39. Jinx
Jinx
Ileave a guard at the hospital who's an ex-Marine and built like a fucking truck. There are exactly four men in this world I trust with my life and none of them were available tonight, so Jamie's the next best thing.
He takes up his position outside Marney's room with a coffee and his Glock hidden somewhere on his body, along with my specific instructions that if anyone who isn't a nurse or a doctor tries to get through that door, he should use the latter.
He can use the coffee, too, if it's hot enough and the mood strikes.
I check my phone when I pull into the driveway at home and see Cyrus's message still lighting up the screen.
CYRUS
Come home. Kade talked.
Those four little words shouldn't make my stomach drop through the floor, and yet. I'd typed back with shaky hands.
JINX
Talked about what?
CYRUS
Us
A loaded word, if ever there was one.
The house is dead quiet when I come through the front door, which is never a good sign. That means I'm about to have a conversation I'd rather replace with literally anything else. Including another warehouse shootout.
I find them both waiting for me in the living room.
Ellie's curled up on the corner of the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, wearing one of Cyrus's black hoodies over her pink leggings, the oversized sleeves pulled past her fingers. She looks small and vulnerable, even if tonight has been undeniable proof she's anything but vulnerable.
Cyrus sits at the other end of the couch, without his laptop and his clothes rumpled for once, glasses pushed up onto his hair and massaging his temple.
They both look fucking exhausted, but that could either be from the shitshow we've all just been through, or whatever they were talking about before I walked in.
"Tank?" I ask, clearing my throat, because stalling is very much a valid conversational strategy. At least in my world.
"Still at the hospital with Kade," Ellie says. "More to make sure Kade doesn't rip out his IV and try to leave than anything."
"And Kade's...?"
"Alive. Drugged and running his mouth," Cyrus says flatly, watching me.
And there's the elephant I hoped had wandered off to terrorize someone else's living room.
Ellie tilts her head. Some of the pink streaks fall across her cheek and she doesn't push them back. "So. You two want to tell me what's going on? What's this big, kinky secret you're hiding?"
Cyrus and I exchange a look. We have an entire nonverbal conversation in the space of two seconds.
You tell her.
No, fuck you, YOU tell her.
I swear to God, Jinx.
FINE, asshole.
"What exactly did Kade say?" I ask, perching on the edge of the arm of the couch because if I sit all the way down, I'm going to be sick.
"Something about a 'weird little roleplay," Ellie says, cocking an eyebrow expectantly.
Cyrus's fingers move from his temple to the bridge of his nose to pinch it. "Apparently the morphine loosened his tongue. He knows. He's known for a while."
"Of course he has." I drag both hands down my face. "Of course Kade fucking Gallagher, who's fucking oblivious to his own dirty dishes sitting in the sink, has been sitting on this juicy little tidbit of information, just waiting for the optimal moment to deploy it."
"That's Kade for you," Ellie agrees mildly. "So?"
"So what?"
"So tell me. Whatever this thing is. I already know you two dumbasses are together, even if you're too stubborn to admit it. You already know I think it's hot. So why do you look like you're about to jump out the window?"
Because some things are hot in the abstract and weird in the specific, and what Cyrus and I do behind closed doors is so specifically fucked up it would probably fill up an entire season of a true crime podcast.
Cyrus's gaze burns into the side of my head. The fucker is dead silent and letting me drown, because his sadism isn't limited to the bedroom, apparently.
"Okay." I take a deep breath and let it out. "Sooooo. You know how you noticed that chipped nail polish a while back?"
"You mean the nail polish you told me was spray paint from a workshop accident?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow.
"Right. Uhm, so, it wasn't spray paint."
Her eyebrow ticks higher. "I know."
She waits.
Patiently, which is fucking torture.
Of course she knew. I'm a fucking idiot.
"I like wearing women's clothes sometimes," I blurt out. "But that's not… It's not a general thing. It's not like I hit up the women's section at Target on weekends. It's..." I swallow hard. "More… specific."
Cyrus shifts to move closer beside me. His hand rests on my lower back, and that touch is the only reason my voice keeps working.
"Specific to you," Cyrus says to Ellie, quietly, when I stall out.
Ellie just looks confused. "Specific to me?"
"Yeah." My voice cracks pathetically. I am fucking pathetic.
"After you left, after we thought you ditched us, I started...
taking your stuff. Stuff you'd left behind in the RV and uh, your old trailer because I kind of broke in sometimes to sit in your room.
" I can feel the heat climbing my neck as I list off my crimes.
"It started with little things, really. I'd just hold them and smell your perfume.
Pathetic, I know, but it was… it made you feel close.
Like you didn't actually leave. I could pretend you were still there when I was sitting on the floor of your room, holding your sweatshirt. "
And crying.
There was a lot of fucking crying, but she doesn't need to know that. This is embarrassing enough.
Her expression doesn't change, which is either very good or very bad and I can't tell which for the life of me. The girl I've spent most of a lifetime studying and I can't fucking read her tonight.
"And then it sort of escalated." I point between me and Cy. "I started wearing your clothes and your makeup. I built this whole… God, this sounds insane, but I built this whole thing where I could just be near you again, even if it was fake."
"And Cyrus?" she asks slowly, her eyes flicking between us. "How does he factor into this?"
Cyrus clears his throat. "I found out about six months in. Walked in on him dressed like you."
"And instead of calling a therapist like a normal person," I continue, because I can already feel Cyrus trying to edit the story already and I'm not going to let him, "he encouraged it. So we're both freaks, just so you know."
And I'll drag this motherfucker down with me, so help me. Cyrus glares at me, but I ignore it and his hand is still on my back.
Ellie's eyebrow arches.
One perfect, devastating millimeter.
"It was a way for both of us to feel close to you," I say, my words coming faster now in a panic. "I got to pretend you were still here. And Cyrus got to..."
I glance at him. His face is as blank as ever, but I see the fear in his eyes. He's afraid of the very same rejection as I am, even if he's better at hiding it, but this is our chance to put all the cards on the table. She deserves to know how fucked up we both are.
"Punish you," I finish. "Vicariously, through me. For leaving us."
Cyrus's jaw tightens but he doesn't deny it or even try to soften the truth. It's fucked up and we both know it.
Ellie stares at us both.
"Son of a bitch," Cyrus mutters, raking a hand through his hair.
"What?" I spread my hands. "You think I'm the only one airing my dirty laundry here?"
"I think you mean my dirty laundry," Ellie says before he can respond.
For a few seconds, neither of us says a word. We just stare at her.
Then it breaks, and we're all laughing, relief and absurdity and four years of grief releasing all at once.
I forgot Cyrus could laugh. And mine is too loud and too long and probably borders on hysterical, but I'll take it over the alternative, which was her walking out that door.
Ellie's laugh is… perfect.
Always is.
"You're not mad?" I manage, wiping my eyes with the heel of my hand.
"No." She shakes her head, the pink streaks swaying.
"I mean, it's weird. Not the clothes. You can wear whatever the hell you want, Jinx.
But the fact that you roleplay me..." She pauses, chewing her lip in a way that's going to live rent-free in my head for the rest of my natural life. "That's kind of fucked."
"Yeah," I say hoarsely. "I know."
"It's also weirdly flattering," she says, and I see the gears turning behind those pretty eyes. "And confusingly hot."
"Hot?" I echo in disbelief.
She unfolds herself from the couch and crosses the cushion between us. When she reaches me, her hands come up to my face, gentle as her fingers brush my cheekbones. Her green eyes are so close, I get to see the gold flecks in them I've been trying to memorize since I was eleven.
"I would never reject you," she says. Quiet enough that it's just for me, even with Cyrus right there. "Not for this, or for anything."
"Okay, well maybe you should see the Ellie shrine in the apartment we rented for our fucked up roleplay first before you commit to—"
She kisses me and every single coherent thought in my head goes up in smoke. Her fingers slide into my hair, nails dragging against my scalp, and the sound I make against her lips would be embarrassing if I had any dignity left, which I definitely do not.
When she pulls back, there's a glint in her eye I recognize from the hill. From every moment she's decided to stop being careful around us and start being Ellie again.
"I'm kind of curious now," she murmurs, her lips still close enough that I feel the whisper of her breath against mine. "What it would be like to make out with myself."
The laugh that escapes me is sheepish and a little strangled. "That could be arranged."
Her thumb drags across my lower lip. "Tonight I just want you. Both of you. As yourselves."
Cyrus moves behind her, his hand settling at the curve of her waist. Our girl shivers and I watch her eyes darken slightly as his thumb traverses the strip of bare skin between her leggings and the hoodie's hem.
"You're sure?" His lips brush the shell of her ear and she arches back against his chest on reflex.