Like Cross said, timing is rarely on our side.
“So, did April ever tell you why she wanted you to cover for her today?” Jasmine asks.
I shake my head as the door opens, making the bell ring, and April walks in. She has her dark purple hair up in a big messy bun and very little makeup on, but she looks well put together. It’s unsettling how she’s reacting to the loss of their baby. “Hey,” I say, standing up straighter. “How are you doing?”
Jasmine glares at me like I’m an idiot for asking such a stupid question, but I can’t help it. I feel if I ask it enough, she’ll eventually break down and talk to me.
April sets her purse on the counter and looks at us, ignoring my question. “Congratulations on the new business.”
Did Cross talk to Grave? He’s the only one I’ve spoken to about it. Maybe it was Jasmine. I exchange a look with her, and she slowly shakes her head. “How did you …?”
“Emilee told me. That’s great news,” April throws over her shoulder as she walks toward her office.
Jasmine and I turn to Emilee.
“Sorry,” she whispers quickly. “I went over to their place the other night to try to talk to her, and she wouldn’t say anything about herself. She just sat there staring at the wall, and I started word vomiting.” Her large blue eyes start to fill with tears, biting her lip. “I hope it wasn’t a secret.”
“Of course not,” Jasmine assures her with a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry. I panicked,” Emilee rambles. “I didn’t know what else to say.”
“It’s okay. I promise. Don’t worry about it.”
“We should celebrate,” April announces, walking back into the front of the shop from her office.
“Oh, no—” I start.
“That’s not necessary,” Jasmine interrupts me.
“Nonsense.” April waves us off. “We’re celebrating. Tomorrow night. At our house.”
“Well, technically, it’s not official yet,” I state, trying to turn her down nicely.
April’s face falls, and she looks down at her hands as a silence fills the shop. “I just … I need something. To take my mind off … you know? A distraction.”
Jasmine, Emilee, and I rush over to her immediately, giving her a big hug. April can throw us whatever kind of celebration party she wants. If that is a step to help her grieve, then we’ll let her do it. I did promise that I’d give her anything she needed.
“What should I bring?” I ask.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CROSS
APRIL INSISTED THAT we have dinner at Grave’s and her place to celebrate the girls buying into Kink. We’ve been here for two hours, and it’s awkward as fuck. There’s a big elephant in the room. No one has laughed or told any jokes, for that matter, like our usual Sunday morning breakfasts that we’ve been having ever since she moved in with him.
Bones has just openly stared at his brother. Grave has asked to talk to Titan privately in the other room twice now. And I have to pretend I haven’t been fucking Alexa. I love my friends, but I’m so ready to go home.
We’re all sitting at their formal dining table when April stands from her seat and excuses herself to use the restroom.
Chatter is at a minimum. What little there has been was April trying to get Jasmine and Alexa to talk about their future plans with Kink, but they honestly don’t have any at the moment. Not until they are for sure going to buy in. They leave for New York tomorrow to tour the Kink club there.
We’re silently eating when April re-enters the room. We all look up to just see her standing under the archway. Grave drops his fork to his plate and jumps to his feet. “April? Are you okay?” He looks her over for any obvious injuries, but she seems to be fine.
She has tears in her ice-blue eyes as she stares at him. I can feel the air shift in the room. A weight dropping on all of us. Her pain. Their pain. It’s unimaginable.
The first tear falls, and he steps closer to her. “April …?”
“Are you using again?” she asks him.
He comes to a stop. His lips curve down, and his brow creases. “No.” He squares his shoulders, proud he can answer that question truthfully. I’ve been around him so many times in the past when Bones asked him that, and he lied. “Why would you—?”
“It’s okay,” she interrupts him again, licking her lips. “I mean … it’s not.” She sighs, nervously running her hands through her hair. “But if you are, I’ll help you.”
“April, I’m clean,” he tells her, stepping toward her, but he stops when she takes one back, matching it. His face falls at her retreat, looking like a wounded dog. Grave has always worn his emotions on his face. He doesn’t understand how not to feel.