Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
ROMAN
When I spar with Casp next, I notice sweat already on his shoulders as his eyes track me across the mat.
"You're lighter," he says, circling with his hands up.
My kick catches his ribs—not hard, but he grunts approval.
I land three more combinations cleanly, countering his takedown and landing a knee when he gets close.
When we break, Caspian wipes his split lip.
"That's what I'm talking about, Kensington.
Focused." He studies me. "What's with the new attitude? "
A smile tugs at my lips as I picture Lilith's face when I see her tonight. Things with Max have been better too, and I've even caught myself considering Dad's eco-resort pitch more seriously than I'd care to admit.
"Just doing some mental housekeeping," I tell Casp.
He nods approvingly. "Whatever it is, don't stop. You're looking sharp for the tournament."
That evening, I drive to Lilith's place, a bottle of Chateau Margaux tucked under my arm. I'd grabbed it without thinking—just something from the back of my collection. Only when I'm at her door do I remember it's worth more than her monthly store rent.
The door swings open and there's Lilith, launching herself at me with a squeal of "Roman!" Her legs lock around my waist, and I'm kissing her before I can think, careful not to drop the Cabernet in my right hand. She's practically weightless against me, all warmth and softness.
I set her down gently and place the wine on the kitchen island. The apartment glows with dozens of candles, and the air is thick with jasmine incense—her scent.
I scan the shop. "Jack around?"
Lilith's eyes light up as she shakes her head.
"Has a date! Can you believe it? Some A&F model with a billboard on Sunset.
Jack's practically vibrating out of his skin over this guy and they just met yesterday.
But sometimes lightning strikes—he might be The One!
" She clutches her crystal pendant. "God, I hope so! "
Sweet Lilith. Ever the fucking romantic, that one is.
Which is why I love her. Oh, god, do I? Yes.
Yes I do. My chest constricts at the realization hammering through me for the first time—I love her.
The thought slams into me like a tsunami, drowning me in panic while simultaneously anchoring me to earth with absolute certainty.
"I had an idea," Lilith says, twirling pasta onto my plate while I uncork the bottle. "Something to try tonight." One eyebrow arches playfully. "A ritual that might help us avoid another Blake situation at the shop."
"I'm listening," I say, swirling the wine in my glass.
I've come around to most of Lilith's spiritual practices—except that panchakarma cleanse I read about.
No. Just no. But about the other practices?
Open mind. Max has been doing some research on his own because Celeste dabbles, and he assures me that what we think as “alternative” are actually traditions that have survived millennia. "What did you have in mind?"
We finish eating, do the dishes, and then she brings out a velvet pouch, untying its golden drawstring to reveal a collection of gleaming crystals that catch the light.
"These are all blessed by a local shaman, Orion Torres," she says, her eyes brightening. She places a translucent pink stone in my palm, smooth and cool against my skin. "Rose quartz. For harmony and emotional comfort."
Next comes a deep purple crystal with jagged edges that sparkle. "Amethyst for calm and stress relief." A silvery lavender stone follows. "Lepidolite, for anxiety relief and emotional balance."
She adds a delicate pale blue stone with swirling patterns.
"And Blue Lace Agate, for better communication and to soothe your mind.
" She cups her hands around mine, pressing the stones into my palm with gentle pressure, her touch lingering as she nods.
"One more." A glossy black stone, sleek and substantial, joins the others.
"Black tourmaline - protective and absorbs negative energy. "
I smile, half-ready to humor her by accepting these crystals as if they might magically grant me the inner peace I've chased my whole life. Only she's ever given me that—well, except when I see her with another man and my vision goes blood-red. But Lilith has a different angle.
"The crystals don't have to be magic," she says, her eyes earnest. "Think of them like...
mental speed bumps. Like when people wear rubber bands to snap whenever they crave sugar or alcohol.
It interrupts the automatic response. So next time you feel that anger building, you could touch these—" she nudges the stones toward me, "—and give your brain a chance to step in before your temper takes over. "
I smile and finger the crystals—cool, jagged amethyst and polished rose quartz—and nod.
"Well, it's worth a shot," I say, my voice rougher than intended.
"If nothing else, they might be placebos.
" Then I reach into the pocket of my tailored slacks, fingers brushing against warm metal keys before finding what I'm looking for.
"And I'd like to give you this," I say, extending my palm to reveal a piece of sea glass—smooth as silk, the color of absinthe, worn by countless tides into the size of a large pebble. "It's from our day of surfing."
The memory returns—her hair stiff with salt, her skin warm and sweet-smelling, her laugh as the waves broke around us.
I feel my face flush. That night on the empty beach, just us under the stars.
I've carried this piece of glass with me since then, something to hold onto during difficult moments at work. Now I want Lilith to have it.
Her eyes go wide when I hand her the green shard, and she holds it up like it's a million-dollar gem, not something I picked up on the beach.
"Oh, Roman, it's beautiful!" she breathes.
The sea glass catches the light against her palm, and I find myself watching her face instead of the glass.
"Sea glass represents resilience—broken pieces transformed by the ocean into something precious. "
Of course she knows the spiritual meaning of random beach debris.
She traces its edge with her fingertip. "This could've been battered by waves for centuries.
Maybe from an ancient Roman vessel." When she smiles at me—those little crinkles by her eyes, cheeks flushed—something in my chest shifts.
Christ. The woman gets more joy from beach trash than the wives of my investors get from their ten-carat diamonds.
I nod. "That sea glass must have some real power. Ever since that night on the beach, I’ve found myself reaching for that memory whenever things get rough." I sigh, my fingers curling into a fist at my side. The red haze still comes, still blinds me sometimes. But I'm fighting it.
What helps most is her—Lilith. When she's near, my mind quiets.
The storm inside me calms to stillness. Unless I see her with another man.
Then it's like watching someone else hold my oxygen tank while I'm drowning.
That's why Blake gets under my skin so badly.
I've come to need her peace, and seeing her offer it to someone else makes the chaos roar back with a vengeance.
We sit down on the couch and listen to some music - Tori Amos, the singer-songwriter that Lilith loves the most when she’s relaxing.
Especially this particular album, Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos’ very first. We’re sipping on wine and I’m studying the crystals Lilith gave me.
And, for some odd reason, an image of my mother - beautiful, blonde, way too young to die - comes into my mind.
I was barely three when we lost her. Strange how memory works—I still see her lying there, skin stretched too tight across her bones, head bare where her blonde hair used to be. She'd finally agreed to treatment after Max was born, though the doctors had already given their grim verdicts.
I remember us gathered around her bed that last day—all eight brothers, with tiny Max cradled in Rosa's arms. Rosa, who'd become more mother to us than housekeeper by then.
Through her room's silence came this very song playing softly on her CD.
The lyrics about standing alone when your protector's gone—they weren't just words.
Even at three, something in me recognized that this song would dictate my life.
I stare at the ceiling, the melody washing over me. "'Winter,'" I whisper. "This song..." My throat tightens. "They played it in her room that last day." Mom died at home, in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines, IV drips and her family.
My fingers tremble slightly as I remember Cam's hand gripping mine as my mother took her last breath—three years old and terrified, but Cam was there. Always there. While Connor and Kalen had each other, while Asher shadowed Silas and Ansel trailed after Max, Cam chose me.
I rub my face. Christ, I've been an ungrateful bastard to him.
"What is it about this song?" Lilith's voice is gentle, patient.
"The lyrics," I say. "When I hear it, it's her voice.
Mom loved Tori Amos." I close my eyes. "It's about finding your way back to yourself.
About standing proud when the person you love is gone.
Forgiveness. Peace." I touch one of the crystals, cool against my fingertips.
“Growing up, I’d see mothers with their children in restaurants and this...
rage would build inside me." I inhale deeply.
"And I'd blame Max. We all did, once we were old enough to understand that she died for him. "
Lilith nods. "She did it because she loved him, not because she had to."
"Why do you think that?"