I wait until I hear the door shut to pry my eyelids open.
Vinny and Sy.
Going on a date, if I heard that conversation right.
I’m pretty sure the closest thing Sy’s ever had to a date was busting a nut in his pants at a Fourth of July party a few years back. First and last time he ever made out with a girl at a function. Well… until Vinny.
I wallow in the ensuing self pity for a bit, not bothering to get out of bed. I’ve done nothing but sleep all day, so I’m caught in the web between being wide awake and too exhausted to move. My muscles feel like they’ve been beaten with a meat tenderizer made of needles and regret. My throat feels like fire, stomach burning, but the urge to retch up the acid has thankfully passed. My shoulder is stiff and still swollen, and a big part of that ‘not moving’ thing is a deep desire to not feel the heavy, aching twinge of it.
All of that could be tolerated, though.
The problem is that there are no colors.
Red or green would guide me. Black or white would offer some relief. Blue would make me feel better. Purple might make my muscles move, drive me into action. Orange would make me fucking miserable, but at least there’d be something. Instead, it’s all just…
Gray.
I put my palm over my eyes as if I could call them back with a prayer. Our colors who art in heaven, sallowed be thy name. But I already know it won’t work. I can feel it inside, the empty pit where they used to be. I’d probably cry if I had any yellow to spare.
I’ve hit a lot of rock bottoms, but this time I must have rolled my sorry ass into a trench.
“Get up.”
I let my hand fall away, squinting to see Nick’s figure in my doorway. Get… up? “Worst idea you ever had,” I say, voice rough as gravel. “And that’s saying a lot.”
Nicky doesn’t look any more mad at me than he already was, entering the room and walking to my dresser. “Clean yourself up and put on something loose and comfortable. We leave in an hour.”
Every inch of my guts recoils at the thought of walking. “Leave for where?”
“The gym.” Nick throws me a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, not meeting my eyes. “Pauly’s going to take a look at that shoulder. Make sure everything’s kosher.”
My gaze falls to my hand, and I curl my fingers. “It’s fine.”
The dresser drawer slams, making me flinch painfully. “Goddamn it, Remy.” Nick braces his hands on the dresser, not even turning to look at me. The line of his shoulders is as tense as his words. “I’m not going to stand here and order you around like a fucking toddler. Either you get out of bed and handle your shit, or you lay there and rot. I’m not going to be your new Sy.” Straightening, he strides to the door, flicking a hand dismissively. “Meet me downstairs at eight if you find your balls.”
Taking a stealing breath, I go through the motions of sitting up, my head throbbing like a wound for a good second. Usually when Nick’s pissed at me like this, he either avoids me like the ice prince he’s so good at being, or he just straight up punches me in the face. Since no punch of his could hurt more than what’s already going down inside my head, all that’s left is avoidance, and that’s not an option, either.
Groaning, I push myself to my feet, fist pressed into my gut. I give it a few seconds to make sure nothing is about to come up before gingerly making my way out of the room. Flipping the bathroom light on is roughly the equivalent of stabbing hot pokers into my eyeballs, so it takes me some time to adjust.
When I do, I wince.
The man staring back at me in the mirror is just as gray as my mind.
My hair is gnarled and dull, cheeks gaunt, eyes rimmed with red. Unbidden, Sy’s voice rises in my head. You’re dehydrated. I turn on the faucet, duck my head, and take large, greedy gulps of water from the stream, trying not to hear the way it sounds, rushing and wet. Just like the river.
I jolt out of the memory, slamming off the tap, which is when I see them. The orange bottles are lined up in a nice little row. One, two, three.
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
It’s been a week since I took my meds–for ‘see no evil’, maybe more. I look at them, their presence as unavoidable as a heartbeat, and then look back up at my reflection. The first real memory I recall having at Saint Mary’s was being convinced that I’d died. I didn’t know why at the time. Back then, the memory of jumping into the river was still a red riddle inside my memories. But I knew something happened. Something enormous. Something unsurvivable.
Something horrifically yellow.
The feeling never really went away. That much I do remember. It’s always been there in the back of my mind, this possibility that everything happening around me isn’t… life. Just synapses firing off inside my brain on the moment of impact. An infinite loop of days meant to provide me with the physical chemicals that made dying a bearable thing.
It’s not something I tell Sy about, because it isn’t all the time. Sometimes, like right now, everything feels too real. The smoothness of the pedestal sink. The buzz of the overhead light. The drip of the showerhead. The scent of Nick’s body wash. The dampness of the mat beneath my bare feet.
I haven’t had that feeling in days.
Not since I jumped with Vinny.
Reaching out, I begin opening the bottles, ignoring the orangeness of them, and dump one of each pill into my palm. They go down harshly, scraping at the back of my raw throat, but something inside me strengthens with resolve afterward.
I keep my shower quick, washing my hair one-handed. After, I consider shaving the five days of growth from my face, but doing that one-handed just seems fucking stupid, so I brush my teeth instead. Can’t be having all those pills on an empty, upset stomach, so after getting dressed, I stop by the kitchen for a bagel and one of Sy’s protein shakes.
By the time I step into my boots, the thought of my bed is feeling pretty tempting. My shoulder hurts like a bitch, but there’s nothing anyone can do about it anyway. What’s the point? Sleep is healing. I could do that for two more hours. Or, like, thirty.
You’re just cycling, comes Sy’s voice. Crashing from the mania.
Oh.
Right.
Even knowing that’s probably true, it still tears something within me to pass my bedroom. To reach for my coat, wallet, and keys. To make all the motions of stepping through the door. To leave the hope of crawling into a hole behind.
Nick is waiting in the party room.
I pause at the bottom step, only halfway into my jacket because I refuse to consider how much it’d suck to thread my arm through its sleeve.
He looks me up and down with blank, assessing eyes, and then nods. “Good.”
If I had the energy, I’d be glaring back. “Stellar.”
The walk down the stairs is excruciating. Every step makes the protein shake slosh around in my belly, and even if it didn’t, my legs consider mutiny halfway through. Nick stays quiet ahead of me, but keeps my slow pace, glancing over his shoulder at me, each flight.
“I’m going as fast as I can!” I finally snap, but even that takes too much energy, so I end up slumping on one of the steps.
Nick turns, lifting an eyebrow. “You could have taken the elevator.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck me yourself,” he says, watching as I sprawl out. His eyes are annoyingly alert, scanning the stairwell before he lowers himself to one of the steps below me. “We can rest for a second.”
Bitterly, I mutter, “Go ahead.” He twists, giving me a questioning look, and I huff. “Tell me how this is all my fault, and I’m a pussy-ass bitch who should have pledged to the Princes, yadda fucking yadda.”
Nick rolls his eyes, turning his gaze forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Well, it’s no fun if you do it yourself.” I cradle my shoulder, hissing at the tug, wishing for a bottle of whisky and the sweet, sweet release of oblivion. Nick’s quiet, pensive voice breaks the silence. “When I looked at the tracker and saw her in the river, I knew you were with her, and I–” I can’t see his face, but I can hear the distress in his tone. “I can’t lose you, Remy. If I’m a dick to you, it’s only because I love you. And because I know you can be better.” Turning just enough to show me the cut of his jaw, he adds, “And also because I can’t punch you in the face when you already look so pathetic.”
Snorting, I just shake my head. “Take your shot, Nicky. Fair is fair.”
He twists to meet my gaze, and I know he’s remembering that day in the Pit at the Hideaway. I wanted so badly to beat his ass for handing Vinny over to the snakes. And he let me–would have let me do a hell of a lot worse.
Nick gives me a wry, knowing smirk. “Like I said, it’s no fun if you do it yourself.”
I kind of wish he’d beat my ass, too. One of the best things about Nick is how willing he is to call me on my shit. “I want to ask you something,” I start, throat already tightening. “And I need you to be up-fucking-front with me, okay? No bullshit.”
Hearing the seriousness in my tone, Nick turns, giving me his full attention. “Shoot.”
“Do you think…” I can barely say it. Admit it. “Do you think I could have killed Tate?”
Nick’s eyebrows crash together. “What?”
“I was there with her and Leticia. I don’t know what frame of mind I was in, or what I saw, or whether or not I was cycling, or…” I look at Nick, searching his expression for some kind of confirmation. “She was running around with a Lucia behind our backs. What if I thought she sold us out?”
“Remy–” Nick tries.
“It was one of your guns. I had access, Nicky, and don’t fucking tell me I’d never–” My words choke off. “Because look what I did to Vinny. If I’m capable of that–”
“You did not,” Nick’s gaze is rock solid, voice sharp with vehemence, “fucking kill Tate.”
My heart pounds, and this time when my stomach rolls, it’s not from the withdrawals. “Are you sure?”
Without hesitation he says, “Yes.”
“How can you be sure?” Even though it’s a question, it emerges with all the desperation of a plea.
“Because if you did, your father would have known,” Nick says, holding my stare. “And he would have used that shit to lock you up for the rest of your life.”
I blink. He’s right. The conversation with my father up on that cliff made one thing certain. He’d take any chance he could to lock me away forever. To keep me under his thumb and away from the DKS. Nothing could have turned Nick, Sy, and West End away from me faster and more effectively than the knowledge I’d killed Tate.
The nausea dissipates, relief whipping through me at the new certainty. The resolve from before returns in full force, and I promise him, “I’m going to make it better. With you. With Sy and Vinny. With DKS. I don’t know how yet, but I do know one thing.”
“I know.”
“How?” I ask.
“A man who’s cheated death twice doesn’t just give up.”
“He fights,” I add, feeling it in my chest. God, it’s the first real feeling I’ve had in days not engulfed in regret and cravings.
Nick stands, brushes himself off, and then offers me his hand. “Then let me help.”
Pauly meets us at the gym, sizing up my shoulder in the training room off the main room.
“An x-ray would make me feel better,” he says, raising my elbow and ignoring my grimace, “but I think it looks pretty good. Range of motion is all there. You should start some light exercises tomorrow. Nothing too strenuous, but you need to loosen up this joint, son.”
Nick’s expression is skeptical, but I’m confident in Pauly’s skills. He joined DKS before he failed out of med school. ‘Something came up’ is what he always says whenever someone asks why he didn’t graduate. Verity told me once that he was kicked out during his residency for stealing drugs from the pharmacy at his hospital. That tracks, to be honest. I see it in the shake of his hands and the mottled scars on his upper forearms. But he’s the closest thing the gym has to a medic, although he’s actually just a trainer, and even then, only part-time when his real job allows it.
His real job.
As a line cook.
It’s no wonder the Duchess is always meant to be pre-med.
“No shit.” I hiss when he drops my arm, rounding the chair to get another look at my back.
“These bruises worry me more,” he says, giving the large black and blue patch a poke. “The fuck did you do, jump off a building?”
I glance at Nick, whose eyes darken. “Something like that.”
Pauly makes a thoughtful noise. “Well, you’re going to need something for the pain if you plan to rehab that shoulder. We’ve still got some codeine in the back.”
Fuck.
That sounds like heaven wrapped in pussy.
I deflate. “No, wait.” Knowing I’m going to end up regretting this, I meet his gaze. “Don’t bother, man. I’m coming off a bender. Trying to clean myself up. You know how it is.”
Pauly, who’s probably done and quit more drugs than I’ll ever see, spits a low curse. “You’re going through withdrawal, too? Don’t tell me. Viper Scratch?”
Nick’s standing off to the side, arms crossed. He’s the one to say, “I think the worst has passed. He stopped ralphing around noon.”
“So you’ve got a shoulder that needs rehabbed as you detox from some of the worst dope around.” Pauly shakes his head. “Keep on burning that candle at both ends, Maddox, and all you’re going to find is ash.”
I struggle back into my shirt. “You don’t know the fucking half of it.”
He leaves us with a couple of exercises but mostly wants me to rest it and allow it to heal for the next few days. “Pushing it will only cause more pain and more pain will drag you back to the scratch, baby.”
“Come on,” Nick says, “you can spot me on the weights.”
I know what he’s doing. He’s keeping me busy. Babysitting me until I’m ready to go to class or pick up a paintbrush again. My hands have been shaking so bad I won’t dare get near the tattoo gun. Jesus. I value my art–my reputation–too much to risk it.
Nick racks the weights then lays back on the bench, beneath the bar.
“You know if this falls on you there’s not much I can do with this fucked shoulder, right?” I tell him, eyeing the amount of weight he added to each end.
“This?” He nods to the weight. “Total cakewalk,” then grips the bar. His muscles tense, but he pops it off the rack and brings it down to this chest. I roll my eyes, knowing Nicky can’t stop pushing himself. Sy has that too. That determination and grit.
The Maddox genes didn’t pass that down.
A door slams across the room and I glance up. “Shit,” I mutter.
“Wha–” Nick starts, but it ends in a grunt. Sweat blooms in the center of his gray T-shirt.
“It’s Haley,” I say, feeling the tickle of anxiety on my spine. I’m not a big fan of confrontation. Or accepting responsibility. Or cleaning up my messes.
More Maddox genes.
My signature move here is to just dip. Get the fuck out. Avoid whatever hellfire is going to come my way from engaging with Haley any further.
I’m about to notify Nick of my super mature plan, that I’ll meet him in the car, when he says, “Rem. A little help?”
His arms wobble the massive amount of weight threatening to crash down on his chest. “Jesus. I told you!”
I grab the bar with the hand on my good arm and the two of us struggle to get it back on the rack. “See?” Nick says, wiping his face. “Cakewalk.”
I shake my head but then I see her crossing the gym. “Dammit. Now she’s coming over here.”
“Dude, you dug this hole. Fix it. Own up to your bullshit.” He tosses his towel over his shoulder. “I’ll be over there on the treadmill.”
“Whatever,” I say, “Haley loves me. I’m sure she’s fine.” I run my hand over my face and when I look at her again, I see she’s got her shoulders back, pushing her chin and tits out. A coy grin toys with her lips. I try to pull out her colors, get a feel of her vibe, but they’re lost to me right now, like so many other things.
“Hey, babe,” she says, eyes skating over me. “You okay? I tried to find you after the fight and you were just gone.”
Gone is the right word. Out of my goddamn mind, climbing cliffs, confronting demons and jumping for my life. Declaring my love. She has no fucking idea what I’ve been through since the locker room.
“Look, Haley…” I start, aware of the steady sound of Nick’s feet pounding on the treadmill.
“No,” she says, voice hard.
“No, uh, what?”
Her hip juts out and her hand lands on the curve. “You are not about to ‘look’ me.”
“‘Look’ you?”
“No good conversation starts with ‘look,’ I know that. I’ve been on the receiving end enough times in my life.” Her tone is sharp. Bitter. “So let me jump to it. Look, Remy, you and I are good together. We rock some serious orgasms. You’re hot. I’m hot. You obviously want me because you keep coming back.” Her eyes narrow when I open my mouth to cut her off. “And don’t give me that Duchess shit. You got busted. Who cares? You’re a Duke. You can fuck or get blown by anyone you want, and it’s obvious you want me.”
Across the workout area, the thud of Nick’s foot missing a step, bounces over to us. I shoot him a hard stare and the cocksucker has the nerve to laugh. He’s loving the fact this is not going my way.
“L–”
She glares at me.
I swallow. “Haley, what happened the other night wasn’t just a mistake, it was a capital F fuck up. I was high on scratch, high on the win, and completely convinced that everyone in my life was out to get me.” I soften my expression. “I shouldn’t have used you like that. It was shitty. Especially since I know how you feel about me.”
“How I feel about you?” she snaps. “You have no fucking idea how I feel.”
I mean, I think I do, but my radar could be a little off.
“Okay, well,” I rub the back of my neck, “I apologize. You can take it or leave it. I didn’t mean to lead you on or whatever.” God, I hate this. My stomach hurts. My shoulder hurts. I search over her head. Maybe Pauly still has that codeine in the back.
“Hey,” she says, drawing my attention back down. “I know what this is about.”
“You do?” Worry adds to the mix. Does she know my father is the Baron King? What the hell did I say while she was sucking my cock? Anything is possible.
She steps closer, planting her hand on my chest. “This is about that interloper, Lavinia, isn’t it?”
I frown. “Well, yeah.”
“You’ve changed since she showed up. We used to have so much fun. You’d strip me down and draw on me. We’d fuck and get high. Stay up all night, riding across town on your bike.” She jabs her finger into my chest. “But you couldn’t resist that fresh piece of pussy. Royal pussy. Count pussy. God, in the end you’re just another fucking typical man, you know that?” She pushes up on her toes. “Wanting what you can’t have. You’re such a dumbass, Remy, letting her get under your skin–probably letting her sleep in your bed. Tattooing her. She’s using you.” Her eyes flick to Nick who has slowed down and is listening carefully. “She’s using all of you, and I’m here, as one of your loyal cutsluts to give it to you straight.” Her eyes glimmer with hate. “She’s going to ruin you, all of you, before this is over.”
Her nail digs into my sternum, and I snatch it off at the wrist. “Step back, Haley, before you say something you regret.”
She snorts. “Or what? You’ll push me to my knees and make me suck you off? Don’t forget, baby, I do that for free. Does she?”
Her other hand reaches for my waist, but I knock that away too. Before I can react, Nick is by my side, jerking his chin at her. “You’re embarrassing yourself, H.”
“See?” she says, “That’s where you don’t get it. I’m not embarrassing myself. I’m loyal. To all of you, but you’re the ones willing to toss it away.” Her shoulders square and she finally steps back. “But I know how it is; you’ll be back. Crawling to me after some win or some loss or whatever it is that spins you out, and unlike your little Duchess, I’ll be here.”
She turns, hair flouncing behind her.
I open my mouth and start to follow, to tell her to get the fuck out of here but Nick says, “Let her go.”
“Seriously? After what she said about Vinny?”
He shakes his head. “She’s hurt, but she’ll get over it. Verity and the others will calm her down. She’s not worth it.”
He says that, but Haley’s right. I know her pretty well, and something tells me she’s not going to let this go–let me go–so easily.
We stop at the diner on Sixteenth on the way home, grabbing hamburgers and fries. The sugar and grease help get the food down, even if the harsh fluorescent lights make my eyes hurt.
“What do you think they’re doing on their date?” I ask, sucking on a chocolate milkshake.
Nick pops a fry in his mouth, checking the window beside us every now and then. We’re in West End, but only just, and I can see it makes him twitchy being this close to North Side. He hums, talking with his mouth full. “I know what they’re not doing.”
Having sex. He’s right. That’s going to take a minute.
There’s a long moment where I pick at the remnants of my burger, wishing I could look up and see something other than gray. Knowing it sounds sulky and stupid, I mutter, “I could take her on a date.” A better date than Sy.
Nick narrows his eyes at me, stabbing his shake with his straw. “Yeah, you could.”
I push the rest of my food to the side and confess, “I told her I loved her.”
“Yeah?” Nick looks at me over his glass as he sips, eyes intrigued. “What did she say?”
“Mostly, uhh… incomprehensible shrieking?” I shrug but Nick’s expression forces me to add, “Well, we jumped right after I said it.”
Putting his glass down, he gives me a blank, mystified look. “You told Lavinia you loved her right before you threw yourselves off a fucking cliff?” He shakes his head, shoulders bouncing with a laugh. “It really is always life or death with you, isn’t it?”
My back straightens. “It’s not like I planned it!”
He sighs, tossing the fry he’s about to eat into the trash pile. “I told her I loved her, too. A few times, actually.”
I fight a wayward shiver, watching as he dusts the salt from his hands. “What did she say to you?”
“The first time?” Nick slings his arm over the back of the booth, sucking his teeth. “She laughed in my face, called me crazy, and then tried to kick me in the balls.”
I wince in solidarity. “Yeah, you win.”
Nick grabs his milkshake and holds it in the air. “To the fucking victor, brother.”
My eyes follow his gaze through the window, to the corner across the street. It’s lit up with a single flickering light, a couple guys in dark hoodies tucked close, talking. I already know who they are. I knew Cash Mallis was standing there the second we rolled up. Maybe the resentment should burn that Nick brought me here of all places to grab a quick bite, as if neither of us know the boundary between west and north, but instead I just feel hollow.
“You can beat it, you know.” When I look up, Nick is watching me carefully. Closely. “Viper Scratch made its rounds in South Side before it came here. I once saw Daniel Payne’s best girl, Augustine, so strung out that Mrs. Crane had to tie her up just to stop her from clawing out her own eyes. She looked fucking possessed.”
I shift my eyes back to the corner. Mallis is leaning into a car window, a little hatchback having stopped to make a purchase. “It’s where it gets its name. Scratch.” I can still feel the phantom tug of needing to dig my nails into my arm. “Whatever it’s cut with, it makes you itchy as hell.”
I see Nick nodding in my periphery. “You just did it a couple times, though. Enough to get the bug, but not enough to really get its fangs into you.” Leaning forward, he lowers his voice. “It’s the next time that’ll get you, though. You’ll start lying to yourself. You’ll think,” he shrugs, quick and casual, “whatever, you kicked it once. No big deal. It wasn’t so bad. You can just do it once or twice. Three times, since it’s available. Four, because you had a bad day. Five, just on account of wanting to.” There’s a pause where we both watch Cash salute the driver of the hatchback, slinking back to his post. “And you won’t come back, Remy.” When I swing my eyes to his, Nick’s mouth is pressed into a tight, grim line. “Not if you do it again. One more time is all it’ll take.”
I drop my eyes, wishing he was wrong but knowing he’s not. I’m no Augustine. No one’s going to tie my ass down and get me clean, because if that fraction of the pull I felt a few days ago grew big enough, no one could stop me.
Lifting my hips, I take out my wallet, pulling out a wrinkled twenty. “Let’s go home,” I decide, dropping it beside my plate.
