Chapter 7
SEVEN
The air smells of dirt and wild sage mixed with the rich scent of red wine as I take a long sip from the bottle. The stars stretch out above us, bright and endless across a sky as dark as velvet.
We’re at South Mountain, a little corner of the universe, far away from the chaos below. Out here, the city lights and the new foster family feel like a distant memory, and the stars are almost close enough to touch.
I hand the bottle to Rosalee, and she takes a sip, closing her eyes, savoring it like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted. Her lips curl into a satisfied smile as she swallows. “Now, this is nice.” She raises the wine toward the sky, toasting to the stars.
I smile at her and turn my gaze upward. “Look, that one right there.” I point at the sky. “It’s Orion. See those three stars in a row? That’s his belt.”
Rosalee squints up at the stars, taking another sip, then passing me the bottle. “If you say so. They still just look like shiny dots to me.”
I laugh and take a sip from the wine bottle, something I stole from a wine store for rich people because Rosalee mentioned wanting to try it.
She deserves it, even if we’re not sipping it from crystal glasses.
“Orion’s easy to spot because of that belt,” I explain.
“And over there…” I point to another constellation, “… that’s Taurus, one of the oldest constellations.
People used to navigate with the stars. It’s like an ancient map. ”
Rosalee sighs, but a small smile ghosts over her lips. “Fine, fine. I guess if you know what you’re looking for, it’s kinda pretty.”
I roll onto my side, careful not to spill anything, grinning at her. “Told you. It’s more than just sparkles. There’s a whole universe out there.”
“I still don’t love sitting out here in the dark, though. It’s creepy.”
“There’s nothing to be creeped out by, Rosie. It’s only us and the stars.”
“How come you always like weird stuff like this?”
I shrug, taking another look at the stars. “It’s not weird.”
It’s the most beautiful thing the world has to offer.
She takes the bottle from me, a playful grin on her face. “You know astronomy doesn’t exactly pay the bills, right?”
I grin, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “There’s always astrology. I could be the super cool horoscope girl who actually bases her predictions on facts.”
“Nothing about horoscopes is based on facts.”
“Not true. And constellations are real enough. I could make a killing explaining that to people.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, taking another long drink of the wine. “Yeah, because people are dying to hear the science behind their horoscopes. Totally gonna pay the rent.”
I sigh, feeling a little bad for dragging her out here when I know she’d rather be anywhere else. “Sorry, I know this isn’t exactly your idea of a fun night.”
“It’s not so bad. The stars kind of look like scattered glitter, so I guess it’s pretty in its own way.
” Rosalee shrugs, her gaze lingering on the night sky now.
“And you’re here. That’s all I need.” I grin at her, warmth blooming in my chest. We’re a team, through and through.
“But even if you become the world’s coolest horoscope girl, it’s still not gonna pay enough,” she teases.
“I’m so not going to get a boring job only to provide for both of us. ”
“Which is why I’ve got a backup plan. Marry a billionaire. Simple.”
Rosalee laughs so hard that she almost spills the wine. “A husband? You? You always said marriage was for suckers.”
I chuckle, reaching for the bottle. “Yeah, well, if the guy’s got a billion in the bank, he can absolutely put a ring on this finger.”
“So not Ace, huh?” She grins, and I shoot her a playful glare. She still doesn’t care for him, but she’ll come around. “And what about me? You’re not leaving me out of this billionaire plan.”
I take a long drink and grin at her. “Of course not. We’re a package deal.”
Her eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh God. Guys wanting the twin experience? Gross.”
I laugh so hard I almost choke on the wine. “So, you don’t wanna share our billionaire husband?”
Rosalee shakes her head, chuckling. “We can share the billionaire, sure. I’m used to sharing everything with you. However, I’m not having sex with him while he’s having sex with you too. That’s plain nasty.”
“Fair enough.” I grin and hand the bottle to her. “But for a Mustang? I might consider it.”
“For me, it’d take more than that. How about a holiday home in Tuscany? Somewhere we can live all year with good wine and his black credit card. And he can fly over when he wants his twin… experience. Once a year or so, for his birthday.”
“Deal!” I sit up straighter. “Let’s put it on the internet. Hot-as-fuck twins looking for a billionaire husband. We do dirty shit for Mustangs and villas in Italy.’”
Rosalee bursts into laughter again, and soon, I’m laughing with her, our voices carrying through the quiet night.
She hooks her pinky around mine, and I squeeze hers when she raises the bottle high toward me, beaming. “To us! And to the dirty shit that pays us with Mustangs and Italian villas!”
“To us,” I whisper, lifting the bottle toward the headstone. The bittersweet burn of the wine scorches my throat as I swallow, trying to push down the tears that sting my eyes. But it’s no use.
I can still hear her laugh that could light up the darkest nights, but here I am, sitting in the dimming glow of dusk. No stars in sight as I look up at the sky.
There are no stars in Vegas, not this close to the neon and noise. Still, I find myself reaching for them, dying for them.
Rosalee is buried back in Phoenix. I visited her grave every day for almost two years, spending hours there after school, until I finally aged out of the system and was free of that life.
It’s been six years since I last stood by her headstone.
I barely survived the four-and-a-half-hour bus drive when I left Phoenix for Vegas, and I know I wouldn’t survive the trip back.
Not only because of the pain of seeing her grave, of having to leave her behind all over again, but because I don’t think I could handle a drive that long one more time.
I was only able to leave her and come here the first time because the need to get out of Phoenix and to the place Ace dreamed of was bigger than my fear.
These days, the only distance I can barely manage is the short Uber ride from my apartment to work or the club and then to this place. The cemetery in the heart of Vegas.
This may not be Rosalee’s grave I’m sitting in front of now, but I learned a long ago that sitting with her helped—talking to her helped.
So when the loneliness started creeping in again when I moved to Vegas, I came here and wandered through rows of strangers’ graves, looking for anything that felt like her.
And I found it. A headstone with a stone rose carved into the side.
Rose ‘Rosie’ Lane. Beloved daughter, niece, and sister.
She died when she was sixteen, too, like Rosalee, even if it happened six years earlier.
Rose Lane.
Rosa-lee.
Rosie.
On the days when I feel like half a soul, and the weight of her absence presses down on me so hard I can barely breathe, it’s close enough. I sit by this stone and pretend it’s hers, letting the memories wash over me as I talk to her like I always have.
I lost myself the day she died, and whatever was left of me has been slipping away ever since. All that’s left is a girl who’s drowning in grief that clings like glitter, stuck on my skin, impossible to brush off.
After the accident, when I woke up in the hospital with a cracked skull and a shattered heart, I was told I missed the funerals of both my boyfriend and sister.
Ace isn’t buried where Rosalee is. My foster parents told me that Ace’s father had taken his ashes home, and when I showed up to see him unannounced, Ace’s father saw me coming and stormed out of the garage, cussing me out, telling me I took his son from him.
He wasn’t wrong.
He almost hit me. I ran that day, and I never went back. That’s why I got the tattoo. I had to carry Ace with me somehow. He’s always in my heart anyway, but the ink keeps him closer.
I need him close.
And I need Rosalee contained at a place where I can visit her, where she can’t always stick to me, or I might lose it completely.
Here, at least, I can pretend she’s still listening, still laughing, still somewhere nearby.
I glide my palm over the short grass.
That she’s the one buried six feet under me.
I take another long sip from the wine bottle, raising it toward the headstone and letting the rest of the liquid spill onto the ground in front of it. “Cheers, Rosie.”
A fluttering sound near my ear breaks the quiet evening air, and I almost jump out of my skin, my heart lurching as sharp claws nip into my shoulder.
A soft, throaty coo follows, and I jerk my head to the side to find a pigeon perched on my glittery shoulder, its beady black eyes staring right at me so close it’s blurry.
I blink.
How fucking drunk am I?
She coos again as if to say she is, in fact, real.
I laugh, the initial shock dissolving into amusement. “Hey, pretty one,” I murmur, cooing back at the bird. I’ve always been fascinated by them, the way they survive, unnoticed, in the cracks and crevices of the city.
They aren’t a plague like the people of Vegas believe.
They’re survivors.
The pigeon flutters to the top of the gravestone next to me, cooing and ruffling its gray feathers. I grin, feeling a crack form in the wall of loneliness I’ve been carrying all day. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you,” a voice says from behind me.
I freeze, the warmth of the wine fading as a rush of adrenaline floods my veins. I scramble to my feet, heart pounding, and turn around to find myself face-to-face with two of the most recognizable faces in all of Vegas.
The Lane brothers—the infamous magic twins.