Nikolai:That was weeks ago.
Killian:Still counts.
Nikolai:You know what is also counting? The number of your days.
Jeremy:Tone it down.
Nikolai:Jer! Have you seen the shit he’s spouting?
Jeremy:He has a point.
Nikolai:The fuck? How can you take his side over mine?
Jeremy:I want you to think very carefully about what you’ve done the last couple of weeks, Niko.
Nikolai:You can’t be fucking serious. I can’t even talk to Cecily now?
Jeremy:Not if you can help it.
I snap a picture of the table, Brandon included, and send it to the group chat.
Nikolai:I’m wounded, Jer. Why didn’t you take me with you?
Jeremy:I thought you were busy…with what again? Oh, sleeping to preserve your energy for violence.
Nikolai:I would’ve sacrificed that for you, Jer. What are bros for?
Jeremy:Uh-huh. You dodged a bullet anyway. The Brits are boring except for Cecily.
Killian:And Glyndon. @Nikolai Sokolov I asked you if you wanted me to take you on a stroll, but you said no.
Nikolai:I’m not your fucking dog, motherfucker. Also, I just found out where that place is. Prepare to meet your maker in fifteen.
Kill snickers. I turn off the screen of my phone. Cecily and I should leave before Nikolai shows up and starts drama that’s of a more significant scope than Remington’s, because, unlike him, my friend actually talks with his fists.
“Be right back,” Cecily whispers, then slips her hand from mine and heads toward the bathroom.
I keep watching her back, eyes narrowing the slightest bit. Even though I was distracted by Nikolai and his antics, I notice that she’s reading a text out of sight now.
I also don’t like the expression she had when she just left. There was a tinge of nervousness and, more importantly, guilt. What the fuck does she feel so guilty about?
The noise and movements around the table swirl, mix, and explode in tones of black and gray until I’m unable to see straight.
No matter what I do, how much progress I think I’ve made with Cecily, how deeply I think I’ve claimed her, it always feels like she’s gatekeeping a part of herself.
The one I can’t reach. The one I’m not allowed access to.
When I meet Annika’s gaze, I find that she’s watching me carefully. She must see the change in my expression and even the demons floating around my head like a halo.
Despite my calm demeanor, the façade is nothing more than a camouflage of the need for violence that ripples through me.
I stand up and, without a word, I follow Cecily’s steps. The asphyxiating feeling I’ve had ever since she left my side turns from bad to fucking disastrous when I don’t find her in the long line.
Judging by the time she left, she should be here somewhere, but she isn’t.
I stride down the hall to the back entrance. The air slaps my face the moment I’m outside, but it’s not as jarring as the feeling that slams against my chest when I catch a glimpse of a very familiar fucking car.
A damn flashy McLaren.