“Bex?”
I jerked at the soft voice.
“You okay?” Lily asked.
My gaze darted up to my best friend, who was regarding me with concern. I noticed she looked better. She was eating more, which meant she was slowly putting on the weight she’d lost through the horrors of the past few years. Three of them. Caring for her sick mother.
Her dying mother.
Trying to care for me when I was intent on hitting the self-destruct button that had always been just out of reach, until it wasn’t.
Her eyes still danced with grief but she seemed stronger somehow, more sure of herself. Her golden hair shone with health and tumbled down her back, no longer lank and lifeless. The dark circles were disappearing from underneath her eyes, and the pallor that had worried me was now disappearing. I knew it had a lot to do with Asher, the hot biker who seemed to believe she invented the Harley Davidson. He did what I couldn’t, pulling her out of the abyss when I only yanked her back in.
I owed him a lot. I was also weary. For the three and a half years we’d know each other, it had been my job to protect Lily. She was shy. More than that, she suffered from social anxiety, stuff that made her vulnerable to the shitty world. That’s how I’d met her, on her first day at college, on the verge of a panic attack. She looked so tiny, a fucking child, and something drew me to that. Some carnal part of me recognizing that vulnerability painted on her pretty face, that same vulnerability that was stolen from me when I was a kid. Something clicked, made me determined to make sure that wasn’t stolen from her like it was stolen from me. I couldn’t control it then, but I sure as shit could control it now. Since that day, it was my job to protect her. Asher had taken over that job. He was much better at it than me.
Me? I offered her a bottle and escape the only way I knew how, by partying.
He offered her more. Much more.
“I’m totally fine, Lilmeister,” I lied, smiling brightly at her. I’d gotten good at this, at the act. Hiding the way I got twitchy if it’d been too long between hits. How I was spending all of my spare money on it. I was an expert.
An addict.
No. I didn’t let my mind focus on that word. I wasn’t that. No.
“You sure?” she asked, her gaze running over me.
I kept my grin in place. “Sure, babe. I’m just contemplating my outfit for tonight. I’m feeling inspired by Rihanna’s S&M. Whips and chains excite me.” I winked at her.
She stared at me with furrowed brows for a moment longer, then shook her head. She was used to such phrases from me. I was the vulgar, stripper best friend after all. Plucky and able to handle almost anything. I had to play my part. She couldn’t see the crumbling filth beneath the façade I’d constructed with black clothes and an expert hand at winged eyeliner.
“You need anything at the supermarket?” she asked, rifling through her bag the way we all did, making sure everything of import was in there.
“Caviar, Dom, the usual,” I replied, reclining back on the sofa.
She shook her blonde head once more, in a way that made her look older than me, like she was the slightly amused mother looking at her immature child. Then again, she had a lifetime of being that person, the responsible one. Her mom had been a free spirit, an artist. A wonderful woman and a magnificent mother, but not the best at remembering to pay the electric bill and keep the cupboards stocked. That had been Lily’s job. She might need protecting but she took care of people. Of me. Of her mom. Until the moment her mom died.
It hit me then, the last time I spoke to her. Hit without warning, so I couldn’t chase it away.
“Love.”
My head jerked up from its resting place on the corner of the bed. Sleep released me from its grasp as soon as I saw Faith’s eyes. She’d been sleeping more now. Closer to the end. Our lives were getting darker and darker as her light grew dimmer and dimmer.
Lily dragged herself away to work. She didn’t want to. I knew she was terrified that Faith would slip away while she was slinging cocktails. That’s what I was afraid of.
Faith leaving her.
Leaving me.
I rubbed my eyes. “Love?” I repeated, confused.
“Love isn’t knowing every inch of the other person. Looking at the darkest corners and getting to know their skeletons. It’s finding their truth, the core of who they are, the part of you that they recognize in themselves. Some people recognize that truth after spending a day ‘getting to know’ someone. Others a year. A special few, a moment.”