Chapter 26 #2
Abbie’s chair scrapes the floor as she lunges toward me, grabbing my shoulders and holding me steady. “No. Look at me, Lily. Look at me.”
I lift my gaze, and her eyes burn with something I can’t name—fury, love, rage all mixed into one. “You’re not nothing. You’re not a toy. You’re not a goddamn test. You are Lily, and anyone who can’t see that can eat shit.”
Cora comes up on the other side, sliding an arm around my waist and pressing a hand to my back. “We’ve got you. Every single thing you’re feeling? Every tear, every breakdown, every messy, impossible emotion? You don’t have to hide it. Not from us.”
The tears fall freely now, stinging my cheeks, and I let them.
Let the ache, the longing, the fury spill over.
My body shakes with it, raw and trembling.
“I’m so tired,” I whisper, voice cracking.
“So fucking tired of wanting him, of hating him, of feeling like I can’t…
breathe without him messing everything up. ”
Abbie tightens her grip, her voice low and fierce. “Then stop carrying it alone. Stop letting him decide how you feel. We’re right here. Every step, every stumble, every piece of shit he throws at you, we’ll catch it. Together.”
Cora squeezes me again, her words steady, unwavering. “You are not alone, Lily. You never were. You have us. Always.”
I hiccup a laugh through the sobs, half-bitter, half-relieved.
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I let myself sink into it, not trying to be strong, not trying to be anything.
Just letting it hurt, just letting it out.
And in the middle of the storm, their arms around me, I feel it—tethered, grounded, and seen. Not by him. Not yet. But by them.
And somehow, that’s enough to take a shaky, ragged breath and remind myself I’m still me. Still standing. Still fighting. Still theirs.
“You’re a mess. But a hot mess, so… silver lining?” Abbie snorts, pulling me impossibly closer to her.
Cora nudges me with her elbow, smirking despite the seriousness still in her eyes. “Yeah. And hey, at least he’s predictable. Mess up your day, make you cry, act like a total idiot. Classic Matt.”
I groan, pressing my face into my hands. “I hate that I laughed at that.”
“You didn’t laugh at him,” Abbie says, steps back with a triumphant tilt of her head. “You laughed at yourself. And that, my friend, is progress.”
Cora laughs softly, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. “See? Look at you. Crying, yelling, surviving. Like a champ.”
I peek between my fingers, letting a small, shaky smile slip. “You’re impossible,” I whisper.
“And you love us for it,” Abbie says, grinning.
I roll my eyes, but the tight ache in my chest softens a little, and for the first time in hours, maybe days, I feel lighter. Still raw, still wanting, but no longer utterly alone.
Cora nudges me again. “Come on. Let’s get you out of this shop before you start dissolving into a puddle of hormones again. Poor Duncan is about ready to run for the hills.”
I laugh, the sound shaky but real, and stand, leaning on them both as we walk toward the door. The city outside carries on, a world still messy and dangerous, but in here, I have my people. My fortress. My girls.
And for now, that’s enough.
The hotel lobby smells like polished marble and fresh flowers. Cora practically bounces ahead, dragging me toward the lift like a kid on Christmas morning. Abbie is already snapping photos, captions forming in her mind, Instagram-ready chaos in motion.
I let myself be swept along, letting their energy fill me, as we make our way to the spa.
Duncan—who still can’t look at me after witnessing my breakdown—stations himself by the door while Liam and Aidan sweep the hall, and Smithy takes up position in the lobby. Even here, safety isn’t silent, it crackles constantly, like background static.
Abbie stretches across a heated stone lounge, towel wrapped tight, sipping pink champagne. Cora scrolls through her camera roll, showing us every second of the last year, feet soaking in a gold basin as she does so.
“I think you should wear the lingerie,” Abbie says casually, like it’s the most normal suggestion in the world.
Cora makes a small protesting sound, but it’s playful, not disapproving. “We’re actually doing this?”
“Why not?” Abbie shrugs. “I wore black to my wedding just to piss off Logan, you wore the tiniest gym sets to tempt Owen. We’re all a little twisted. The unholy trinity, if you will.”
Cora raises her glass. “To being beautifully unhinged.”
I hesitate. “I don’t want to encourage him. I don’t want him thinking he still has that kind of power.”
Cora studies me, sharp, but soft. “Hey. Acknowledging how much someone gets under your skin isn't a weakness.” She nudges me gently. “And you’re allowed to want things. Even messy things. It’s what you do with that wanting that matters.”
Her words hit something raw, and I flinch.
“Sorry,” she adds quietly. “I just… worry about you. You’ve been carrying all of this alone, and you shouldn’t have to.”
I swirl the champagne in my glass, watching the liquid form into a gentle whirlpool of motion. She’s right. It isn’t just that I want him. It’s that some reckless, unhealed corner of me still believes he sees me. That maybe—if I’m honest—I want to know if he’d finally fight for me.
I shouldn’t wear it.
And yet every thread of black lace feels like a choice I’m not supposed to make. A dare. A confession I can’t say aloud.
He said he’d know. And God, I hate—detest—how much I want him to. How much I want him to imagine me spinning beneath club lights, pretending I’ve moved on, while the silk against my skin betrays me.
It’s not that I need him. I don’t.
But I want him to watch me burn.
I swirl the champagne again, eyes fixed on the bubbles, trying to convince myself I’m still in control.
Abbie tilts her head, studying me. “You know what you’re doing, right?”
I shrug, the lie too thin to hold. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Abbie scoffs, fond, not frustrated. “Lily, babe. You’re about to put on a black lace dagger aimed straight at your own chest, and you’re calling it maybe?”
Cora huffs a laugh, leaning over the basin. “Look, wear it because you want to. Not because of him or because you can never turn down a challenge. Not because of what he might feel or think or imagine. You're allowed to feel powerful without letting him dictate that power.”
A sharp breath catches in my throat. “I know that. I just…” The words crumble. “I just want him to see. To feel something. Even if it’s anger. Even if it’s…” My voice cracks. “Even if it’s not good.”
Abbie slips an arm around my shoulders. “It doesn’t have to be about him. Let it be about you reclaiming something. Wear it because you look hot as hell and deserve to feel it. Lingerie is about how it makes you feel, not who's going to see it.”
Cora nods, gentler now. “Exactly. If you’re going to play with fire, we’re here with extinguishers, ready to step in and pick up the pieces if it comes to it.”
A hollow laugh escapes me. “Pieces…”
“Yes, pieces,” Abbie says firmly but warm. “Every single one. Every messy, twisted, infuriating piece. You’re ours, Lily. We’ve got you.”
The heat in my chest twists, this time not just for him but for them. My lifelines. My tether when everything else threatens to pull me under.
Cora straightens, a wicked gleam on her face. “So, if you’re going to do this? Let’s make it cinematic. Champagne, music, dangerous, indulgent vibes. Go big or go home.”
I finally smile, it’s shaky, but real. The ache is still there, the fire still burning, but the weight eases enough to breathe.
I lift my glass. “To being unhinged,” I whisper.
“To being unhinged,” they echo, voices warm and wicked.
And for the first time since I opened that box, I don’t feel quite so alone.