Chapter 3
Chapter three
Bexley
“Here,” Rylan says, gently guiding one of his earbuds into my ear. “Bonus track just dropped this morning.”
I help adjust it, giving him a nod to signal I’m ready. He hits play on his phone and immediately the familiar sound of Lawless Dragons starts. The bass and drums keep building to a crescendo until the whole band is blasting the fast paced song.
Melting back into my pillow, I close my eyes, letting myself get lost in the new music. Rylan’s eyes stay glued on me the entire time, but I’m too drowsy to notice much. Between the painkillers and the music, I feel like I’m floating weightlessly in a carefree void.
It couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve been cooped up in this hospital for over a week. But finally, I’ve been told that as long as my final test results come back clear this weekend, I’m free to go home.
When I woke after the fire, the pain was all-consuming and blinding. It felt like I could still feel the flames lapping at my skin and taste the thick smoke in my throat. I guess that’s the consequence of being burned alive in the one place you could still call home. Now that’s tainted for me too.
Once the pain was under control, I realized I had no idea where the hell I actually was. I was expecting the familiar bland walls of Ridgeview Hospital, but this place was nicer.
A lovely nurse by the name of Rosemary filled me in that I was at the Ridgeview Medical Center—the private hospital—and after a small panic attack, she assured me that I wouldn’t end up with some crippling medical bill since everything was already taken care of.
And I’m yet to confront the reason why.
He hasn’t voiced it out loud, and I haven’t dared to ask.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Rylan Astor, it’s that his love language comes in the form of money.
I know better than to start an argument.
That confrontation in his bedroom over Mom’s funeral still haunts my daydreams and nightmares.
Wait. Does this count as love language? I suppose you can feel love for your enemies in a twisted way when you’ve been balls deep in them.
Are you really still referring to him as your enemy, Bexley?
To be fair, I think I’m just happy that I’m alive. We’ll have plenty of opportunities to fight about other things. Fighting over money seems a little ridiculous now that it feels like someone has shoved a fire poker into my skin repeatedly.
It’s insignificant in the grand scheme of life. Well… kind of.
We’re still very much going to have a discussion about it when I find my balls of steel again. But not today.
Not right now.
“This chorus is fitting,” I mumble, amused.
Rylan glares at me, clearly not sharing the same sentiments.
Of course, it’s obvious that the lyrics are referring to a different type of fiery inferno than the one we faced—a metaphorical rise from the ashes. But hey—if I don’t laugh about being burned alive, what else can I do? My sense of humor is all I have left to keep me sane right now.
Wicked flames entwined with pain. But if I don’t burn, what will I gain? We hold on to our endless death. Spiraling until there’s nothing left.
Judging from the look on Rylan’s face, this is the first time he’s listened to the song as well. It sends a chill—or some warm, fuzzy feeling, I’m undecided—through my body knowing that he’s waited hours just so he can listen to it with me.
I don’t know what this all means, or anything, really. And for the first time in my life, I have no desire to know all the answers. They scare me. Because then I’ll have no choice but to face reality. And I’m not ready for that yet.
Which begs the other question plaguing my mind that I haven’t dared ask out loud yet.
How did I escape the fire?
The last thing I remember is seeing Lannister’s feet disappear out the window to freedom, the heat fading away as my consciousness exited the building with him.
I just remember feeling relief that it would be all over shortly.
I would be with Mom again, blissfully passing out before the fire could fully take me.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up here, cursing and crying—okay, screaming—simultaneously.
Arch has visited most days, often bringing Abby with him. He provided some information about the fire from his dad, but even they are unsure about how it started or how I ended up trapped.
It’s apparent that whoever was in Cedar Heights with us that night wanted us dead. They were hellbent on finishing the arson job, regardless that we were in the damn building at the time.
That’s a scary thought. Maybe I was a bonus. Two birds, one stone.
I’ve spent most of my life trying to navigate this damn feud. Having ‘enemies’ is not a foreign concept by any means, but even at the peak of their torment, I never once imagined that the kings of Willowbrook would wish me dead for real. Broken, yes. Dead? That’s a stretch.
It’s hard to fathom that even Lannister locking me in the warehouse seems tame compared to the fire incident.
Speaking of the devil—he’s the only person I haven’t seen.
Once again, I haven’t pried. But Rylan and Tai did let me know that he was okay as well, which was a relief to hear. Some burns and smoke inhalation injuries, but still very much alive and kicking.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, though. Part of me feels a little disappointed that he hasn’t been here. Which is downright asinine.
Just because we had a brief moment of civility in the face of death doesn’t mean our entire dynamic has changed.
He’s made it very clear that he hates me.
If anything, that night only proved that he’s not entirely as cold and heartless as I believed.
Even the strongest of men would start to crack in that situation, so I don’t have any expectations about what this could mean moving forward.
I’m just glad he’s okay for Rylan and Tai’s sake.
Soph has been here every day. Often, she just sits in the visitor chair, reading her Kindle while I doomscroll on TikTok. It’s rare you find someone who can create peace in the silence, but I’ve found it in her.
The song finishes and I remove the earbud, handing it back to Rylan. “It’s perfect. Surely this means a possible tour.”
He nods. “That’s the general consensus on socials.”
“I might need to start selling feet pictures online,” I joke. “Do you reckon the burns would sell or should I wait until I’m fully healed and charge a scar tax?”
Rylan’s face deadpans. “I suppose you could match your fingers and toenails. I’ve heard some creeps like receiving used underwear if the foot venture fails.”
“I’m not entirely sure I want to send my underwear. I’d have to replace them, and that’s a big inconvenience. Do you know how luxurious it is to find the perfect pair of panties? What if the next bunch I buy leave me in a twist? No pun intended.”
“You could just go commando,” he suggests, smirking. “No complaints here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds like corporate espionage… or sabotage. Don’t you want me to succeed in my panty selling business so I can buy concert tickets?”
“I’ll buy the panties. But only if I’m allowed to be the one to rip them off. Tai can be the warehouse bitch and package them.”
Laughing, I roll onto my side, facing him. “So, we’re business partners now? I’m not sure I want to share my profits with you, Astor.”
Rylan shrugs. “Silent partner then. Consider it a quid pro quo. There’s still benefits for me, even if they aren’t monetary.”
“Oh, of course. How could I forget the all-important pussy benefits? It’s up there with health benefits and insurance.”
“I think so, yes. It’s very good for my health. And yours, actually. You’re less likely to murder us if you’re too exhausted from endless orgasms.”
I grin. “Have you considered fire since Lannister’s kidnapping attempt failed? It’s pretty effective at exhausting me.”
Rylan’s expression drops in an instant. “Bexley,” he growls.
“Rylan,” I mimic.
“That’s not funny. You nearly died. You did die.”
I wave him off, unbothered. “Only for a minute. Evil doesn’t die that easy. Give me a little credit.”
I wonder what Abby would say about my dark humor as an Aquarian. Clearly, whatever star sign Rylan is, he doesn’t feel the same. Maybe he’s a Cancerian. Apparently they are meant to be moody—or something to do with being in touch with their emotions.
I suppose I should cut him a little slack.
Sure—there was a brief moment where I was technically clinically dead.
From what I’ve been told, I didn’t have a pulse and was not breathing when I was pulled out of the building.
Thankfully, the paramedics were able to revive me in the ambulance, and I was intubated until my lungs were strong enough to breathe on their own again.
It must have been scary for him. For all of them.
Part of me is terrified as well. I vividly remember the peaceful feeling washing over me, the pain fading away.
But there was no white light, no flashbacks of my life up until that point.
And worse still, Mom wasn’t waiting at pearly gates for me.
I guess it’s the unknown that frightens the shit out of me—knowing my life was nearly over for good.
Still, I had made my peace with the situation, ready to accept death.
But somehow, I survived, destined to live another day.
Even if that means illegal panty selling business practices to fund my non-existent social life.
I grab Rylan’s hand, giving it a little reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine, really. I promise to keep tormenting you for a little longer.”
He lifts my hand, placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles while dodging the cannula stuck in my wrist. “I nearly lost you, Bex. I’m not prepared to do that.”
Ugh. Every time I start to feel normal, he says things like that and it makes my stomach do that weird flippy thing.
It’s a very uncharacteristic trait that I’m blaming entirely on the painkillers and certainly not from any potential feelings I may have for the man who’s meant to be some sworn enemy by birthright. Nope.
“I know,” I say softly. “But even if you did, you would be okay. You were good before I came along, so I know you’d be able to move on just fine.”
Move on?
What the fuck am I even rambling on about?
Rylan scowls at my words. “I think you underestimate just how much you affect me, Spencer.”
“I’m too drugged up and euphoric for this,” I murmur, cheeks suddenly feeling really warm. “Can we just pretend to hate each other? You can give me your credit card again.”
“No. And the key word there was stole.”
“You’re an insufferable psycho.”
“And you’re the pain in the ass who gets me. The real me. I’m not letting that go.”
I flop onto my back, but our hands stay entwined.
Staring at the ceiling, I swallow the lump in my throat, desperately clawing for some witty remark or change of topic.
Finally, I latch on to the only thing that springs to mind—the elephant still in the room.
“We should start that team investigation you begged for. Especially while it’s fresh and there’s potential evidence still around. ”
“Change of topic. Real smooth, Bexley.”
“Yep. Just like your ball sack. I’m nothing if not consistent when it comes to my reputation. By the way—I need your hair removal routine. It’s damn flawless, Astor.”