Chapter 27 #2
“Come on, Lee, you’re not making sense.” There’s an edge of worry in her voice now. “Take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”
The beginning. When was that? The night at Parkview, when I stole his lighter? The day he tracked me down and demanded a favor? Or Saturday night, when I let myself believe, just for a moment, that I was more than just a convenient pawn in whatever game he’s playing?
It all comes out in a messy rush that probably makes no sense. But I explain I stole something and that I now belong to him, and that I’d started to think maybe, just maybe, something real was happening.
Taking a deep breath, I launch myself into the Tony of it all. “Like, why wouldn’t he just say Antonia? Answer me that, Pipes. Is that so hard? I don’t think so.”
“Lee,” Piper sighs emphatically. “Your explanation isn’t making any sense. Who is he? What did he want from you?”
Didn’t I just explain all of this? Huh, maybe my drunken slurs only made sense to me.
“I’m so fucking stupid,” I sob into the phone, curling tighter around myself. “I didn’t want to believe him. But I did. He said he loved me, Pipes. Loved me. Me—” I hiccup embarrassingly loud.
“You’re not stupid,” Piper says firmly. “And you’re not the first person to get their heart broken, Lee.”
The nickname—the one only family uses—makes fresh tears spill over. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.” My words slur together, wine and exhaustion blurring the edges. “It’s not like we were actually dating. It’s not like it was real.”
“Wasn’t it?”
That stops me cold. Was it? Has any of it been real? The ice cream at midnight, the way he looked at me when I pulled that knife, the words whispered against my skin in the dark make my throat close up.
“I don’t know anymore,” I admit, voice small. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s just… him using me.”
There’s a long pause from Piper’s end, and when she speaks again, her voice has that laser-focused quality that means she’s already formulating a battle plan.
“I’m coming to you,” she announces. “I’ll be there before seven.”
“Pipes, you can’t just—”
“I already am,” she cuts me off. “Enzo’s having the jet prepped as we speak.”
Of course he is. Because Piper married the kind of man who has a private jet at his disposal. The kind of man who would move Heaven and Earth for her with a single word.
“I don’t deserve you,” I mumble, my head suddenly too heavy to hold up. I let it fall back against the wall with a thunk.
“Yes, you do,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice even through my drunken haze. “Now drink some water and go to bed. I’ll text when I land.”
Relief and embarrassment war in my chest as I hang up. Relief that she’s coming, that I won’t have to face another day alone with my thoughts. Embarrassment that I’ve dragged her into my mess, that I’m so pathetic I can’t even handle a little rejection without falling apart.
“You’re a fucking disaster,” I tell myself as I struggle to my feet, the room tilting dangerously. My fingers are numb from clutching the phone too long, pins and needles shooting through them as I set it down.
I should clean up. Piper can’t see the apartment like this. But I only manage to gather the bottles into a somewhat orderly line on the counter before the effort becomes too much. The rest will have to wait. My bed calls to me, a siren song of oblivion I can’t resist.
It feels like I’ve just lain down when light suddenly streams through my windows, harsh and unforgiving. My phone buzzes under my pillow.
Pipes: Just landed. Be there soon.
Oh God. I scramble out of bed, my head pounding in rhythm with my heartbeat. I have minutes, not hours, to make myself look less like the human disaster I’ve become.
I splash water on my face, wincing at my reflection. The dried mascara is a lost cause, smudged under my eyes in dark half-moons. My hair is a rat’s nest of tangles. There’s a wine stain on my t-shirt that definitely wasn’t there when I put it on.
The doorbell rings as I’m frantically trying to brush my teeth and pick up stray socks simultaneously. I freeze, toothbrush hanging from my mouth, panic rising in my chest. Too late.
I hear the key in the lock—the spare I gave Piper when I moved in. The door opens and closes, followed by the sound of heels clicking on hardwood.
“Lee?” Piper’s voice carries through the apartment, crisp and clear like mountain air. “Where are you?”
I step into the hallway, toothbrush still in hand, and there she is—Piper Russo in all her glory. She looks like she’s stepped out of a magazine spread, wearing a cream-colored, sleeveless shirt tucked into tailored trousers, not a wrinkle in sight despite just getting off a plane.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek braid, and she’s carrying what looks like breakfast in a white paper bag.
The contrast between us couldn’t be starker. Me, disheveled and hungover, with toothpaste at the corner of my mouth. Her, polished and put-together as always.
“Oh, Lee,” she says softly, taking in the state of me.
Something in her tone—not pity, not judgment, just pure Piper understanding—breaks the last thread holding me together. The toothbrush clatters to the floor as I crumple, shoulders shaking with fresh sobs that seem to come from somewhere deeper than before.
In two quick strides, Piper is there, arms wrapping around me, the familiar scent of her perfume enveloping me like a security blanket.
“I got you,” she whispers against my hair as I cling to her, probably ruining her perfect blouse with my mess. “I’m here now.”
I let her hold me up because my legs seem to have forgotten how to do their job. Let her pet my hair and make those soft shushing noises you make to wounded animals. Let myself be the kind of vulnerable I’ve spent years running from.
“I’m sorry,” I manage between hiccupping breaths. “I’m so sorry.”
Piper pulls back just enough to look at me, her green eyes serious. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she says firmly. “That’s what I’m here for.”
She helps me to the bathroom, where she wets a washcloth with warm water and gently cleans the mascara from my face. “There,” she says when she’s done. “Now you only look half-dead instead of fully deceased.”
I laugh weakly, the sound watery and thin. “You always say the sweetest things,” I quip.
“I know,” she deadpans, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Now, let’s get some food in you before you tell me exactly who this man is and what he did to reduce my best friend to floor-crying.”
“How do you know I was on the floor?” I ask, not that it matters.
She frowns at me. “Girl, how drunk were you? You video-called me. And while you had your phone pressed against your ear most of the time, you did occasionally wave it around.”
Guess that tracks, so I just nod, not trusting myself to speak again. Because telling Piper the whole truth means admitting it to myself. Right, here we go. Time to undo some pins.
… After a shower. I should also clean up my apartment first, it would be irresponsible to leave it like this for much longer.