28. Chapter 28
As the night wore on, the air inside the bar grew thick with the heat of packed bodies, the scent of spilled beer, and a rising wall of chatter.
I tugged uncomfortably at the hem of the blouse I’d picked out for girls' night. Emma had thrown a curveball into our plans by inviting her new flame—a red-haired, chirpy woman whose voice carried a grating vocal fry. Seriously, listening to her talk made my own throat ache. I was only here out of pure obligation to Emma. She’d texted me earlier, practically buzzing because she’d matched with this girl—Jane, I think her name was—on a dating app.
They’d grabbed coffee, sparks had flown, and Emma wanted my ultimate stamp of approval.
Jane was pretty. She had a small, curvy frame, warm brown eyes, and the way she looked at Emma was like Emma was the center of her universe. They’d been trading identical, goofy smiles the entire night.
But I felt completely numb.
I leaned heavily against the bar, downing shot after shot, letting the alcohol blur the edges of the room as the hours dragged on.
When Jane excused herself to use the restroom, Emma immediately lunged across the sticky table toward me.
“So? What do you think of her?”
I let out a heavy sigh, trying to match her energy. “She’s cute, Em. And she clearly adores you.”
Emma’s face instantly brightened. “You really think so?”
“Oh, definitely. She hasn’t taken her eyes off you all night.”
Pleased, Emma grinned and knocked back another shot. But as the glass hit the table, she caught me staring blankly into the middle distance.
“Any red flags?”
“Well...” I hesitated, turning my glass in a circle. “You just got out of a serious relationship. Do you really think you’re ready to jump back in so fast? It’s been, what, a month?”
Of course, I had absolutely no right to be doling out relationship advice, considering the ongoing trainwreck of my own involvement with the Jester. But still.
“I think my previous relationship died long before we officially called it,” Emma admitted, her eyes dropping. “If that makes sense.”
I mulled that over, the alcohol making my thoughts feel sluggish.
“It does. I just wonder if you’d be better off taking some time for yourself first.”
A sudden flush crept up Emma’s cheeks. It could have been the liquor, but I knew her well enough to recognize the defensiveness kicking in. Emma was a textbook people-pleaser, deeply caring, but the second she caught feelings for someone, she systematically turned a blind eye to any warning signs.
She opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in the air. My attention was suddenly snatched by one of the glowing TV screens mounted above the bar.
Ethan Vance’s face filled the screen.
The bar’s chaotic soundtrack—the clinking glasses and the thumping bass—all melted into a high-pitched ring. I couldn’t hear a word he was saying over the ambient noise of the pub, but the blocky white captions tracking across the bottom of the screen burned themselves into my retinas.
It was a prison interview. Evan sat beneath the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, his face drawn, hands clasped tightly in front of him.
The text scrolled by, translating his muted voice: “I wake up every single day with the weight of what I did,” the caption read.
“There isn’t a moment where I don't think about the victims, about their families–about the lives I ruined.”
The camera zoomed in on his face, capturing a well-timed, trembling exhale.
“I know I don’t deserve it,” the text scrolled on, “but I pray for their forgiveness every night. I just hope, somehow, they can find peace.”
I stared at the screen, my fingers gripping the edge of the bar so hard my knuckles turned white, the cheap whiskey turning to acid in my stomach.
Peace? He hoped I could find peace while my family was nothing but bones and memories?
The blinding spike of rage must have bled onto my face, because Emma took it as a direct reaction to her.
"Look, I asked for your opinion, not a lecture," she bristled, her voice sharp with that defensive edge I’d anticipated. "I’m allowed to move on."
I ripped my eyes away from the television, the irritation boiling over before I could stop it.
"Emma, you can date whoever you want. But you asked me if there were any red flags, so I gave you my honest answer. Don't get mad at me for being honest."
Emma didn't answer right away. Instead, she grabbed her glass, took a harsh swig of liquor, and slammed it back down. When she looked up, the warmth in her face was entirely gone, replaced by a bitter, exhausted sneer.
"Why are you always so miserable?" she demanded.
The words hit me like a physical slap.
"I know what happened years ago," Emma plowed on, gesturing vaguely in the air. "And I have tried so hard to keep in touch with you, Elara–for your sake. But sometimes, it honestly feels like I'm communicating with a brick wall."
A cold, hollow horror settled deep in my chest as her words sunk in. I’ve tried so hard to keep in touch. It wasn't about friendship. It wasn't because she genuinely missed me or wanted me around.
She was keeping tabs on me out of pity.
I was her charity case.
Shock paralyzed my throat, turning my voice into a hollow, pathetic mumble. "It's fine," I swallowed hard, staring at the wet ring on the table. "You don't... you don't have to keep tabs on me out of obligation."
"Oh, come on, don't do that," Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes. "This is exactly what I mean. You're just miserable and draining to be around. Everything is about perspective, Elara. You choose to stay in the dark."
Something inside me snapped. The grief, the humiliation, the sheer audacity of her lecturing me on perspective while the man who destroyed my life begged for forgiveness on a screen above our heads—it all collided.
Bang.
I smashed my hand against the wooden table so hard the remaining glasses rattled. Emma flinched, her eyes widening in sudden fear as I leaned across the space between us. The chaotic roar of the tavern faded into nothing compared to the venom in my voice.
"You know nothing," I whispered, the words vibrating with a quiet, lethal rage. "So do us both a favor. Stop keeping tabs on me. I am officially releasing you from your obligation."
I didn't wait for her response. I stood up so fast my stool scraped loudly against the floorboards. I stormed away from the table, my vision tunneling as the heat of the bar suffocated me.
"Hey, is everything okay?"
Jane was just stepping out of the restroom corridor, blinking at me in confusion. I didn't answer. I blindly pushed past her, nearly shoving her shoulder out of the way in my desperation to get to the exit before I completely lost control.
I needed to get out.
I needed the freezing November air, because if I stayed inside The Blind Crow for one more second, the fire in my veins was going to burn the whole place down.