Chapter 19
Nineteen
Melissa
Three months. Three months since Auckland's lights faded in my rear-view mirror and Westbeach's familiar coastline welcomed me back.
My phone buzzes against my hip through my apron pocket.
I fish it out, catching Karian's eye and nodding toward the customers lined up at the counter.
Since branching out to Eastbeach, the bakeries have kicked off so much that we're looking at expanding here, buying the place next door.
“Hey,” I say, shouldering through the kitchen's swinging doors.
“What're we doing tonight?” Phoebe's voice cuts through before I settle the phone against my ear.
I exhale.
“What do you mean? I just want to sit at home and relax with a bottle of Sauv. I don't want to be shoved around in your rock star drama.”
“Oh? It's like that now, is it?” she asks, mocking her hurt. “No, seriously, I need to do something. I just need to escape for a bit.” She just said “escape” like Dory did in Finding Nemo.
“You're right. You do need to get out,” I mutter dryly.
“Yes. I think you do, too. When was the last time you had alcohol?”
I don’t hesitate. “Three months.”
“Leave the boy toy at home and lets go out!”
I smile, clutching my phone. I guess I could do that. Allow myself this one time since all I’ve done is throw myself into work. “Fine.”
Phoebe’s breath speeds up, as if she’s jogging. “I can't believe you're seeing Chase.”
I trace patterns in the scattered flour. “I wouldn't call it seeing. We're just messing around.”
“Every night.”
“Okay, so about tonight?” I change the subject before Phoebe sinks her claws into the topic, or worse, asks about Richard, who makes it his job to ask me out every chance he gets.
She rambles about what we’re going to wear and the latest gossip that’s being spilled in the magazines, before we both hang up and I finish up for the day.
Chase is good in bed. Good means distraction. Good means not great. Good means comfortable.
“You heading out tonight?” he asks as I roll off his six-pack. He watches me from beneath brown hair that falls over his forehead as I move around my bedroom to get ready.
I grin, reaching for my discarded bra. “Yeah. Phoebe’s in town so she wants us to go—decompress!”
He flashes me a boyish smile. “What, am I not enough for you?”
I jab my finger into his chest. “You are, but you also need to leave. I have to get ready.”
“What? You kicking me out?” His hand lands on his chest in mock offence.
“Yes. Get out.” I point towards the door behind a laugh.
He rolls out of bed, tugging on his jeans. “Fine.” He slips a shirt over his head, leaving his jeans unfastened at the waist, and hooks his arm behind my back. “Text me when you're horny.”
“Always do,” I answer in a singsong voice, and then he's gone and I'm left in my apartment alone.
I let the silence settle until I hear every breath, and the door at my back feels like concrete. Silence.
Pushing off the wall, I quickly make a move for the shower and scrub up in double time. If I haven’t had alcohol in three months, I should probably prep my liver.
Espresso Martinis.
Grinning, I fiddle with my machine until the grunt of grinding coffee beans fills the hideous silence. I’d barely tossed ice in my shaker when there’s a loud knock on the door.
Fucking Chase. That didn't take long.
I swing open the door but stop in my tracks when a familiar face stares back at me… and not the kind I sit on.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, clutching the door handle. “What're you doing here? I mean, it's been, God, how long has it been?”
My sister cocks her head sideways, just like she did when we were kids.
The hallway light catches in her honey-blonde hair, dancing through each wave down to the small of her back.
Those eyes freeze me where I stand. Blue that darkens at the edges, but there's something new in them.
Something moves beneath the surface now, exhausted and weighted.
Her skin is still flawless; that flush in her cheeks isn't makeup.
It's real, raw. Her lips—the full kind women pay surgeons for—tighten slightly as she studies me.
It's always been this way with Millie. People just stop and stare, like they've encountered something too perfect to be touched.
A masterpiece somehow walking among us ordinary.
“Are you going to invite me in?” she asks. After five, almost six years apart, I'm seeing double. The sister I knew and this new version, layered over each other, both standing before me, familiar yet strange.
I step out of the way and gesture inside. “I almost didn't recognize you without your nun outfit on.”
She carefully lowers onto the sofa, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “Melissa, enough of the nun jokes, and it's called a habit.”
I scoff, pulling open my refrigerator door with more force than necessary. Cool air hits my face as I survey the contents. Leftover takeout containers, a wilted salad, and my faithful companion on the top shelf.
“Want a drink of anything? Water? Coffee? Vodka?” The last option rolls off my tongue with ease, though I'm only half-joking. “I’m shaking up an espresso martini anyway?”
Without waiting for her answer, I reach for the bottle, its familiar weight comforting in my hands.
I twist open the cap, the sharp scent hitting my nostrils as I pour a generous amount into the shaker.
Her blue eyes meet mine slowly, and there's something in them. Disappointment? Concern?
“I see you're still drinking,” she says, her voice carrying the same gentle reproach I remember from our teenage years.
I start to shake, letting the sound of ice crashing against metal drown out her words.
Flipping off the lid, I eye her as I pour the liquid into two martini glasses, even though I know she won’t be joining. “I see you're still judgmental.” I take a sip, letting the liquid rest on my tongue before swallowing. “What can I do for you?”
“I need somewhere to go.”
I pause, lowering the glass for a moment. “Why me? Why not mum? She misses you, you know.” Rounding the kitchen counter, I head into the living room and place both glasses onto the coffee table before unwrapping my hair from the towel.
“Because I can't. I…” Her breath catches, shoulders sagging. “Forget it.” She shoots up as fast as she sat down, and my heart shudders. She and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but she’s my baby sister. I’d do anything for her.
“Wait!” She pauses, and I lower my voice to a softer tone. The kind she responds best to. “Of course you can stay here.” This opening is too perfect. “But you have to come out tonight.”
She freezes, eyes stretching wide. “What do you mean?”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “You have to come out tonight. It's just me and...”
“Forget it.” She continues to the front door. “I'll take my chances homeless.”
I rush across the room and grab her arm. “Millie! Enough with the drama queen act. It's just one night, and then I'll back off—you can crash here as long as you want.”
She squints at me, suspicion written all over her face. “You mean it?”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Cross my heart. Only catch is Chase might drop by sometimes.”
“Chase who?”
I flash a grin and wiggle my eyebrows, letting out a knowing laugh.
Her face falls instantly, the colour draining from her cheeks as realization dawns on her. A disgusted snarl escapes her mouth. “Ew. Are you still getting monthly checkups?”
I flip her off. “ Not all of us can be God's favourite little angel floating around on a cloud of righteousness. He needs a villain too, right? Someone's gotta balance out all that holiness you've got going on.”
Her face flushes crimson, and she fidgets with the hem of her shirt, avoiding me. “You chose to be a... you know...” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggles to find the words.
I tilt my head, wondering if she’ll actually say it. “What, a whore?” I ask bluntly, watching as she practically jumps out of her skin at the word. I burst out laughing, swiping my glass and downing the spiked Espresso in one go. “Chill. It won’t be a late one.”
My sister and I have different coping mechanisms. She prefers silence and meditation; I need chaos and beer. Turns out, VIP sections in nightclubs are still too loud for her.
“Guys, this is Indie!” Phoebe yells over the loud music, gesturing toward her friend.
I smile politely at Indie before reaching for Phoebe. “Millie needs air. We'll be back.”
She nods, tugging the redhead's wrist as they disappear into the swaying crowd, and I trail behind Millie back toward the entrance. We’ve been here for an hour, and she already wants to leave.
I fist-punch Leslie, the bouncer, before running after Millie. She stops further down the street, far enough not to be interrupted by drunk laughter, but close enough that we can see if Phoebe and Indie leave.
“Okay,” I begin, running my hands up my arms, my mind sobering a little. “Spill. What's going on with you?”
She paces the curb, stilettos catching on broken concrete.
Pressing her palm to her forehead, her fingertips quiver against her hairline.
The club's neon sign flickers—green, violet, green—casting her face in bright light. Her shoulders rise and fall, faster now. Every time I think she’s going to say something, her mouth snaps closed.
“I’ve found myself in a bit of—”her words cut off as a black limousine rolls up beside us. Creepy.
I wave it away. “Move along, Pedo!”
But it stops, and the rear door clicks open. I freeze, something prickling over my spine. I don’t realize I’m pushing Millie behind my body until I feel her fingers wrap in mine from behind.
The back window slides down, revealing nothing but darkness.
“You have four seconds to get in this car,” someone murmurs lazily. “I don’t really like waiting, Melissa.”
“Ah… okay? I’ll just get my sister to go tell—” his chuckle cuts off my words, and dread settles in the pit of my stomach before he says the next words.
“—both of you get in this car.”