Page 19

Kiana’s house was quiet because Kam was at my parents’ with my little brother Jeron. KiKi and Dream kept finding stuff to offer me—food, wine, water, crazy ideas for revenge. And being married to Demon had made Dream a super investigator, the way she found all Lauren’s social media accounts without a last name in five seconds flat. I sat on the couch and responded when I needed to. I told them I was fine over and over, until they eventually stopped asking. As usual, Demon stayed mostly silent.

When Dream and Kiana disappeared into the kitchen to cut the lemon pound cake that Kiana had baked for their arrival, I escaped out the front door. The night was still warm, almost suffocating. Or maybe that was tonight’s events. Kiana’s porch overlooked a big yard bordered by trees. I sat on the porch swing and let out a deep breath. For the first time since I saw Adam at that table, no one was watching.

I let go.

Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. I wiped them away angrily. Still, they kept coming. My chest hurt with so many feelings—betrayal, humiliation, guilt—but I felt one thing more than anything else. I didn’t want him back. In fact, deep down, I was kind of relieved, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t hurt me.

The door opened behind me. I quickly turned my face and wiped beneath my eyes.

“I’ll pass on the cake, y’all,” I said, trying to sound normal. The porch boards kept creaking. To my surprise, it was Demon beside me, the swing rocking as he sat down. I glanced over at him. He looked out into the yard.

“I know you ain’t out here crying over that bitch-ass nigga.”

“I’m not crying.”

“You right. Must be raining on both sides of your face.”

“Shut up, Damien.”

“That’s my line,” he joked.

But he got quiet. We sat in silence, the swing moving gently beneath us. Demon didn’t try to hug me or tell me Adam was a fool. I mean, he’d already pretty much said that, but he didn’t say it again. I was grateful for that. He didn’t ask whether I was okay because we both knew the answer to that. He just sat with me. I was ninety-nine percent certain Damien Montana had antisocial personality disorder, but he knew how to show up for family.

I wiped my face again. “You cannot kill him,” I reminded him, my eyes darting to his face.

He frowned slightly. “Who said I was?”

“You sitting there too quietly. I know you plotting.”

He turned to look at me fully. “Look, girl. I thought you wanted me to shut up?”

“I do. I always want that,” I lied.

“Then enjoy this shit.”

I laughed as another tear rolled down my cheek. I let it fall. After a while, Demon leaned back and stretched one arm across the top of the swing.

“You need a break,” he announced.

“That's what this so-called long weekend was supposed to be about.”

“I ain’t talking about two days sitting at home. Come to Port Isle with us.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Baby and I leaving Monday. Come with us.”

Twisting around, I stared at him. “On your romantic vacation?”

“We got a big ass house. You can have your own space.”

I stepped down hard, stopping the swing. “Dream does not want her husband’s heartbroken cousin tagging along.”

He made a disbelieving sound as he set the swing in motion again. “Nigga, you bet not be heartbroken. And Dream suggested it when we were in there fixing plates.”

That shocked me into silence. Demon faced the yard again.

“She said you looked tired.”