Chapter 57
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
ariana
Everything still hurts, but I’m no longer dying.
I might die tonight, though, because for the first time since the night I realized I love him, Boston Black and I are in the same room. It’s Arden’s birthday. Carter rented out Icebox for her party. It’s an open bar, on my brother’s tab, so I slammed back two martinis before the doors even opened.
It still wasn’t enough when he walked through the door.
Big black coat and a black beanie on top of his dark hair.
His thick beard has a fresh trim, that gold necklace he always wears a beckoning light on his neck, like a cruel reminder of all the times I kissed him there.
He blows a little pink bubble as he smacks his hand into my brother’s, and I whirl around and shove myself into the booth next to Penny to avoid him.
I willingly take a tequila shot with her and Declan, that’s how badly I don’t want to see him.
But…I want to see him at the same time.
Don’t ask me to make sense right now. I’m back in a room with a man that I’m not allowed to love.
I stay glued to Penny’s side, and even though the invite said no gifts, Boston hands one to Arden anyway.
I watch her open it, watch her get emotional, and watch her throw her arms around him.
He looks uncomfortable at the gesture, but his eyes don’t search for me.
That’s what I notice. He no longer looks for me when another woman is giving him attention.
Arden rushes to our booth, eager to show us the wine glass that Boston had engraved with a picture of Wanton. The icy feeling in my chest warms. It’s a sweet, thoughtful gift, and yet another reminder that I should have stayed away. He’s a good man.
I reach for my drink, taking a gulp to try and distract myself. Is my hand shaking? My hand is shaking. Oh my god, I have to get it together.
I feel someone’s gaze burning into me from across the table.
I glance upward, locking eyes with Declan Lowes.
He doesn’t say anything, and when I don’t look away, he sniffs and glances toward the bar. It takes about five seconds, but he eventually excuses himself, heading straight to my brother and Boston.
“EJ said he’s flying down next weekend,” Penny says, snagging my attention.
Wyatt dips his chin, twirling his rum and Coke in his hand.
She studies his side profile carefully. “Why is he suddenly visiting so frequently? Trying to mend the distance or something?”
Wyatt tries and fails to hide his smirk, glancing at Saltzy, who shakes his head, like he doesn’t want to be involved. “Or something.”
“Wyatt Caulfield!” Penny gasps, smacking her hand on his forearm. “You know something!”
“I don’t know anything,” he says, chuckling under his breath. “He misses us. Is that not enough for you?”
Her dark blue eyes narrow. “You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not,” he promises, his crooked smile growing as her eyes narrow further. “He’s just repenting a bit, P. Let it go.”
She glares at him even harder but he doesn’t budge, so she has to admit defeat. She falls back into her seat with a look of warning toward Callum.
Cal just raises his hands, like he doesn’t know anything and wants no part of this.
When I’m a few more drinks deep and feeling a lot better than I had been, I stop worrying about where Boston is in the room and start thinking about reasons why it wouldn’t be so bad if I tried to talk to him.
It’d be weirder if I didn’t, right? Carter would wonder why I suddenly dropped all interest in his teammate, wouldn’t he?
I’m currently tucked into one of the booths with Arden. She’s definitely more drunk than usual, and my brother, who is across the table from us, is remarkably composed. He’s drinking, but he’s drinking slowly, just in case he has to take care of his girlfriend.
“It’s her birthday, you have to take pictures for her. Grab her phone. Get a cute one of us and our drinks.”
Carter rolls his eyes, but he takes Arden’s phone from me like a good boyfriend.
I glance at her as he pulls up the camera, gesturing toward her drink. “Should we cheers, or like, pretend to laugh so it’ll look cute?”
Arden shrugs. “Both?”
“We can do both,” I say. “I want a cute one, too, with our full outfits, but we can get those later on.”
“Deal,” she says.
“If the photographer ever figures out how to work a phone!” I snap, jokingly. We both look across the booth. Carter is staring at Arden’s phone, his brow furrowed, his eyes hyper-focused. He scrolls, numerous times, clearly not even bothering with the camera.
“Carter?” Arden asks.
He doesn’t answer. He pauses, zooming in on something.
Arden goes rigid beside me, and my heart sinks. What the hell did he just find on her phone? That she cheated? Or that she’s currently having an affair with that cop? One hundred worst-case scenarios enter my brain, but then my brother goes unnaturally still and his eyes snap up to me.
To me.
I know that look. The hardness in his eyes, making the sparkle fizzle out to pure and lethal iciness. His eyes stay locked on my face, seconds passing by in slow motion, that phone still in his hands.
Alarm bells ring in my head.
“Carter,” Arden warns, panic in her voice. She moves forward quickly, like she’s going to jump across this table to get him, but there’s no stopping this once it’s started.
Her attempt to grab him seems to break him from his trance, but he doesn’t acknowledge her.
He slams that phone down on the table so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack, and launches himself out of the booth.
He tears his eyes from my face with the scariest look I have ever seen, and I have seen Carter at his worst.
“Shit,” Arden hisses, but she can’t go anywhere. She’s trapped between me and the booth.
I reach my hand out quicker than she does, shoving her back with my other. She deflates next to me. If she’s screwing around, I need to see it with my own eyes to believe it. I really don’t want to hate her. I love her too much. I need to know.
I snatch the phone.
Oh. Dear. God.
My heart sinks to the pits of hell. I’m staring at a folder full of photos. Lots of photos. Of my location. Of my picture in a round, little bubble.
At Boston Black’s house.
She screenshotted them. With their dates marked on each page.
I slowly drag my eyes to her face. She offers me a panicked, apologetic look and opens her mouth.
I cut her off before she speaks. “What did you do?”
“I never said anything,” she says quickly.
“But you checked up on me?” I snap, hating myself for forgetting I gave her that access. What a dumb, rookie mistake. “You screenshotted them?”
“I was eventually going to ask you to tell him, and since you’ve been lying to me, I wanted to have evidence before I did.”
I open my mouth to yell at her, to tell her how betrayed I feel, to explain how much of an invasion of privacy this is, but I don’t get the chance. The screaming, the shattering glass, and the unmistakable sound of The Beast being unleashed upon this bar have me up and running from the booth.