Chapter Twenty One #2
“Thank you for always trying to keep me safe.”
“Fuck, Lena.”
I pull her into me before she can say anything else, wrapping both arms around her while she folds into my chest. For a second, the station disappears and all I can see is that shitty hallway, her door across from mine, me sitting on the floor with my back against the wall because I was too fucking scared to sleep.
Except, we’re not kids anymore.
She’s grown, I’m grown, and somehow, I’m still holding on like if I loosen my grip, I’m thirteen again and everything starts over.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter into her hair.
She pulls back enough to look up at me. “For what?”
“All of it. For not stopping him. For not getting us out sooner. For—”
“You didn’t do it, Revel.”
“I know.”
“And you didn’t let it happen either.”
My jaw tightens.
“Feels like I fucking did.”
“No.” Her voice sharpens enough to make me look at her properly. “You told people. You fought him. You stayed with me when every adult in that house should’ve been doing the protecting. Stop carrying the part that belongs to them.”
That shuts me up.
Because fuck, I don’t know what to do with that.
Lena lets me stand there with it for a second before her eyes drop to the phone still clenched in my hand.
“Now go deal with your girl.”
Cece.
Fuck.
I hit the power button immediately, and the screen takes its sweet fucking time lighting up while I stare at it like I can force the thing to move faster.
“Come on.”
The second it boots, notifications start stacking across the screen.
Andre.
Thorne.
Talon.
Bex.
Then I see her name.
Four missed calls from Cece.
My stomach drops so fast it feels like I missed a step.
I open our thread.
Cece: You know what? Don’t bother coming.
“Fuck.”
Next one.
Cece: This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this shit with you.
I can hear her saying it. Can see that look she gets when she’s hurt but trying to make it sound like anger because anger is easier.
Then I keep reading.
Cece: You chased me for months, got what you wanted, then the second we get back to real life you can’t even fucking show up when you say you will.
My chest goes tight.
She thinks I did exactly what she warned me not to do.
Exactly what I promised her I wouldn’t.
The next message makes it worse.
Cece: I looked like a fucking idiot waiting for you tonight. My mom waited for you.
I press my tongue hard against the inside of my cheek and stare at the words until they blur for a second.
Then I see the last one.
Cece: Lose my number.
Everything in me goes cold.
“No.”
Lena watches me carefully, but I’m already moving, already unlocking the phone again like maybe I read it wrong the first time.
I didn’t.
She thinks I left.
She thinks I got what I wanted and fucked off the second things got real.
And after looking her in the eyes today and promising I’d always come back, I somehow managed to hand her the exact fucking proof she needed to believe I was just another man who wouldn’t stay.
Lena’s expression changes the second I look at my phone.
I call Cece.
Voicemail.
I try again, then open our thread and type instead.
Me: Cece, call me.
It doesn’t deliver.
My stomach drops.
Me: Please.
Still nothing.
“She blocked you,” Lena says quietly.
“Yeah.” I shove the phone into my pocket and drag a hand down my face, because of course she fucking did. After everything she told me about her dad, about men loving the chase and disappearing once they got what they wanted, I handed her the exact nightmare she was waiting for.
“I have to go.”
Lena nods immediately, but before I make it more than a few steps, I stop and glance back at her. Old habit. Doesn’t matter that she’s grown now.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay enough for tonight.” She gives me a tired little smile. “Go, Revel. Fix your own life for once.”
That drags a laugh out of me despite everything.
“Bossy.”
“Yeah well, I learned it from you.”
I kiss the top of her head, tell her I love her, and then I’m gone.
The rain starts before I’m even out of the station lot, Florida apparently deciding tonight needs one more fucking problem.
Within minutes it’s coming down hard enough to turn the streets glossy beneath me, water hammering against my visor while headlights smear across the wet pavement.
My hands ache inside my gloves every time I tighten them around the grips, but I barely notice.
I call Cece through my helmet.
Voicemail.
“Fuck.”
Again.
Same thing.
Every part of me wants to push the bike harder, but the roads are slick and I already broke one promise tonight. I’m not showing up at her house in an ambulance just to prove I’m committed.
So I ride fast enough that Andre would bitch, and careful enough to stay upright while Cece’s messages keep replaying in my head.
Lose my number.
I know how her anger works. It’s the first thing she reaches for when something hurts too much, and tonight I didn’t just piss her off.
I walked straight into the fear she trusted me enough to tell me about and made it look fucking real.
At a red light, I call again and get voicemail before the second ring.
“Come on, Mama.”
Rain streams down my visor while I picture her at her mom’s table, checking the time while she waited.
Every minute making her regret trusting me a little more.
My chest tightens.
I know what waiting does to a person. I spent half my childhood learning not to unpack because there was always another house, another adult, another promise that could disappear without warning.
And tonight I made Cece wait for me.
The light changes, and I take off.
By the time I turn onto her street, it’s almost midnight and the rain has eased into something steadier. Her porch light is on, one lamp glowing through the front window, and the sight of her house hits me with enough relief to make my shoulders finally drop.
I kill the bike in her driveway, pull off my helmet and gloves, then look down at my hands.
My knuckles are split and swollen. Covered in dried blood that's gone dark again from the rain. She’s going to have questions.
Which, could maybe keep her from slamming the door in my face long enough for me to answer them. I take the porch steps two at a time and knock hard enough to send pain through my hand.
“Cece!”
Nothing.
I hit the door again. “Mama!”
Still nothing, and the panic starts climbing until a light flicks on somewhere deeper inside the house.
I put both palms against the door and lower my head between them, rain dripping off my hair and down my jaw while every rehearsed explanation disappears.
When I speak again, there’s none of the usual bullshit left in me.
“Please.”
The lock turns.
I lift my head and wait.