”

I’m laughing and crying at the same time now, the tears streaming freely as she cups my cheeks with both hands. “I love you, too.”

“Don’t cry,” she says, even as her own voice cracks and fresh tears spill down her cheeks. She swipes at them uselessly with the back of her hand, sniffling. “Shit. Now I’m crying. Thanks a lot.”

That only makes us laugh harder—wet, hiccup chuckles that dissolve into more sniffles.

“I missed you so much,” I whisper.

“Me, too.” She cleans the tears off my left eye with her thumb and gives me a watery smile. “So, did you like the last song?”

“Loved.”

She just stares at me, scanning my face like she’s memorizing the new details since we last saw each other.

Then, without warning, she leans in and plants a quick kiss on my cheek before yanking me into a hug so tight it feels like she’s trying to fuse us together. “I’m so glad you’re here, Zinneerah.”

“Not leaving.”

“Good. Neither am I. Never.”

“Ever.”

She pulls away just enough to look at me, her face still damp but shining with a grin. “All right, let’s get you together, babe.” She grabs the water bottle off the table and presses it into my hands, then tosses the tissue box onto my lap. “Drink and dab, because right now you’re giving Kendall Roy mid-crisis. And unless you’re about to rap ‘L to the OG,’ we’re not doing this today.”

I let out a surprised laugh, dabbing at my face with a tissue. “You’re so stupid.”

“And you love me.”

We sit back down together, exchanging numbers. Hers changed because of some cyberstalker situation—“Which, by the way, just means I’m, like, actually famous,” she says—and mine changed because of him. She doesn’t comment on it, just gives my knee a reassuring squeeze that says everything I need to hear.

My fingers twist around the water bottle cap, and I look back at her. “Alex?”

“Yes, babe?”

I take a deep breath. “Do you want to meet Raees?