Chapter 9
Hayden
I arrive exactly on time.
Not early, because eagerness is frowned upon now. And not late, because that would be careless. No, I arrive precisely when I said I would, slipping through the unlocked door of Levi’s friends’ home just as the party is kicking off.
The main floor is a mess of decorations, dim lighting, and the kind of music that people pretend to hate but secretly know every word to.
Heart-shaped confetti dusts the floor, glitter catches on every available surface, and I’m immediately handed a drink by a larger-than-life man in a satin devil-horned headband.
“Welcome to Heartbreak,” he says, winking.
What the hell have I stumbled into?
I take a sip and immediately regret it. The drink is somehow both cloyingly sweet and tart, with a cough-syrup aftertaste that clings to my tongue.
I glance over at the menu scrawled on a chalkboard behind the makeshift bar.
Tonight’s cocktails: Love Potion No. 9 (gin, lavender, poor decisions), It’s Not Me, It’s You (bourbon sour, aggressively bitter), The Ex-Tini (vodka martini, watered down).
I check the drink I’d been handed: It’s Not Me, It’s You. Fitting.
It’s official. I…shouldn’t be here.
I should have texted Levi—sorry, people keep dying—and stayed home.
Instead, I’m holding the bottle of pinot I brought in one hand with a relationship self-help book tucked under the other arm, because when I grabbed the wine at the store, the book was eyeing me at checkout: 1,001 Ways Not to Die a Bitter Bitch.
It was supposed to be a joke. A “here, I brought this” gesture to elicit a chuckle kinda thing. But now I feel ridiculous. I should have just brought a normal host gift. Like a candle. Or nothing.
“The broody one made it,” Levi’s friend Dominic, if memory serves, says, leaning against the door in the entryway, a martini glass balanced in one hand, and in head-to-toe maroon.
“For the host,” I say, offering the wine. The book is a mistake I can’t return.
He takes it, inspects the label, and nods in approval. “Amazing taste.” Then his gaze flicks to the book. “And this?” His lips twitch.
I sigh, handing it over. “Impulse.”
Dominic smiles, eyes wide. “Oh, I like you. Go, mingle, and you better not break anyone’s heart,” he warns with a wink before disappearing into the kitchen.
I keep to the edges at first, sipping my unfortunate drink, smiling just enough to seem engaged.
Dominic’s place is nice. The furniture is curated, the lighting is warm and flattering, and the music playing through hidden speakers is perfectly set to a volume where conversation can still flow.
The place smells expensive. As I move farther in, pink and black streamers drape the mantel, heart-shaped balloons float against the ceiling, and cocktail napkins are printed with phrases like Love Is Dead and Certified Hater.
The room hums with too much life, but I anchor to one person.
Levi.
My eyes find him instantly. He moves through the crowd like he belongs to everyone.
Effortlessly charming, laughing, touching shoulders and arms as he leans in to listen to his people.
The way they’re drawn to him is like a gravitational pull, one I find myself caught in, and the warmth he emits is infuriatingly pleasant to witness.
But when he sees me, a smile grows across his face so wide you’d think the man just won the lottery, and I’m not entirely sure how to untangle the knots that form in my stomach.
“I see you ignored the dress code,” he says, beelining in my direction, cheeks flushed and hair wild. I roll my eyes.
“Hold please,” I say as I push my glass into his hands. I lift my trouser hems, revealing black socks peppered with red hearts. It’s unlike me…but I’m trying, it would appear.
Levi’s eyes brighten. “You bought those for this, didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t possibly imagine what you mean.”
He fights a grin. “Criminal levels of effort,” he says, handing my drink back. “I love it.”
“Effort is effort, I suppose.”
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I like you,” he tosses off.
I freeze. Said so casually, like it means nothing. But it hits like a punch to the ribs.
“Debatable,” I say, slower than before in case my tone betrays me.
He rolls his eyes but grabs my wrist and tugs me toward a group of people near the makeshift bar. There, Levi presses a premade shot into my hand. The drink is bright pink with a black sugar rim, but all I can focus on is the aftershock of contact.
“Now you’re lucky I have a high tolerance for bullshit,” I mutter, inspecting the horrifying concoction thrust upon me.
Levi beams. “Drink first. Insult later.”
He clinks his shot glass to mine. “To topless bottoms and bottomless tops.”
“I decline on grammatical and structural grounds.”
“You’re no fun,” Levi says with a grin.
“I’m delightful in low doses.”
“Mm-hm,” he replies, quickly downing his shot before practically nudging mine to my lips.
The fluorescent shot hits my tongue with a wave of bitterness. “This tastes like liquid hell.”
“Good! It’s called Ghosted.”
I grimace. “How on the nose.”
“Come on, Broody,” he says. “Time to integrate.”
And I try.
A startling departure from my usual avoidance. But tonight feels different.
Elijah spots us as Levi guides me to the dining room table, now a station for crafting passive-aggressive valentines.
“Hayden! Glad you could make it.” He gestures grandly toward a meticulously arranged charcuterie spread.
“Make yourself comfortable. There’s plenty of cheese and cynicism to go around. ”
Dominic steps forward, looping an arm around his husband’s waist. “Please don’t scare him off. We like him.”
Elijah feigns offense. “I would never.”
Dominic smiles, handing me yet another pink, fizzy drink. “Cheers. Levi doubted you’d show, but I had faith.”
Levi flushes beside me, glaring at his best friend. “Thank you for that completely necessary revelation.”
We all laugh and I sip; it’s sweeter than I’d normally prefer, but the gin bite is welcome.
I glance at Levi. “So, tell me more about this ‘anti-Valentine’s’ tradition of yours.
It seems rather…elaborate.” My gaze shifts to a discarded valentine: Roses are red, violets are blue, you broke my heart, but karma’s coming for you. Charming.
Levi laughs softly. “Oh, this? It started back in middle school. Dominic had a massive crush on a classmate named Trevor Banks and decided Valentine’s Day was the perfect moment to make his big move. Flowers, card, the whole embarrassing works.”
Dominic groans like he’s reliving his childhood trauma all over again. “Trevor pretended he’d never seen me a day in his life, then tossed my carnations in the trash.”
Levi pats his arm. “From that moment on, Valentine’s Day was dead to us. Thus, the anti–Valentine’s Day party was born…celebrating friendship and laughing at all our romantic fuckups.”
Dominic nods in agreement. “Exactly. It’s a sacred vow between Levi and me. We’ve been carrying this…”
“…grudge,” Elijah offers, nudging Dominic lovingly.
“…this torch,” he continues without skipping a beat, “since we were thirteen.”
I turn curiously toward Elijah, who’s nothing but smiles as he sips his own themed concoction. “And how do you feel about celebrating a holiday dedicated to heartbreak?”
“Honestly? At first, I thought it was a tad ridiculous. But now, I love it. It’s their thing.
” Elijah leans over, pressing a kiss against Dominic’s cheek, who immediately beams. They love loudly.
It shouldn’t ache, but it does. Elijah continues with a playful sigh, “And let’s face it…
only these two could turn middle school rejection into all this. ”
Dominic raises his glass triumphantly to Levi while his other hand gently clasps Elijah. “See, bestie? I told you true love would never kill our tradition.”
They clink their glasses together as Elijah rolls his eyes.
I smile, absorbing their easy intimacy. It’s clear why Levi treasures it: more ritual than joke.
It’s about tradition, friendship, and unconditional love.
And as I glance at Levi, bent over in laughter with his found family, I find myself wanting to understand that joy firsthand.
It’s infuriating how much light he carries.
We settle at the table, crafting valentines full of sarcastic rhymes.
Levi shifts beside me, his thigh brushing lightly against mine under the table.
It’s brief, subtle enough to seem accidental, but I feel it like a soft jolt of electricity through my veins.
Eventually, Dominic and Levi get roped into a nearby conversation about the glory days of Stonevale High and Elijah busies himself with replenishing the small bites.
The playlist delivers: bitter pop ballads, nineties emo, and “Mr. Brightside” twice, triggering an enthusiastic sing-along from Dominic.
Against all odds though, I don’t feel compelled to leave.
I find myself relaxing into the evening, mingling, sipping on more horrible cocktails, and half-heartedly playing along as someone asks if I’ve ever experienced a “messy situationship.” I have, but it was in 1789 and involved a painter and his muse and that’s a poor topic for small talk.
Mostly, I just watch Levi drawing everyone in. I shouldn’t notice the curve of his neck when he laughs, or the way his rolled-up sleeves feel like an invitation…
“Still alive over here?” he murmurs, appearing with a fresh drink and flushed cheeks.
I arch a brow. “I am the funeral director, Levi. If I weren’t, you’d know.”
He laughs. “I just mean…you’re still here.”
I take a slow sip of my drink, watching as he’s pulled back into the crowd, drawn away by another friend.
Normally, I’d check my watch, let my mind wander, let the distance between me and the rest of the world stretch too far until I remove myself from it altogether.