Sulli, Banks, and I have taken box seats in a theatre. No fancy opera or ballet are performing on stage.
Tom Cobalt’s band, The Carraways, in all their emo-punk glory belt out head-bangers to a crowd of old and young. Of course, Rose and Connor Cobalt would want their son to take center stage at their party. And Tom looks completely in his element. With heavy eyeliner and emotive baby blues, he sings passionately into the mic like his life is on the line. Captivating almost the entire audience.
I’m barely engaged. Not a knock on the music, just a knock on a terrible damn night.
Younger crowds gather near the stage to dance, friends of the families. Some are family, like the girl squad, Luna, and some of Tom’s brothers. Others, like us, retire to seats to munch on hors d’oeuvres.
My mini smoked salmon tart remains untouched on the table next to me.
“Go Fish,” Sulli says softly and sips on champagne.
Banks and Sulli play cards in the seats beside mine.
I decline for security reasons. I’m eyeing every entrance and exit like her life depends on my vigilance. Because it does. I don’t trust anyone.
They all want a piece of her.
They can’t have her.
I spot someone snapping photos towards us from the second row below. I click my mic. “Akara to Thatcher, second row. Camera.”
“I’m on it.”
After the entrance from hell, SFO agreed to look out for Sulli tonight. They’ll put temps on their clients if they need to be pulled away.
I appreciate that.
More than they can possibly know.
But still…
If you loved her at all, you wouldn’t do this to her.
I did this to her.
“Go fish for a card there, mermaid,” Banks says.
Sulli’s hand trembles on her way to pick up a card. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“No apologies necessary,” he says tenderly. “Here.” He picks up the card for her.
“Thanks.” They tried playing gin rummy and she couldn’t grasp the game right now. Banks has been comforting her and briefly surveying the concert.
I asked Sulli if she’d rather just ditch the party and go back to the hotel, but she said she wanted to brave this out. No quitting, no bailing.
It’s what Jane and Moffy would do, she said.
The more she shakes, the more a knife is plunged in my gut. She shouldn’t have to brave this out. Hiding in this box seat isn’t a part of the plan. Normally, she’d be on the floor with Luna and banging her head unrhythmically to punk music.
I think about her life, and how we all know it’s going to change now that she’s dating me and Banks in public. I don’t want Sulli to miss out on anything.
I feel like I’ve stolen something from my girlfriend. Her life. Her ability to experience everything and miss out on nothing, with no one impeding her fast, vigorous stride.
I’ve thrown her to the wolves.
I’m letting her be eaten alive.
Shit.
I run a hand through my hair and try to shift my mind. I listen to the music more as Tom’s band switches to a drums-heavy song. The drummer bangs his sticks slow, off beat. I cringe. Before Sulli, I was Tom’s bodyguard for a little over a year, and there’s one thing I know about him.
He’s a perfectionist.
So I’m unsurprised when he shoots a look back to the shaggy-haired blond.
The upside—I doubt anyone else notices the drums. Maybe I’m only picking up the bad tempo because I used to play them.
“Price to Alpha, Epsilon, Omega.” The owner of Triple Shield is on comms. “The venue’s security is having trouble with the front door. I need three men from each team.”
I roll my eyes, a little annoyed that he’s referring to Omega like my men are still under his flagship. I click my mic. “Copy. I’ll send you three guys from Kitsuwon Securities.”
Banks glances at me. “You need me?”
She needs you.
I shake my head. “I’m sending the Yale boys.” I radio it in. I trust them to show Triple Shield that we’re more than capable of handling front-door security.
Sulli lays down a pair on the little café table. “Everything okay?”
I don’t want to lie, but I’m trying not to freak her out. “They just needed more security at the front door.”
She nods. “My mom says it’ll blow over once people start forgetting about us.” She tries to shrug, but the motion is weak. “I know that won’t be tonight. But maybe it’ll be sooner than we think.”
It could be never.
The thought is another blade in my chest. Stabbing. Cutting. Slashing. I don’t want to think the worst, but I’m trained to look out for the worst. I’m trained to stop the crash before the damage is done.
You can’t stop this crash, Nine.
I have to.
Preserve her happiness. Preserve her life. What’s left if the world rips her to shreds?
The Carraways stop playing suddenly and Tom grabs the mic. “Okay, lovely people, it’s that time. Grab the person you love. We’re counting down to the new year!” Cheers erupt.