Page 70 of Cruz

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

I step back, suddenly aware that this is not my room and I’m inviting people into Cruz’s space like I have any right to do that. Then again, I’m sitting on his bed with my cat, considering my life choices, while my café windows are smashed out. Etiquette might have to take the night off.

The women come in, and the room immediately feels less bare. Prissy sits up like royalty receiving visitors.

Ella’s face lights. “Oh my god. Is this Prissy?”

“She is.”

“She’s beautiful.”

Prissy accepts this as her due and stretches one paw out delicately.

Willa sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd the cat. “Older cats are the best. They already know who they are.”

“That’s exactly why I wanted her.” My throat tightens. “Well, Cruz found her. He sent me the listing.”

Lark leans against the dresser, her arms folded loosely. “That sounds like Cruz.”

“Does it?”

All three women exchange looks that make my stomach flip in a whole different way.

Ella smiles. “Yes.”

Willa snorts. “Completely.”

Lark’s expression stays gentle. “He might look like the strong silent type, but he notices things.”

I sit back down because my legs feel slightly unreliable. Prissy immediately crawls closer and bumps her head against my hand. The women don’t rush me or start with a barrage of questions or reassurances. Instead, they’re a calm and steady presence, as if this isn’t the first time they’ve walked into a space where someone’s whole life feels like it’s rattling apart.

Maybe it isn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I say, because apparently that’s where my brain decides to start. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not used to this.”

“None of us are supposed to be used to this,” Lark says. “That would be a bad sign.”

A breath hitches in my chest. “Is this a lockdown?”

“No,” Ella says. “Not officially. Tyrant hasn’t called one.”

“But as the Prez’s old lady, I wanted to be here in case anyone needs me,” Lark says offering me a kind smile. “And Ella wanted to be here because Raiden is VP.”

Ella’s smile turns wry. “And because I’d be climbing the walls at home.”

Willa lifts a hand. “And I’m here because my shop got hit too.”

My heart sinks. “Your store?”

“Front windows.” She says it lightly, but there’s pain underneath. “They smashed them out. Glass everywhere. A few display pieces broken. Atlas says it’s a shame my freaky doll collection survived.”

I laugh again, but it comes out wet. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Willa’s mouth tightens. “I’m angry. Upset. I might have threatened to shove broken glass up someone’s ass earlier, but that was between me, Atlas, and the broom.”

Ella nods seriously. “Understandable.”

“Very,” Lark agrees.