Anarchy in my head.
Hollow emptiness in my heart.
A mild sense of panic clutching my chest.
My fist hacks the wheel as I stop at a red light. With an entire thesaurus of opposing emotions coursing through me, I can’t sit still, shifting in my seat, tapping my foot on the pedal, and swearing at the driver in front of me for not flooring it when the light changes.
My husbandechoes in my brain like an aftershock of an earthquake, destroying any attempt to rein in my thoughts. I wish it was a joke. The girl I’m in love with was married to another man.
Is this payback for my sins? For not wanting more than casual sex from women all these years?
What an irony—the one girl I want more from than just sex, the one girl I want to build my future with, is the one girl who already found the perfect man. The man she must’ve wanted to spend her life with.
And I’m not him.
I need to talk to someone, vent, scream, or I may do something really fucking stupid, like pick a fight with a random asshole at a random bar to let out some steam.
And I sure need a few drinks to soothe my jagged nerves.
Thalia and I were supposed to meet my brothers and Jack at Nico’s restaurant in less than half an hour, but the plan just fucking changed. I dial Nico’s number, holding onto the wheel, trying to decide whether to rip it out of the steering column.
“What’s up?” he answers.
“Change of plans.” I cringe at the sound of my voice. Even to my ears, I sound distraught. “I need you all at your place.”
“You don’t sound good. What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“Two minutes away from your house. Just get everyone to come over, alright?”
“Yeah, I’ll call them and open a bottle. Let yourself in.”
Cutting the call, I turn left into the gated community and press my foot down, speeding down the road lined with oversized McMansions. I turn again, right this time, onto Nico’s driveway at too-many miles an hour. Tires screech when I slam on the brake pedal, stopping mere inches from the garage door.
It’s warm outside, still in the high seventy degrees range. Sun is setting over the ocean in the distance, the pinks and purples painting the cloudless sky above. The smell of grass wafts in the air, and the delicate rustling of leaves is all the sound that can be heard. No kids are running around the mansions in the vicinity, no dogs are barking, no cars are driving by... it’s a peaceful evening. And it feels as if the whole world is out to mock my misery. It should be pouring rain right about now.
Or, better yet, there should be a vicious storm brewing overhead with bolts of lightning ripping the sky wide open, bleaching Nico’s posh house with stark whiteness.
Or even better: a hurricane to match my foul mood, but no.
Not even a fucking drizzle.
“You look like shit,” Nico says when I barge inside, stomping across the marble-lined hallway into the ostentatious living room. “You and Thalia alright?”
I pace back and forth between the glass wall and the grand piano, which takes eighteen goddamn steps one way. I’m trying to gather my thoughts and plan a coherent, sensible sentence. Not that it’s working.
The inside of my head resembles the chaos on the main floor of the Bellagio. My thoughts fight for attention, a cacophony of incoherent noise. I down half the whiskey Nico shoved in my hand when I passed the couch for the third time, and I dig my fingers into the back of my stiff neck.
I should wait until Shawn, Jack, and Logan arrive, but I might have a fucking stroke if I don’t start talking right away.
“Remember Thalia’s truth from the party?”
Nico sits on the armrest of his stupid couch, elbows on his knees, eyes following me around the room. “Yeah, she spent a month in jail.”
I gulp the rest of the stupid whiskey and slam the stupid glass on the stupid fucking coffee table.
I think I need a few deep breaths...
“She was charged with murder.”