Page 24 of River & Rue

I pinch the bridge of my nose to stop myself from sighing. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’m lonely! When it’s just us, I feel like it’s just me, like some part of you—the most important part—isn’t here. I thought we could fix this. That maybe if we went back to the way things were, you’d…”

“I’d what? Be someone else? Someone good enough for you?”

She shakes her head. “Forget it. Whatever this is, it’s not worth it. Good luck finding someone who’s happy with the scraps you give her.”

So many knives. So many cuts. I close my eyes. White noise screams in my ears until another sound pierces it: the front door slamming closed.

An elbow in my side jerks me back to a present that’s eerily reminiscent of the past. Only instead of one person staring at me like I’ve failed them, it’s a dozen strangers.

Dan’s voice hisses through his teeth.

“Raise your glass, dude.”

I grab my untouched champagne and lift it a measly few inches off the table.

Claudia sends me a grandmotherly smile that grates worse than her frown of disappointment, then clears her throat to bring the table’s attention back to her. Like obedient little robots, everyone turns.

Or almost everyone.

One set of eyes lingers on me, their icy pressure familiar. My commitment to ignoring her collapses, and I glance down the table at Rue. She looks away, but our second of eye contact leaves me feeling unmoored.

Because I was wrong—her eyes weren’t cold at all.

Claudia lifts her glass higher. “Thank you all for a beautiful evening. May your time at the Pacific Arts Collective overflow with community and creative abundance. To inspiration and manifestation!”

As everyone cheers, clinks glasses, and guzzles champagne like it’s their last night alive, I barely prevent my eyes from rolling. Managing a tight smile, I set my glass down and push back my chair.

“Leaving already?” asks Dan, blinking earnest eyes at me. “I was hoping you’d wingman me. Put in a good word with Rue.”

My muscles lock so fast my lower back spasms.

“Not happening.”

The words come out low and harsh, shocking me far more than they do Dan, who laughs and punches my shoulder.

“Say no more. Sorry, man. I thought she was like a sister to you.” As I choke on air, he leans closer and lowers his voice. “To be real with you, I have a thing for Maya. My master plan was to befriend Rue so I could upgrade my wingman. No offense.”

He grins at me like I should understand what just came out of his mouth. For a moment, I consider getting up and leaving—my usual response when he won’t shut up—but for the first time, I suffer a preemptive pinch of guilt.

Shit.

Is he actually growing on me?

As I wrestle with my conscience, Dan straightens in his chair and looks away. Beneath the table, his knee bounces, slamming repeatedly into the oak apron. I imagine he’ll have a bruise tomorrow, but he doesn’t notice the nervous tic. His gaze flits erratically around the table, not staying in one place for more than a few seconds.

Eventually, his eyes land on me again, and his brief smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You don’t have to stay. I get it.”

This time the guilt isn’t a pinch—it’s a brass-knuckled punch.

After an internal sigh so deep my ancestors probably felt a breeze, I ask, “Which one is Maya?”

Dan’s grin fills me with a prickly mix of relief and dread.

“She’s the one talking to your girl.”