Chapter 33
Bastian
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Not by sending that voice note—though that was certainly ill-advised—but by agreeing to this meeting.
The universe is laughing at me. I can practically hear it.
The Railyard is a place I should feel at home in, but tonight it’s the seventh circle of hell.
Exposed red brick walls, steel beams, Edison bulbs casting warm amber light—I should be admiring it. Instead, I’m staring at the door and trying not to have a panic attack.
They’re late. So late that I’ve convinced myself I’ll be dining alone tonight.
Who’s the manipulative cunt now?
“They’ll be here,” Good Wolf says quietly. “You poured your heart out. They’ve got to come.”
I pick up my wineglass, but set it down without drinking. The sommelier presented this bottle ten minutes ago—a 2018 Chateauneuf-du-Pape I’ve been meaning to try—but I haven’t managed a single sip.
My throat is too constricted to swallow.
“You’re surprised?” Bad Wolf asks snidely. “You spent months manipulating them, threatening them, pushing them past every boundary they set. They don’t trust your drunken voice note, and they’ll never trust you.”
I wasn’t drunk.
Worse.
I was fucking honest.
The waiter glides up to my booth near the back of the restaurant. I chose it because it offers additional privacy. Because apparently Haven and Kai wouldn’t be caught dead with me. I’m grinding my teeth so hard, the waiter falters mid-step.
His smile is professionally sympathetic as he refills my water for the third time—an expression reserved for patrons who’ve clearly been stood up.
“Would you like to order an appetizer while you wait, sir?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
I’m not fine. I’m the furthest thing from fine I’ve been in years, and that’s saying something, given the last few years.
Ashwood Crossing was a stupid choice. Forty-five minutes from Agony Hollow, on the gentrified edge of a town that used to be nothing but rail yards and textile mills.
I picked it because I’d read about this place in some architectural digest, because the chef trained at three different Michelin-star restaurants…
and because I wanted to impress a pair of college kids with my sophisticated taste.
Vanity. Fucking vanity.
I should have suggested somewhere closer. Somewhere casual. Somewhere that didn’t require a reservation and a dress code that probably sent Kai into a tailspin.
But I wanted to control the narrative with an iron fist.
I adjust my cufflinks. Then adjust them some more, even though they’re perfectly aligned.
Nearly twenty minutes late.
The couple at the next booth argues in vicious whispers, the man stabbing his fork into his risotto like he wishes it were someone’s face.
I envy the man with the fork. He has both an audience for his anger and an outlet.
“Leave,” Bad Wolf growls. “Take the wine and go home with what’s left of your dignity. Log into a chat room, vent. Your friends will make you feel better.”
Dignity? I sent a voice message that was essentially two minutes of emotional hemorrhaging. I talked about curses and loneliness and needing them like the fucking simp I’ve accused Kai of being on more than one occasion.
But Bad Wolf has a point. I haven’t logged on to one of my many chat rooms in a while. I used to stay up to date with my friends around the country, but it’s been months since I’ve shared anything with them.
Apex predators monitor their competition. Else we’d all be going after the same prey…and why should we, when there’s more than enough to go around?
The door opens.
My heart leaps—then crashes—when an elderly couple shuffles in, both of them wrapped in wool coats and matching plaid scarves.
Christ.
I force myself to take a sip of wine. It might as well be vinegar.
I’m giving them two more minutes, then I’m getting the fuck out of here.
Except…I know I’ll wait all night if I have to. I’ll wait until they turn off the lights and ask me to go, and even then I’ll probably linger on the sidewalk like a stray dog hoping for scraps.
This is what Haven and Kai have reduced me to.
No…this is what I’ve reduced myself to.
They didn’t do this.
I did.
Every manipulation, every threat, every time I pushed when I should have pulled back. I built this cage bar by bar, and now I’m trapped inside it, and the only people who have the key are—
The door opens again. I almost don’t even look, because I couldn’t stand if it’s not them.
But it is.
Haven and Kai, holding hands, framed in the doorway for a moment as they scan the room.
For me.
For me.
“Breathe,” Good Wolf whispers. “Just breathe.”
I can’t.
I genuinely cannot breathe. They actually came, and they’re here, and they’re both so fucking beautiful, and I don’t fucking deserve this.
I don’t deserve them.
But they’re here anyway, and if that’s not proof that I might just be able to break The Witch’s curse after all, I don’t know what is.
Haven spots me first. She tugs Kai’s hand, nodding toward my table.
I rush to my feet, nearly knocking over my wineglass, and stand there like an idiot as they cross the restaurant.
Kai is wearing a navy button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tucked into tailored charcoal slacks. His hair is pulled back into a small knot at the nape of his neck, exposing the sharp line of his jaw. He looks older. More serious.
Literally edible.
And Haven…
Christ.
She’s in a deep blue dress that hugs her curves before flaring slightly at the knee. The color matches her eyes—those impossible blue eyes that I’ve dreamed about more times than I care to admit. Her hair is down, soft waves framing her face, and around her neck—
A butterfly pendant. Platinum chain, sapphires winking in the candlelight.
It’s new, and she’s not used to it yet, from the way she keeps touching it.
“They put in effort,” Good Wolf says wonderingly. “They actually want to be here.”
“Or they want to look good while they tell you to fuck off,” Bad Wolf counters.
Either way, they’re here.
That has to mean something.
“Professor,” Haven says when they reach the table, her voice guarded.
“Miss Lee.” I gesture beside me. “Mr. Jordan. Thank you for coming.”
We sound like strangers conducting a business meeting. Which, I suppose, is exactly what this is.
Kai slides in, Haven following suit. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and he won’t quite meet my eyes. He immediately puts his hand on her thigh, and they sit so close together I have to suffocate the thread of jealousy that surfaces.
They came.
They both came.
And that’s all that matters right now.
“I thought you’d changed your mind,” I say, settling back into my side of the booth.
“Took long to get an Uber,” Kai cuts in flatly.
“Ah.”
Silence.
The waiter materializes, all smiles now that I’m not a solo diner taking up a whole booth. “Welcome to The Railyard. Can I start you off with something to drink? We have an excellent wine list, or if you’d prefer cocktails—“
“They’ll share with me,” I say, nodding toward the wine bottle.
“You fucking wish,” Kai scoffs, but at least he does it under his breath.
The waiter glances at the wine. “Excellent. I’ll bring two more glasses.”
He disappears. The silence returns.
Haven’s fingers drift to her necklace. Kai’s leg is bouncing under the table—I can feel the vibration through the seat.
“It’s beautiful in here,” Haven offers finally. “Never thought they’d open such a fancy place so close to the tracks.”
“It was a railway switching station,” I say. “It was built in 1892 before being abandoned in the sixties. Remarkable what they’ve done in just—“
“We didn’t come here for the architecture, Rooke,” Kai says sharply.
His green eyes finally meet mine, and there’s the same caution in them as in Haven’s.
“No,” I agree. “You didn’t.”
The waiter returns with two wine glasses, pouring for Haven and Kai with a practiced flourish he’s probably hoping will net him a larger tip. “Would you like to hear tonight’s specials, or shall I get an appe—“
“I’ll call you when we’re ready,” I say, not taking my eyes off the two people across from me.
“Of course, sir.”
He retreats. We’re alone again…as alone as you can be in a restaurant full of strangers.
Haven picks up her wineglass, swirling the contents before taking a sip. Her eyes close briefly, and I watch her throat work as she swallows.
“Nice,” she murmurs.
“I’d hope so. 2018 was a tough year for Chateauneuf, what with all the mildew.”
A ghost of a smile crosses her face before she suppresses it. “Mildew?” she repeats, and Christ, it almost sounds like she’s teasing me.
“Jesus,” Kai mutters sourly.
Haven widens her eyes meaningfully—although the meaning is lost on me—and Kai glances away almost guiltily. My gut twists, and there’s no denying the jealousy now.
I pick up my own glass, taking a long sip. The wine is finally starting to taste a little sweeter than acid. “You’re right,” I say, holding up my glass. “It is tasty.”
Kai grabs his glass and gulps half of it down before setting it down with a grimace. “You’re full of shit. This tastes like ass.”
Haven must kick him under the table, because he flinches and drops his stormy gaze to the white tablecloth. “You’re both full of shit,” he corrects sullenly.
I don’t even attempt to argue.
“You’re angry,” I say more calmly than I feel as I slide my hand over the white linen tablecloth toward them. “And you have every right to be.”
“Damn straight.” Kai’s jaw is so tight I’m surprised his teeth haven’t cracked. “You think you can send one pathetic voice note, buy us some dinner, and we’ll just forget everything? All the blackmail, the manipulation, the—“
“No.” I set down my wineglass. “I don’t think that at all.”
“Then why are we here?” Haven asks quietly. Her fingers are still fidgeting with that necklace, the sapphires catching the glow from the bare bulb dangling above us.
“I want…” I pause, searching for words that don’t sound like more manipulation. “I meant what I said. This isn’t another game.”