Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
boston
We’ve been back at the hotel for a couple of hours and the party hasn’t stopped.
Declan reserved a block of rooms, so we’ve been gathered in one of the suites since the bar closed.
Everyone is in a good mood. Everyone is still drinking.
Even Cal has loosened up a bit, chatting more openly with Seth and EJ in the kitchen without needing one of us for support. Not even Caulfield.
I watched her slip out of the room thirty minutes ago and she hasn’t returned.
She left her purse near the door, so after twenty minutes of her absence, I helped myself and found her keycard and her phone inside.
Since then, I’ve been staring at the door, willing her to walk back in.
I don’t like the idea of her roaming through the hotel drunk, without her room key or her phone.
If she left the hotel all together, in a city she isn’t familiar with, I’ll rip her a new one on Forker’s behalf.
Fuck it.
I head for the door, not bothering to worry if anyone notices where I’m going or who I’m following.
I tread down the hallway, looking in all the little alcoves and corners.
All the spaces one could tuck themselves into.
Nothing. I check the stairwell, heading to our floor a few below.
I knock on her door, just in case. Nothing. She’s nowhere to be found.
A thought enters my head.
Where would a girl like Ariana Forkerro go when she is drunk and alone?
Shit.
I rush up to the roof, relief washing over me when I see a high heel jammed in the door to prevent it from locking behind her. That consolation is short-lived, though, because she’s still drunk and she’s still on a fucking roof.
I walk through the door and feel a tad bit better seeing a railing lining the perimeter. It would only take one stupid movement to fall right over, but it’s still a barrier. She better have both feet on the ground, a respectable distance away from that fucking thing.
I tread around the air conditioning unit.
Of course not.
But I do see her, and she’s in one piece.
I let out a breath, taking note of the champagne bottle in her hands, her elbows resting on the railing, eyes looking out toward a city full of strangers.
“Ari.”
She whips around and my chest caves in. She’s crying. Her cheeks are tracked with black, her eyes bluer than I’ve ever seen them.
She deflates when she realizes it’s me who interrupted. “How’d you find me up here?”
I ignore the question. It’s not important. Nothing is when that face looks this sad. I stay a respectable distance away, burying my hands in my pockets. “What’s going on?”
She lets out a bitter laugh and shakes her head. “Nothing, Boston. Just go back to the party.”
And I fucking hate the way that sounds nothing like her. No taunting, no flirty edge, no teasing. Just sad and tired, and nothing like Ariana Forkerro.
“Talk to me, Wedding Date.”
She goes a bit stiff at the nickname before shaking her head again. “I just needed a minute.”
Clearly. You’re sobbing on a rooftop, drunk as all hell.
“Up here?”
“I feel more alive up here,” she answers, and she moves so quickly that I dart forward as she steps up on the first bracket of the railing, flinging her arms in the air, champagne still in her hand. She lets out a long, loud scream that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
Please do not fall. Oh god, please do not fall.
My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears that I barely hear the pain in her voice.
“Ari,” I beg.
“I’m all good, Boston!” she screams out to the sky, but there’s an edge to it. It’s a knife, cutting through her own skin, showing me all the pain that she keeps hidden and locked away. “I’m put together, just like I’m supposed to be!”
“Ari,” I plead again, taking another careful step forward.
I stare at the back of her head, adrenaline racing in my chest. She swings her arms out again, throwing her upper body over the railing, the bottle swaying in her hand. She rocks forward and I stop breathing.
The wind whips her ponytail around her face, blocking her vision.
All I can picture is her falling.
All I can picture is her slipping over that railing, and all I can hear in my ears is her scream on the way down.
“Ariana,” I say calmly, stepping onto the ledge right beside her. “Please, step back here.”
“I want to go back!” she screams out at the city. I stare at her with wide eyes, at the way her legs wobble because she’s drunk. My heart gets lodged in my throat. I’m totally out of my fucking element here. “I want to be young again! I want another chance! I fucked it all up!”
She stumbles forward, nearly dropping the bottle, and that’s enough for me.
I storm forward, catching her wrist in my grip, and I yank her backward with far too much force.
She fights against me for a second, but I pry the bottle from her hand and drop it on the ledge, hauling her backward until she is pressed against the wall, a safe distance from a free fall.
Her broken blue eyes meet mine. Haunted. They scan my face, full of tears, mascara smudged on her cheeks. She pops up her chin, like she has to be defiant, even now.
My heart tries to right itself, but it’s beating so fast that it’s all I can hear in my head. I bend down, meeting her eyes, ensuring she’s paying attention before I speak. And when I speak next, I speak very fucking carefully.
“You’re still young and you’re still alive. You get another chance every day. If you’re unhappy with your past, don’t let it bleed into your future.”
Her throat bobs, but she refuses to lower her gaze. Good. She’s still in there.
“Don’t act reckless on a roof because you’re angry at the world,” I growl at her, and she rolls her eyes, which boils my blood. “That’s how you wind up dead, your story ending exactly where you wish it wouldn’t.”
“I’m not so great once the smoke and mirrors are gone, am I?” she asks with a little hiccup, coughing out a bitter laugh, but all I see and all I hear is blinding and brutal pain.
I know that feeling, sweetheart. I know it well.
There’s more to her than she lets the world see. Much, much more.
I eye her carefully. I’m not used to this version of her, so I’m not sure what she wants me to say, but I’ve never been one to tailor my responses to what people want.
I’ve never been one to shy away from her either.
The Ariana Forkerro I’ve known is flirty, charming, obscenely beautiful, and remarkably put together. She still fucking is. Even now.
This makes me like her more, not less.
“If anyone’s favourite version of you is what they see at face value, that’s the only version of you they deserve,” I tell her calmly. “You’re one in a fucking million, sweetheart. Act like it.”
Her eyes flash with surprise, that stubborn chin popping out again. I drop her hand and step away from her, finally convinced she isn’t going to act like an idiot again. Sighing, I shake my head and scoop up her bottle of champagne from the ledge, taking a big swig with an incredibly shaky hand.
I hated that.
Every second of it.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly.
I grumble something, staring out at the city so I don’t bite her head off. After a long moment, she slides into the spot next to me. Now calm, she wraps her hands around the railing in a sensible manner and gazes out toward the world below. Calmly. With little risk.
Good.
I pass her the champagne without looking at her. She takes it and brings it to her mouth.
“I spent a lot of my life chasing boys who had no future because the one who promised me a blinding one broke my heart,” she says quietly.
I don’t look at her, I just listen, because I think she needs it.
“Now, I’m twenty-eight and I can’t curate a meaningful relationship to save my life.
I run from anyone who might make me feel something again. ”
I take the champagne from her and take a drink. “Seems like you’re letting one idiot control how the rest of your life turns out.”
She winces, but I don’t apologize. Not after that show.
“Change it,” I tell her pointedly. I glare at the city, because I don’t want to aim my anger her way. I’m pissed at her, but she’s clearly going through enough already. She doesn’t need my fury on top of it. “You’re the only one who can, Ariana.”
“I know,” she whispers, wiping her eyes, “but I don’t want to.”
“Then what set you off?” I ask. “You were fine down there until you weren’t.”
“I want what they have, you know?” she asks, glancing at me.
The crew. She’s talking about the crew. “I don’t want a relationship, so all I have is my friends and my family, and I still don’t have people who know me like that.
Who love me like that. Now, I don’t have my career, either.
It was always easier to forget about all the things I was missing while I still had my own purpose. ”
She is not the first person to feel that way when immersed in this friend group, and she won’t be the last. I’ve felt it. Fork, too. Saltzy is currently battling through it, having epiphanies because of their impact. She isn’t alone.
I glance at her. “Your brother would burn the world down for you, Ari. The rest of us would help. You’ve got people, even when you feel like you don’t. The career stuff? Something tells me you won’t be lost for very long in that regard.”
“My own father doesn’t believe in me anymore,” she says, her voice breaking.
“I got fired because I stuck up for myself, and he just…assumes that I did something wrong. I think he would have preferred that I shut up and be a good woman. That I should just deal with the men pushing me around if it means keeping such a high-profile job.”
She scoffs, shaking her head.
Anger boils in my veins as I drink her in.
Her dad can be a real piece of shit. No wonder his wife left him.
Her jaw pulses, holding back a fresh wave of anger.
I want to suck my thumb in my mouth and wipe away all the black staining her cheeks, tell her how those eyes have the power to control every fucking boardroom she walks into, but I don’t.
I keep my distance like I’m supposed to.
“Always stick up for yourself,” I tell her sternly. “Being a good woman does not mean being a quiet one. You were born with a voice. Use it. Even if it’s just to tell people to fuck off.”
She laughs under her breath, shooting me a grateful look before we both go back to peering out at the city below.
After a few seconds, she gently bumps her body against mine.
I bump her back, watching the cars speed by.
From up here, this place looks like nothing special, but we know better.
We’ve seen what it has the power to create.
Maybe, right now, it’s creating a little magic for us, too.
Maybe we’re more alike than we realized.
“You’re lucky you’re such a good guy,” she says, sniffling. She brings the bottle of champagne to her mouth. “Or I might actually start pursuing you.”
I chuckle, shaking my head—because even after all that—she’s still pushing my buttons.