No. It was because it was just us.
Everything had been turned on its head in the shortest amount of time. The chaos that had existed inside of us, stopping us from becoming anything, was now chaos on the outside while the inside remained still. Or we’d merged our chaos to create still.
Whatever it was, it was simple. Us, at least. I didn’t question it. That didn’t mean we didn’t fight, of course. We did fight about me giving up my lease to Polly. I said “no way.” Well, I said a lot more words than that, but that was the gist.
Keltan said “yes fucking way,” since I wouldn’t be leaving his place any time soon. Or something with the same sentiment alongside more swearwords and New Zealand slang I didn’t properly understand.
We argued about him paying for everything and being the alpha who ‘took care of’ his female when she could take care of herself, credit card bills not included.
But then we talked.
About his family back home. The one where his brother ran the farm with their mom, though she was getting older and they were considering putting her in a small unit ‘in town.’ About his sister, whom he obviously adored, and her job in Paris.
He didn’t open the Ian box.
Nor did I open the Grayson one.
Maybe they were already open. But we didn’t need to talk about that. It had been done. Once our demons had been introduced, fully incorporated into each other, they no longer needed to be minded. They became part of the emotional furniture.
So yes, despite the death threats, constant bodyguards and missing my best friend like crazy, I was doing well. The best.
Thinking of my best friend had me quickly finishing another guest post for Covet. They still brought me on for opinion pieces every now and then, and Lord knew I needed the money. I may have indulged in a little too much therapy at Prada with Heath.
But one couldn’t regret Prada.
Breaking up
They say—the proverbial “they”—that breakups are hard.
Yes, it’s not new. Every single rom-com, TV show and any form of pop culture or life experience will tell you that.
Breakups are hard.
With men, you get over it. You patch up the hole in your heart.
Mostly, at least.
But with friends? No. That hole will never leave you. A break up with a girlfriend isn’t just the loss of the partner who shares your bed. It’s the sister who you share your life with. The one who you don’t have to pretend with. Because let’s face it, ladies, you pretend with guys. Even you, the woman married for twelve years. Maybe it’s the fact that you really don’t like that certain bedroom act that makes him crazy, or you can’t stand those moccasins he wears, or you pretend you don’t get your upper lip bleached every four weeks.
Whatever it is, that little secret you keep for whatever reason, it’s not shared with your life partner.
It’s with your soul mate. Otherwise known as your best friend.
And then they’re taken. Maybe it’s death, and that’s a gaping, jagged hole that will never heal or fade. That’s a hole that will stay raw and excruciating forever. You just learn how to deal with it. Because you have no other choice.
But what if they just disappear? You know they’ve done it before, but this times feels different. Final. And you need them for more than just to tell you it’s okay to max out your credit card at Prada. (Who needs dinner?)
But you need them for everything else. Because even if we have our life together, or at least our love life together, does that mean we’re okay without them?
Our soul mates?
No. I didn’t think so either.
Neither does Prada.
I sent the article away without reading over it too closely. It still hurt my heart, after all.
I considered calling Wire and demanding he hack into a satellite like Cade had tried to order him to do. I just had to think of a good enough threat to make him do it. But I fell short considering Cade had probably used his ruthless and inventive imagination.
In the meantime, I tried a rather less rash version of getting her back. I did so while pushing off my desk, only just realizing the entire office was empty and bathed in dull twilight. People were eager to leave and I had been so lost in my own thoughts I didn’t notice.
Even the light to Roger’s office was off. He usually lived there, the reason for his divorce. Both of them.
I put the phone to my ear, the dial tone replacing the echo of my shoes in the empty room.
“What kind of psychopath leaves a voice mail? Text me like a normal person. Apart from you, Gage. You’re a psychopath but you also need to text me. But not if you need help with disposing of a body. The last one was too heavy and I broke a nail.”