Never Ever You

Chapter 27

I don’t know how long I stand there staring back at Tristan’s relatives. Probably a while, given that I’ve had time to register almost everyone’s face. There’s Tristan’s grandparents and Portia glaring at me. I see Nesta and her husband, Roland, aiming pitying glances at me. There are a dozen other relatives, whom I haven’t seen since the infamous Valentine’s Day anniversary party. Their expressions range from shocked to horrified at the sight of me.

Why the hell did Tristan insist that I come to his pub at the same time he’s hosting a family dinner?

I shake my head out of frustration; then I catch sight of Carly. Her blue eyes are wide, like she wasn’t expecting to see me either. She rests a hand on her massive belly. My stomach dives to my feet, and I quickly count backward in my head.

She’s about to give birth to her and Tristan’s baby, probably in just a few days.

She blinks, revealing a sheen of sadness I can see even standing ten feet away in this dim pub lighting. She blinks again and she’s composed. She glances down at her stomach before looking up at me once more. I catch a flash of guilt in her eyes before she quickly glances back down.

“What are you doing here?”

I turn around at the sound of Tristan’s impatient question and bite my tongue so I don’t yell at him. For a moment all I do is study the look on his face for any trace of smugness. Did he do this on purpose? Did he want me to walk in and see his entire family? Did he want Carly—the mother of his child, the woman he cheated on me with—to see me?

I take in his expression, the tight pull of his lips, how he’s frowning, how his blue-eyed gaze darts from me to behind me, where his entire family is sitting. I recognize that panicked look instantly. He’s not smug. He’s freaking out. And pissed.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” I struggle to keep my shrill, shocked tone under control. “You told me to come here. At six. To meet you so we could talk—”

“Fucking hell, Riley.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I meant for you to meet me outside at the entrance. I never meant for you to come inside.”

I grit my teeth. “Then why didn’t you say that?”

Instead of answering me, he rolls his eyes and looks off to the side. “Just wait for me outside.”

No apology. No explanation. Nothing.

I scoff. “Fine.”

I head back to the entrance of the pub but stop short of walking outside. It’s raining even harder now. No way am I going to stand out there and get soaked when it’s cold out.

I stand off to the side, near where the hallway to the bathrooms is, and take a second to collect myself. Leaning against the wall, I close my eyes. My heart is racing. My breath is ragged. I’m so lightheaded that if I don’t plant both of my feet firmly on the ground, I’ll lose my balance. Christ.

I was prepared to see Tristan and Portia. But seeing their whole family unexpectedly felt like a punch to the gut and a slap to the face at once. There’s a tightness in my throat as I recall how sad and shocked Nesta and Roland looked. God, I miss them. I hate that this is how they’re seeing me—without any warning, at what was clearly an intimate family gathering. And here I am barging in and interrupting like some jerk.

When I open my eyes, I catch my reflection in the massive horizontal mirror nailed to the wall opposite me. Under the dim lighting the dark eyeliner I’m wearing makes my eye sockets look hollowed out. I look like I’m channeling the creepy figure from Edvard Munch’s The Scream .

I step to the side so I can stop looking at myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement.

“Tristan,” I say when he starts to walk past.

He halts, pursing his lips at the sight of me. He walks over to me. “I told you let’s talk outside.”

“It’s raining and cold.”

Again he rolls his eyes. I clench my fist at what a dick he’s being.

“Why the hell did you invite me here to talk on the same night that you’re hosting your entire family?” I demand.

He glances behind him, probably to make sure that no one hears. When he looks back at me, he looks bored and annoyed. “I already had plans for tonight.”

“Tristan.” His name is a curse I push out through gritted teeth. “Are you out of your mind? Inviting me here makes no sense. I’m the last person your family wants to see right now.”

“And they wouldn’t have seen you if you had stayed outside.”

“You never told me to stay outside!”

Tristan whips his head around to check behind him. “Christ, Riley. Will you keep your voice down? I don’t need you to cause a scene.”

A bitter laugh falls from my mouth. “You’re a piece of work. You tell me to come to the same restaurant that your family is dining at, and you blame me for causing a scene? Okay, Tristan.” My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it and see a text from Poppy.

Poppy: Everything going okay?

Me: Nope. Just walked in on Tristan’s entire family dining at his pub.

Me: He told me to come to his pub to talk to him ... on the same night that he planned a massive family dinner. Can you believe that?

Poppy: WTF?!

Me: I feel like I’ve been ambushed.

“Riley, could you possibly tear yourself away from your phone so we can finally talk?”

“Nope. You can wait till I’m done texting,” I say, my eyes still glued to my phone.

When I finish and look up, I take in the impatience in his tone and body language, how his hands are folded in front of him, how he keeps looking at his wrist.

I register the watch he’s wearing. It’s a vintage Cartier—the watch I gave him for our first wedding anniversary.

Why is he wearing it still? After the disastrous way our relationship ended, why would he want to keep anything from me? And why would he wear it around Carly? Does she know her boyfriend is wearing an anniversary gift from his ex-wife?

The longer I stare at that watch, the more the shock and confusion inside me shift to rage. This disaster unfolded all because of Tristan, because he either wanted to see me sweat in front of his family or didn’t care that I’d be walking into an uncomfortable situation.

I catch myself biting my tongue to keep from saying what I really want to say. That he’s a jackass. That he’s nothing to me anymore.

And then I wonder why. Why am I holding back? He doesn’t deserve for me to think about his well-being when he’s made it clear he doesn’t give a shit about mine.

My eyes burn when I look at him. “You’re such a jerk, Tristan.”

“What?” He has the nerve to look confused.

“You invited me here, with your entire family and your new girlfriend, knowing that it would make me feel uncomfortable. Only a truly vile person would do that.”

His eyes widen slightly at what I’ve said.

I point at his wrist. “I gave you that.”

His expression turns annoyed as he fiddles with the band. “Yes, I recall.”

“Why are you still wearing it? We’re not together anymore. Doesn’t that piss off Carly? That you still wear the watch that your ex-wife gave you?”

“God, Riley. Why do you have to deflect?” His tone is tired, like he’s sick of talking to me, of listening to me. “We’re here to discuss my family’s flat. I’ve got a baby on the way, and I deserve to raise him in my home. My family’s home.”

Inside I can feel myself snap. Actually, “break” is a better word. The audacity Tristan has to bring up his unborn baby to try to manipulate me into giving up the flat. The acid in my stomach curdles.

“No,” I bite. “There’s nothing to discuss. I came here to remind you that legally the flat is mine. I’m not giving it to you or anyone else in your family.”

He scowls. “Technically that’s not true. I believe my cousin is currently living there with you. So in a way it’s still in our family.”

His tone is low, but I don’t miss the bite in his words. The longer I stare at Tristan’s face, the less I recognize him. I can’t remember him looking this smug, sounding this cruel. For a moment, I wonder if he’s acting like this because he’s stressed about the birth of his baby. But then I halt that thought the moment it materializes in my brain. That doesn’t matter. That isn’t an excuse for him to behave like an entitled jerk. That doesn’t give him the right to treat me like this, to speak to me like I’m nothing, to order me around and demand that I give up something that’s rightfully mine.

I look down at my trembling hands. All I feel is anger. It pumps hot inside me. I can feel it coursing through me with fury, like lava bursting from a volcano.

“That’s fucking rich. You insinuate that I’m trashy for being with your cousin after we broke up even though you were the one who cheated.”

I’ve stepped into Tristan’s space. I’m crowding him, and judging by his wide-eyed stare and how his brows are hitting his hairline, he doesn’t like this one bit.

“You broke us, Tristan. You destroyed us with your affair. You cheated on me for god knows how long. You got another woman pregnant behind my back. The whole time we were together, I was so happy. But it was a lie. We were a lie. Our entire relationship, our marriage, our life together was a lie. Because of you, Tristan. Fuck you.”

I’m panting when I finish. And my throat is sore. That’s when I realize I’ve been shouting. This time my hands are trembling so hard that I can’t even curl them into fists.

When I look at Tristan, I’m stunned. That unflappable, unbothered facade has cracked. There’s pain in those blue eyes as he looks at me.

“Riley, I—”

I move past him. “I’m done. Don’t ever contact me again.”

I head for the door.

“Riley, wait!”

I stop at the sound of Nesta’s pleading voice. When I spin around, she’s standing just a few feet away, looking like she’s about to burst into tears. Before I can say anything, she pulls me into a hug.

I nuzzle that wild mass of copper-red curls. “I miss you,” she says in a shaky voice. “I-I didn’t know you were coming.”

“It’s okay. I ... I miss you too.” I sniffle.

Half of the tension riddling my neck and shoulders dissipates. I can feel in the tightness of Nesta’s hug just how much she missed me—how much she still cares about me.

“Nesta, goodness. Get a hold of yourself.”

My muscles go tense in an instant at the sound of Portia’s voice.

“Shove it, Auntie Portia,” Nesta says without moving from our embrace. I feel my body relax, comforted by the way she tells off Portia so easily. “I haven’t seen my favorite cousin-in-law in months. I owe her a proper hug.”

I smile despite the palpable tension infiltrating this space.

“I miss coming to your shop,” Nesta says.

“You’re always welcome. Always.”

We pull apart, but Nesta keeps hold of my shoulders. “Really?” Her cinnamon-hued eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I just figured you wouldn’t want to see me ...”

I shake my head. “I always want to see you. And Roland. And Molly. I miss you all.”

I clock Tristan and Portia in my peripheral vision. I don’t care that they can hear us. I don’t care that they’re both probably annoyed and pissed that I’m trying to rekindle my friendship with their family member. Nesta means the world to me. I’ve missed having her in my life. And yeah, I know she eventually comes to see me. But that won’t be for months. This is the last time I’ll get to see her till she walks into my shop on a cold February day, her beautiful toddler in her arms.

“I know this isn’t an easy situation,” I say to her. “And I get it if you need some time. But you’re always welcome in my life. Whenever you’re ready.”

She reacts with a shaky smile.

“Nesta, what on earth?”

We both twist around and spot Tristan’s grandparents standing next to Portia, twin scowls on their faces.

Nesta rolls her eyes in full view of them.

“What are you doing speaking to her?”

Tristan’s grandmother Agnes looks like she just downed a gallon of lemon juice, given the way her thin lips are twisted in pure disgust. The sight of me clearly repulses her.

“That woman is no longer part of our family,” their grandfather Edward says gruffly. “No need to converse with her.”

Nesta lets out a delirious laugh. “You two are beyond ridiculous. Riley has been nothing but polite and kind to you the years that she’s known you. She’s the one who gets cheated on by your pathetic grandson, and yet she is the one we should ostracize?”

Tristan flinches.

“You know what, I’m tired of this.” Nesta wipes her nose on her wrist. I dig a tissue from the pocket of my jacket and hand it to her. She tells me a quiet thanks and wipes at her face.

She turns to Tristan. “You’re an asshole for what you did to Riley, Tristan. I should have said it months ago, when we all found out about it, but I tried to take the high road and bite my tongue because Carly showed up pregnant with your baby, and they were going to be part of the family, and to be honest, I hadn’t the slightest clue what in the world to do, because fucking Christ, it was an absolute mess ...”

Tristan’s shoulders slump, almost like he was anticipating this verbal dressing-down from his cousin.

“But screw it. I’m finally saying it because no one in our family has the stones to tell you to your face how angry we are with you for hurting your angel of an ex-wife.”

Nesta lets out a bitter-sounding chuckle. “Except Milo. He’s the one person in this family who had the guts to do what was right. To align himself with the right person.” She pivots to me. “I’m sorry I never came to you, Riley. I should have. I was just so thrown at what happened. It was like whiplash. One minute we heard you two had split up; the next we heard that Tristan had gotten back together with his ex, who was about to have his baby ... We put two and two together, and ...” Nesta’s lips quiver. “I’m ashamed to say that I was more concerned with keeping the peace in my family than doing the right thing and seeking you out, making sure you were okay.”

My eyes burn as I take in how pained she looks as she explains herself. Her lip is quivering so hard, my own lips ache just seeing it.

“I get it, Nesta,” I croak out.

“It doesn’t make it right, though.” She squeezes my hand.

“Well.” Tristan’s grandmother runs her palm along the front of her cream-hued blouse. “This is all quite embarrassing to see our family lose their composure so publicly. I’m quite ashamed of you, Nesta.”

Nesta rolls her eyes and sniffles. “What else is new,” she mutters.

“I’m not ashamed.”

I whip my head toward the entrance of Last One Standing and see Milo standing there in jeans and a jacket, soaking wet from the rain. When he steps to my side, a million water droplets fall from his dark-gray puffer coat onto the stone floor.

He aims his gaze at Nesta. “I’m proud of you for speaking your truth, Nesta. Especially in front of this bunch, who have all been fixated on maintaining a proper appearance despite all the fucked-up things so many people in this family have been doing for generations.”

I notice the dazed look on his grandparents’ faces as they gaze at him.

He turns to me. His deep-brown eyes shine with worry.

“You’re here,” I say, my voice a mix of dazed and unbelieving.

He offers a sad smile. “Nesta texted me what was going on.”

I thank her.

“You haven’t come to your senses yet, it seems.” Agnes shakes her head as she looks at Milo. She narrows her gaze at her favorite grandson. “A shame, really. We’d give anything to have you back in the family, dear. Why you aligned yourself with your cousin’s ex is beyond any of us.”

“Speak for yourself, Gran,” Nesta says.

Just then Roland walks in on us. His brown eyes go wide. “Oh ... what did I miss?”

Nesta starts to say she’ll catch him up right as Milo huffs out a heavy breath. He rolls his shoulders, like he’s prepping himself for something.

“Okay, this ends right fucking now.”

Everyone freezes at Milo’s booming voice. Agnes looks like she just witnessed a demon stroll into the room. Her eyes are wide with shock.

“Gran. Grandad. You know I love you, but you two are some of the most problematic people I’ve ever met,” Milo says. “You too, Aunt Portia.”

Portia clutches at her pearl necklace like some uptight upper-class cliché.

“Uncle Weston too. But he’s never around, since he prefers to spend his time traveling, doing who knows what instead of spending time with his own family, so I guess I can’t really tell him that,” Milo mutters. He turns back to his grandparents. “I know you don’t like my mom because she’s Portuguese and American. I know that you make an exception for me because my dad is your son. And that’s beyond fucked. I know you come from a different time, but you live in the present day. It’s not okay to treat people like shit because they look different from you or because they come from a different country. It’s hateful. It’s racist. It’s bigoted. Shame on you for acting like that.” He runs a hand through his damp hair. “And shame on me for waiting so many years to call you out on it.”

When he takes a second to catch his breath, you could hear a pin drop, everyone is so quiet, so still.

Milo aims a steely stare at his grandparents once more. As the seconds pass, it softens. “It breaks my heart not to have you in my life. But I won’t stand for you mistreating Riley. We’re officially done.”

The way Agnes grabs her hands to her chest worries me for the briefest second. Is she having a heart attack?

But then I see the pain as it flashes in her eyes. In Edward’s eyes too. They’re devastated at losing their grandson, at seeing him remove himself from their lives.

In the stress and chaos of this moment, I look at Milo. I take in his tall stance, the sure expression on his face. He looks like he’s never been more certain than this moment, when he’s defended me in front of his entire family.

I think back to the way Milo went off on Carly and her friends when we overheard them gossiping about me at that pub. How he defended me just like he is now.

How I was wrong to get upset with him then. I wasn’t used to having a partner defend me. I am now, though.

Warmth courses through me. A familiar comfort hits.

I think of what he said that night when we fought on the sidewalk outside the pub.

I don’t care who it is. I don’t care how awkward it makes family dinners or gatherings or holidays or whatever. I’ll always defend you.

Emotion surges inside me. He glances over at me, the hard look on his face softening as he gazes at me.

My voice is soft when I tell him, “Thank you.” Emotion flashes in his eyes, his gaze on me focused and clear.

The dozen of us quietly stand around and process what’s happened. I wonder if this is it, if this is what will jolt Agnes and Edward into doing the right thing—putting aside their dislike of me and Milo’s mom for the sake of their grandson.

But neither of them budges. They just stay standing there, looking devastated, not saying a word.

Milo turns back to look at them. I take in his expression. He doesn’t seem upset or fazed at all. He pivots his gaze to Tristan, who looks like he’s about to shatter his own jaw with how hard he’s biting down.

“You already know what I think of you,” Milo says to Tristan. “I won’t repeat myself. But I will say this: stay the hell away from Riley. Nothing she does is your business anymore. If you have an issue with the flat or some other bullshit, take it up with her lawyer.”

When Tristan starts to step forward, I can feel the panic rising inside me. But then I see a small hand grab at him, keeping him in place. It’s Carly.

I take in the stunned look on her face, how her body language reads uncomfortable and anxious and worried all at once. She stays behind Tristan and doesn’t say a word. It’s like she’s too afraid to make a sound, to be seen and heard ... to be the one this toxic group singles out as the new person to hate.

I was like that. Not anymore, though. Being welcomed and accepted by Milo’s mom and her family has made me feel bolder, braver, stronger. I feel seen and heard in a way I never was with Tristan’s mom and grandparents.

The longer I look at Carly, the clearer my thoughts are: I feel sorry for her. Yeah, when I first found out about her affair with Tristan—the first time I saw them at that Hampstead house with their son, kissing and embracing—I felt hate. For both of them. How could they cheat and hide and lie and sneak around? How could they smile and laugh and kiss and be affectionate knowing that their actions resulted in breaking someone else’s heart? In ruining someone else’s life?

But now I realize that I don’t care about the answers to any of those questions. When I look at Tristan, I don’t recognize him anymore. He’s just someone from my past. A mistake. A prior heartbreak. When I look at him, I don’t feel jealousy or longing. I just feel pain and anger.

And when I look at her, I feel pity. He’s her problem now.

A crashing sound echoes from the back, where the kitchen is. Tristan darts off in that direction, but he doesn’t make it more than a few steps before Poppy comes stomping out.

“Ah. Here he is. The cheating bastard. How are you, cheating bastard?”

Tristan’s face ignites to a familiar shade of red. His gaze narrows, and I can almost feel the anger coursing through him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snaps.

She leans against the empty host lectern and flashes a taunting smile. “Just stopping by to tell you what a cruel and worthless cunt you are for ambushing my best friend.”

As surprised as I am to see Poppy, I’m relieved too. It feels really, really good to see the people I love stand up for me.

Tristan glowers at me before he lets out a bitter laugh. “Of course you’d bring in reinforcements.”

That anger from earlier simmers inside me once more. “Why shouldn’t I? You have your family here. I have mine too.” I stand tall as I say it, emboldened.

Just then Desmond stumbles from the hallway leading to the kitchen. “Poppy, why did you go in through the back ...?”

He trails off when he sees the dozen of us standing off in the pub’s cramped entryway. He clears his throat, his expression sheepish. “I do apologize for us barging in like this.”

Tristan rolls his eyes, grumbling. “Pathetic fucking lot,” he mutters under his breath.

And then something happens that I’ve never witnessed before. Desmond glares. He turns to Tristan. “What was that?”

Tristan rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer him.

Desmond puffs out his chest. “If anyone is fucking pathetic, it’s you, Tristan.”

Everyone goes quiet at the sternness in Desmond’s voice. I can’t remember him sounding this angry before. Even Poppy is staring at him in shock.

“I never liked you, you posh ...” Desmond frowns and scrunches his lips, like he’s working up the nerve to get out the words. “You posh prick.”

Poppy stammers. Milo stares at him with his mouth half-open.

“All the money in the world can’t buy decency,” Desmond says. “You’re a disgrace for how you treated Riley.”

Desmond lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping. He gasps, like he’s just finished sprinting. “Christ, I’ve been holding that in for ages.”

It’s a long moment before I can get the words out. “Wow. Thanks, Desmond.”

He nods at me. Poppy walks up to him, her crystal-blue eyes dazed, and pats his arm. “That was fucking hot, Des.”

He shakes his head, like he’s snapping out of a trance. “Um, sorry for the colorful language ...”

“Don’t apologize,” Milo says. “You’re supporting your friend.”

The worry on Desmond’s face eases as he looks at Milo.

“Well, isn’t this just delightful,” Tristan mutters, glancing at each of us before settling on Milo.

Tristan closes the space between them in less than two seconds. As I stand off to the side and watch the two of them stare each other down, I can feel my entire body seize. Every muscle is tight with tension. I quickly glance down at their hands; they’re both making loose fists.

I hold my breath in anticipation of who’s going to throw the first punch.

The alcohol smell on Tristan’s breath is somehow stronger than it was when he came up to me. “How does it feel, cousin?”

“How does what feel?” Milo says through gritted teeth.

An ugly smirk dances on Tristan’s lips. “Dining on my leftovers. Does that make you feel special? Knowing that my trophy wife gets passed to you now?”

I flinch at Tristan’s words.

He smirks at his cousin, his blue eyes taunting, defiant. “Does this feel as fun as the last time you—”

Milo shoves Tristan back so hard, he crashes into the nearby wall, knocking the wind out of him. Tristan quickly rights himself. He moves to charge Milo, but Milo socks him in the stomach.

My hands fly to my mouth, barely muffling the shriek I let out. Everyone is gasping and yelling around us. Déjà vu sets in. This fight happened, right here in this pub, between Tristan and Milo. Only this time Milo’s the one to land a hit.

Just like before, it ends in a chaotic scramble. Carly and Portia run to Tristan. Nesta and Roland head to Milo. Desmond and Poppy stand off to the side, eyes wide and darting between Milo and Tristan, taking it all in. And I’m on my own, fighting off the weird fog that’s taken over me. I can’t seem to move or talk right now. All I can do is stand back and observe.

Tristan groans before standing up, brushing off his mother and Carly as they fuss over him. “You son of a—”

“Don’t fucking start, Tristan. I’m ending this, right here, right now. If you so much as think about uttering another insulting word about Riley, I’ll fucking end you.”

Milo’s threat booms loud against the walls of the entryway. Everyone falls quiet.

“You had her, Tristan. You lucky son of a bitch, you had her. She was yours, and you fucked it up. Like you always do.”

The two of them scowl at each other, chests heaving, fists still clenched, like two posturing gorillas.

“Riley was always too good for you,” Milo says. “You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. And if you ever try to reach out to her again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Tristan opens his mouth. Milo takes another step so he’s fully in his cousin’s space. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.”

Tristan closes his mouth, but I can tell by the crazed look in his eyes he’s thinking, contemplating, wondering if he has it in him to see if his cousin will make good on his threat.

“Leave. Now.” Tristan’s growled demand has Desmond heading for the door. Poppy stays in place, though, her gaze bouncing between Milo and Tristan.

“What the—where did that smoke come from?” Roland asks.

I look up and see a black-gray cloud wafting from the hallway just as the fire alarm wails. Muffled shouting echoes from the kitchen. A moment later, someone comes sprinting out to the entryway. Maybe a busboy, based on his uniform.

“The kitchen’s on fire!”

Screams shatter my daze. I shoot a look to Poppy. She was just in the kitchen. And she was smoking earlier. Add that to the fact that she’s been champing at the bit to stick it to Tristan for what he did to me, and there’s a strong possibility that she started the fire.

“What?” she says to me. Much to my surprise she looks utterly clueless.

More shouting around us. Tristan takes off to the back. Someone yells to grab the fire extinguisher. Someone else hollers to call the fire department.

The rest of us scramble out the front door into the rain. Milo grips my hand in his. I grab Poppy by the arm, shout for her to grab hold of Desmond, and pull her along with us down the block, away from where everyone else is crowding. Soon the black cloud of smoke grows bigger. Flames glow in the restaurant’s interior.

Milo pulls me into a hug. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I close my eyes, savoring the warm, firm feel of his body. My heart rattles in my chest from the chaos of minutes ago. But in his embrace, I’m calm, I’m safe.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” I whisper into his shoulder.

He squeezes me tight before releasing me. “I’m gonna check on Nesta and Roland. Stay here with Poppy, okay?”

I nod and watch Milo jog off down the block.

I turn to Poppy, who’s gawking at the fire as it consumes the pub. I grip her arm.

“What?” She looks startled.

“Did you start the fire in the kitchen?” I’m careful to keep my voice down.

Her jaw falls to the pavement. “What the hell, Ri! Are you serious?”

“You mentioned you were smoking earlier, and I thought that maybe—”

She jerks out of my hold and crosses her arms over her chest. “Fuck no. God, how could you think that about me?”

She steps away from me. I shake my head, feeling like garbage for even thinking my best friend could do such a thing. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking ...”

Her expression softens, and she steps back toward me. She pulls me into a hug. “Believe me, if I wanted to set fire to Tristan’s pub, I’d show up with a flamethrower. I wouldn’t use a pitiful little cigarette.”

I let out a weak chuckle, feeling in that moment just how exhausted I am from what just went down. My neck and shoulders are sore from tensing the muscles in them as I watched Milo and Tristan’s violent showdown.

Sirens blare in the distance. Poppy and I break apart right as a fire truck screeches to a stop in front of us. We all move farther out of the way for the crew and watch as they grab a hose and douse the restaurant in water.

I watch as the flames and fire eventually die down, leaving the brick exterior charred and black.

For a while we all stand there and look at the damaged building—Tristan and his family huddled together at one end of the street, mine at the other.

I blink, in awe of the damage. I hazard a look at Tristan, his mom, and his grandparents. They’re all frowning at the ruined pub. I can’t tell if they’re more angry or sad.

After a second, I look away. As much as I dislike all of them, it feels intrusive to stare as they process the loss of one of Tristan’s businesses.

A moment later I hear Tristan raise his voice. I look over and see him talking to one of the firefighters. He’s gesturing like he’s frustrated, then booms out the words “grease fire.”

“A grease fire ...,” I mumble to myself.

One of the other firefighters walking by looks back at me. “It was a good thing you lot got out when you did.”

We all spend the next few minutes milling around, unsure of what to do. I watch as Milo checks on Nesta and Roland.

He catches my eye and offers a small smile. I return one of my own. Even that’s tiring. All the muscles in my face ache.

I catch Poppy watching the two of us; then she aims a knowing look at me.

“What?” I tug at the belt of my trench coat.

“I think I’m starting to like Milo.”

“Seriously?”

She nods.

“You missed him defending me earlier.”

I fill her in on what he said to his grandparents. Her crystal-blue eyes are wide when I finish.

“Fucking hell. I had him pegged all wrong.” She looks over at him as he offers Nesta his jacket.

“So did I,” I muse. “But I think I finally see him for who he really is.”

Milo walks over to us. “You guys wanna grab a drink? I could use one after tonight.”

Desmond nods. “I think we should.”

Milo points out a pub across the street. He walks over to Roland and Nesta again and asks them if they want to come too.

“I wish we could join, but we have to go home to Molly,” Roland says. Nesta nods before turning to me. The look on her face is pained, like she’s trying to hold back tears.

My heart sinks. I don’t want Nesta to go. Or Roland. I miss them both so much.

I pull Roland into a quick hug, then turn to Nesta and pull her into my arms, holding her tight. People step around us on the sidewalk, grumbling about how we’re in the way. I don’t care. I need this hug to last. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to hug her.

She starts to pull away, and my heart sinks. I give her a quick squeeze, then release her. She holds me by both hands, her eyes teary as she looks at me.

“We’re going away for the next few months,” she says, her voice soft and shaky. “To France, to stay with Roland’s grandparents so they can spend some time with Molly. When we come back, can I see you?”

I nod and flash a wobbly smile. I blink, and the memory of Nesta walking into my shop that February day flashes in my head. She comes back, and things between us end up okay.

“Thank you for what you said, for standing up for me in there. That meant everything.”

She hesitates. “I should have done more, sooner.”

“Nesta, no. This whole situation is beyond complicated, beyond fucked up. I understand why you didn’t say anything.”

Her eyes are teary as she smiles at me. “God, you’re an angel. I love you.”

I hug her again. “I love you.”

We let go, and she walks off with Roland. Everyone says goodbye and waves them off. As I wipe my face, Milo walks up next to me. He touches his hand to my arm.

“Are you okay?” His brow is furrowed in concern, and his voice is soft.

I shrug. “Kind of. It was good to see Nesta. But I feel like I’ve just been hit by a truck, emotionally anyway.”

He lets out a sad laugh before exhaling sharply. “Same.”

“That makes three of us,” Poppy says as she walks up to us.

“Four.” Desmond shoves his hands in his coat pockets. He looks dazed and fatigued.

“Christ, I need that drink,” Poppy mutters.

Desmond nods while Milo and I say “God, yes” at the same time.