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“You’ve never been friends with a woman before. What gives? And why are you concerned about Olivia if you don’t even ask after your ‘friend’?”

“None of your business, lil’ sis.”

“My alarm bells are ringing. You guys are hiding something from me.” She gasps, and I hear her chair squeaking. “You better not be messing with her, Rex! She’s one of my best friends and a sweet person with a heart of gold. She can’t survive your games with women.”

I stay silent.

“Rex Cassius Wentworth Anderson, I swear to God, unless you plan to put a ring on it, don’t mess with Olivia Lin. She’s your doctor, she has a reputat—”

I hung up on Lana that night. Everything she said were words I repeated to myself as I fought the impulse to call or text Olivia.

To tell her I miss her.

To tell her she wasn’t just a romp in the dark. That if I could, Iwouldput a ring on her. The thought shook me to my core. I never thought I’d feel this way about anyone.

But then, what can I give her? I’m a freak—not right in the mind. She doesn’t know all my secrets, which, despite what Casey thinks, I’m damn sure she’ll have an issue with if she were ever to find out.

Frankly, who wouldn’t?

And so, I didn’t contact her. I gaveus both space.

Instead, whenever I missed her, which felt like every minute of the day, I’d take out my phone and swipe to my secret photo album of her. I’d smile at the moments I stashed away.

The Velowake doesn’t keep my nightmares at bay anymore. Alcohol and sex with random women have long lost their appeal.

But Olivia? Tempting her, teasing her, fighting with her, marveling at the contradictions inside her petite frame—vulnerability and strength, control and chaos.

I can’t get enough.

The air smells like gunpowder and smoke as I stroll through the crowded streets, watching the flames erupt and consume the sculptures.

Destruction and rebirth.

The dark sky glows orange from the fires as the crowd chants, with the sound of crackling flames as the backdrop.

Something stirs inside me—a restlessness I can’t explain. My heart pulses, my hands twitch, my muscles ache. It’s different from the surge of energy I get from the Velowake.

I need to do something. Anything. It’s why, instead of resting in my stateroom after a tiring trip, I’m wandering aimlessly through nooks and crannies.

Pausing at a street corner, I take out my phone and snap a photo of the beautiful destruction. On an impulse, I open my text messages and reply to Ava, who I still have as “unknown number” in my contacts. I guess this is a step in the right direction—not avoiding my past.

Rex

I’m in Valencia for Las Fallas. Let the past burn. Focus on the future. Take care of yourselves.

She replies a minute later with an attachment of her own.

Unknown number

You’re so close by. Thanks for the pic. Here’s a card I made for your birthday. Forgot to text it to you lasttime.

I open it, finding a simple watercolor painting—two girls’ silhouettes against a beautiful sunset with a happy birthday written in script.

After thanking her, I make a right into a small courtyard, away from the larger crowds heading toward the burning of the mainfallain the town hall square, the last event to bring the festival to a close.

My feet come to a stop and my heart pulses.

I see her, my Olive, standing next to a small sculpture already engulfed in flames. Happiness sweeps through me. I missed her this past week.