12. Don’t Scream
Chapter Twelve
Don’t Scream
Neve
It’s barely after five, and the bar is more liminal space than nightlife, high-top tables and exposed bulbs, but there’s something magical about the fact that Vida, River, and Wren have a layover in the city, even for an hour or two on their way to a game, so I’ll take it. I haven’t seen her in way too long.
Vida hugs me so hard she nearly knocks my sunglasses off my head with the force of it.
River gives me the full Emerson bear hug, picking me right up off the floor.
Wren just nods, which is about as effusive as Wren Black gets, but there’s a little quirk of his mouth.
He doesn’t let go of Vida’s hand, even when he sits.
Drinks are an immediate point of negotiation. “Two cranberry spritzers, one with gin, one with extra lime,” I say to the bartender, then lean toward Vida. “I love these. It’s like having a grown-up juice box.”
Vida grins, eyes flickering warm in the bar’s downlights. “As long as there’s fruit and a cute garnish, you’re speaking my language.”
River rolls his eyes, but he’s got that soft expression when he looks at Vida. It makes me want to squeal. I love seeing my friend so happy, and she is so happy with River and Wren.
It almost makes my chest ache, how obvious it is.
The way Vida glances at Wren, then flicks her eyes to River and melts a little.
I want that all-consuming kind of love. I want it even though it’s messy and complicated, even though some asshole from her past once tried to convince her that love the way she wanted it was something to be ashamed of.
The bartender lines up our drinks. River’s is just soda water with a lime wedge, Wren’s is something even sadder, like plain tonic, but they both lift their glasses anyway.
“Boring, I know,” River chuckles. “But we’ve got to keep it clean.”
Wren clinks his glass lightly against Vida’s. “You’ve got enough alcohol for us in there, haven’t you, angel?”
Vida sticks her tongue out, but she’s glowing. Absurdly, radiantly happy.
“You three are nauseating, truly,” I say, sipping my cocktail. It tastes like sugar and summer and college mistakes. I snort a laugh to myself. “This is absolutely something Cade would make.”
Wren glances at River, then back at me, lips quirking. “Fiancé of the infamous Doctor Fia Hart?”
I lean in, chin propped on my hand. “The one and only. Have you checked out the new and improved poly-friendly app? You should let me know if anything doesn’t work. I can let Fia know.”
Vida groans. “Don’t. Your sister already hates me.”
I burst out laughing, almost spraying cranberry across the bar. “She doesn’t hate you. She hates that you found a flaw in her algorithm before she did. She’s been fuming about it ever since.”
“That’s worse!” Vida slaps the table, bracelets chiming. “I didn’t mean anything personal by it. I just wanted it to be inclusive. But she’s like a sexy little psych witch with a grudge-holding protocol.”
I guffaw. “That’s my sister.”
Vida shrugs. “Maybe she just didn’t see it, because she’s not poly. It wouldn’t occur to her.”
I sip my drink, weighing it. The cranberry hits sweet, and I swirl the straw in the glass, watching the fruit sink.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I say finally, giving Vida a look.
“I mean, they’re both down bad, but if there’s anyone who’d surprise you, it’s them.
I wouldn’t put money on them staying strictly monogamous for life.
Cade’s not straight, and my sister could write a dissertation on how compulsory monogamy is a social construct.
So maybe they’ll find a third, or a fourth, or…
I don’t know, start a commune. Wouldn’t even shock me a little. ”
River barks a laugh, but Wren just gives a thoughtful hmm. I like that about him. He’s always clocking the energy, never jumping to fill the space unless it’s called for.
Vida’s mouth opens, then she claps a hand over it, bracelets jangling like windchimes. “Honestly, you’re right. Sorry, not sorry, but I don’t care how good that man is—and I know he’s good, I’ve seen the way he looks at her in their interviews—that woman needs taking care of.”
I snort, stabbing a wedge of lime with my straw and chasing it around the glass. “My sister’s not built for small stakes. She’s all-or-nothing. And she deserves the world.”
Vida smiles, soft.
River’s thumb moves slowly against her wrist. She relaxes into him like a plant turning toward the morning sun. The easy familiarity makes something tug in my chest—a little hungry, a little happy.
I wonder what it would be like to be loved like that. Messy and open and unashamed. Not rationing yourself out in teaspoons, not worrying you’ll be too much, but trusting the people you choose to just… want you. All of you.
I think about it a lot. More, recently. For obvious reasons that start with “Professor” and end with “Daddy Grant King,” aka the man I want to see me like that, and the one person I absolutely should not be thinking about right now.
Before I can get too in my feelings about it, Vida notices the dopey look on my face and narrows her eyes.
“So, anyway,” she says, conspiratorial. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you, or am I supposed to just keep reading between the lines of your cryptic little texts?”
River quirks a brow. “What is up?”
“I plead the fifth,” I say quickly.
Vida snorts a laugh into her glass, amplifying the sound. “She wants to fuck her professor.”
I nearly spit my drink all over myself. “There’s nothing up with me and Grant.”
“Wow, I didn’t even say his name. You are such a fucking liar,” Vida says, delighted, as River and Wren both turn, perfectly synchronized, to decode my reaction.
“So, there’s not even a little something?” River smirks, which is an indecent use of facial muscles for a man who’s supposed to be the nice one at this table.
Wren’s mouth barely twitches, but his eyes are sharp. “You’re blushing,” he observes, and, traitorously, I am.
I jab my straw at Vida. “I love that you’re in a relationship with two emotionally literate people, and you still have the gall to be this nosy over something that’s none of your damn business. I respect it.”
River chuckles, and Wren throws an arm over his shoulder, pulling him in to kiss his temple before glancing at his watch. “We should head out.”
I sigh, throwing my bag over my shoulder.
Vida is still looking at me as we make a move to leave. “Has something happened?” she asks, eyes never leaving my face.
I open my mouth to fire back a denial—aka, a lie—but as we start toward the door, I promptly stumble on the step down from the bar. It’s not a dramatic tumble, but my right foot rolls under me, and pain zings up my ankle so sharply the breath shoots from my lungs.
I try to play it off—make a histrionic, injured noise, do a weird hop-skip—but Vida frowns.
“I’m fine,” I say, way too brightly.
“Are you?” she asks, voice dry as dust. “You’re doing the thing with your face.”
“I’m not— Wait, what thing with my face?”
Her frown deepens as she studies me, and I try to keep my pace even in the direction of the door.
River comes up behind me after a few steps, gentle hand steadying my elbow. “You okay?” Concern radiates off him. “You’re limping.”
“I’m not limping,” I protest, then immediately wince when my ankle tries to send a distress flare up my leg. I grit my teeth and suck in a breath through my mouth. “Okay, so I’m… mildly inconvenienced.”
River tilts his head. “You’re hurt,” he says, firmer this time.
“I thought he was supposed to be the bossy one,” I say, pointing at Wren, who just lifts a brow, unimpressed.
Vida circles, blocking my path so I have to stop abruptly. It’s not particularly helpful, and it hurts, but it does stop me moving. “Do you need to go to the ER?”
“No, I do not need to go to the ER.” The words come out so fast they practically trip over each other. “We are not doing this again. You’re just a bad luck charm—and I don’t want another fucking boot.”
River clicks his tongue, soft but firm, crowding my space just enough to make it clear he’s not going to let me get away with this. His hand doesn’t leave my elbow. “You might need one.”
“It’s not that bad. I’m not limping, I’m…
hobbling. There’s a difference.” I try to bounce on my good foot, but all I manage is a wince and a very unsexy grimace when the weight lands on my right side on accident.
“I’ve had worse. Last time, I got to the end of the night before I even realized I was hurt. ”
“I don’t doubt it.” River’s tone is dry, but I can see the concern etched in every line of his face. He’s got the world’s gentlest hands, but he’s not letting go of my arm. “I know you don’t want to go to the ER, but you can’t ignore it.”
My stomach’s twisting itself into knots—not just from the pain, but that lurching, invisible dread that comes with the mention of hospitals in any guise, but especially the emergency room.
I can’t do this. I’m not doing this.
We’re out on the street now, the bright slap of early evening air in my face, everything spinning a little. I make it three more steps before my ankle zings again, sharper this time. I hiss through my teeth, clutching the strap of my bag until my knuckles go bloodless.
River is patient, like he’s used to stubborn idiots trying to out-walk their injuries, but I see the soft in his eyes, too. He’s built for holding people up.
“I’m fine, I swear,” I insist. “If you’re worried about missing your flight, don’t be. Just go ahead.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he says—genuinely, which kind of ruins my argument. “Just let us help. Please?”
He’s almost too nice. It pisses me off, actually. I look away, scowling. That’s when I notice Wren talking low to Vida, his mouth at her ear. She nods, eyes cutting to me, and then she leans in and kisses his cheek. “Yeah, please. Thanks.”