Chapter 72 RJ
RJ
Clara’s hand in mine is birthday present enough, but Jansen’s been working on this party for days, and I’ve got to be a good enough friend to at least show up and enjoy myself.
The doorbell was ringing way too many times while I was getting ready, so I have no idea what all I’m going to find, but it’s probably not the small, quiet evening with some cake and a toast or two that I was imagining.
Prince Fluffington is waiting on the steps to the attic, and like he’s the ma?tre d’, he leads us upstairs, his tail tick-tocking at the tip as he goes.
Soft music with a good beat bleeds out the doorway, and pushing it open, we find the same set-up we had for that ill-fated last poker night.
One I missed entirely, because cops are dicks and Pops couldn’t stay away from the allure of a good bet.
The mask messes with my vision a bit, but I knew we couldn’t show up without fitting the theme.
Jansen’s disappointment wouldn’t be worth it.
Sure enough, everyone else is wearing their masks, and I’m shocked at the intricacy of Walker’s work. We look like a collection of half-formed fairytale monsters. Beautiful and deadly.
Masks that show a truth we might not want to admit. Because we’re all both of those, even if the rest of us haven’t been tested the way Trips and Clara have been. There’s a sharpness in us all that wasn’t there before. The kind that only foolish people dare test.
Jansen bounds up, smothering Clara in kisses and twirling her, complimenting and teasing in equal measure. Her giggle is better than the music, and with a grin that says he knew exactly what he was doing, he spins her away from him and into Walker’s waiting arms.
Walker’s mask makes kisses difficult, but he touches his thumb to the middle of her blood-red lips, his intensity heavy between them. “A queen,” he whispers, and she presses her lips against his thumb, leaving a trace of red on it.
“But I’m still your princess, right?” she asks.
His body relaxes at the question. “Always, and forever.”
“Good.” She pops up to her toes and presses those lips against his cheek as well, and I can practically feel his heart swell with the motion.
Although once she turns away, Jansen pantomimes about her boobs just being out there in that dress, and yeah.
I didn’t miss that detail. And the slight flush visible under Walker’s mask says he didn’t miss that detail either.
Summer told us this was her dress. She was right, but I’m damn glad Clara’s not wearing it where any of the assholes at Trips’ father’s house could see her.
Not that any of us would stop her from going wherever she wants, dressed in whatever makes her feel good about herself. It’s her body. We just get to worship it.
Trips grabs her by both her elbows as she strides toward him, stopping her forward momentum with a start.
His mask covers his mouth, the maw of some ferocious beast jutting out from his jaw.
I wonder what he’s going to do, but then I remember he’s spent most of his life in a place where words are dangerous.
I’m still not sure I’ve forgiven him for what he did to Clara, but it’s clear she has.
His palm cradles her cheek, and she leans into it.
There’s something uncomfortably sweet in the way he looks at her.
It’s an emotion I never would have figured the man capable of, but it’s there.
He loves her, cares for her, trusts her.
It’s not just some nascent responsibility toward her or a desire to protect her.
It’s love, the all-encompassing, heart bleeding, horrifically vulnerable kind.
The same kind that’s infected all of us.
I’m still not sure he’s trustworthy. But if that look is worth anything, it’s clear he’ll do whatever he can to keep her safe, happy, and in one piece. And that’s a big step in the right direction.
She pushes past his hold, and he lets her. She ends up with her forehead pressed against his chest, his chin resting on top of her head. His arms wrap around her, but his eyes dodge to me.
He knows where we left things.
He doesn’t think he’ll earn my forgiveness. He never thought he’d earn hers, but, well, there it is, in the way she melts into his hug.
I nod, a small dip of my chin, and even though I can’t see his mouth, some of the tightness around his eyes relaxes, like maybe he’s smiling under that bear-like contraption.
There’s a ching-ching-ching of metal on glass, and turning, I find Jansen standing on a table, a goblet of something light colored in one hand and an absurdly large knife in the other.
“Hello, and welcome to RJ’s twenty-third birthday party!
Here’s the plan: first, a photo; second, food; third, gifts; fourth, cake; and after that, dancing, drinking, games, whatever.
So, everybody, over here. I’ve got my phone set on a delay.
We’re going to do an official portrait, and then we’re going to get really close for a selfie.
After that, you can take off your masks if you want.
Except Trips. He should keep his muzzle on. Safety first!”
Laughter surrounds me, and our resident thief leaps from the table and crushes us together, then sets his phone up on a chair perched on the table, hits the button and dives at us. Literally.
By the time the flash goes off, four people are either laughing or cursing, while Jansen poses horizontally in our arms. He does a few normal ones too, including his promised selfie, but his silliness starts the party with the right vibes.
A little wacky, a whole lot of fun, all of us working together to make it a good night.
We browse on the obscene amount of food, and I open a collection of thoughtful gifts I wasn’t expecting nor particularly needed. It’s perfect.
When it comes time for the cake, Jansen makes another announcement, and this one I’m expecting. It’s one we’ve planned for, both separately and together.
“So,” he starts, standing on a chair this time, even though we aren’t a crowd and he has no need to climb on top of things to get our attention.
“Because our legal system is what it is, we can’t all marry you, Clara.
Which sucks. Majorly. I’m putting in a petition that we take it in five-year chunks, so we can each have a turn.
Then if you want to be single for a while, well, sorry. No can do.”
I can’t help laughing, and I’m not alone. Clara looks up at him like he’s crazy but also like she wants to fly up there and hug him, even as she shakes her head at him.
“Because of that, I got each of us a cake to cut with you. And we each got you something to go along with it. Except Trips. He got to marry you, so he’s good there.
I did get him a treat, though. I didn’t want him to feel left out.
Anyway, we’ll sing for RJ, but then it’s all romance for a minute. It’ll make sense. Kind of.”
Clara looks at me, bewildered. “It’s your birthday. Why am I still getting presents?”
“Because you deserve all the good things, princess,” Walker says, tugging her close to him.
“And RJ was on board with this. None of us wanted to wait any longer than we had to. You’re too important to each of us.
” He presses his nose to the side of her head, and it’s clear in his posture—having her back makes everything better.
Even the shit we wish we didn’t have to deal with.
She turns in his hold, seeing his truth as clearly as I do, then twists to look at me. I smile and nod, so she knows I’m okay with this.
“Alright then,” she says, her voice softer than it usually is.
Jansen plops some candles in a cake, and they sing for me, Clara’s voice charmingly off-key, and when I blow out the blaze of twenty-three candles, I make a wish. It’s a simple one, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it more than anything.
More nights like tonight. A lifetime’s worth of them. We’ve more than earned it.