Page 30 of Clubs

And thus, Ari.

That was the first time she could remember getting butterflies. Maybe she’d had them before, but never like that. Never from someone she trusted. Never from a friend.

That’s who Emory was.

No matter how beautiful his brown eyes were, no matter how much she loved that coppery hair, no matter how attractive she found him, he was her friend. A friend who preferred men to women, a friend who showed his affection in a tough love sort of way and was a little rough around the edges, despite the flamboyant stereotypes of queer men.

A friend who would always remain just that. A friend.

One who was pissed at her. If there was anyone whose good graces she wanted to stay in, it was his. And yet, he glared at her now like she was the scum of the earth.

It took everything she had to keep her voice level. “I didn’t do anything—”

“Bullshit. You knew her, Ari. You knew that dead girl, and you lied about it to the people who care about you the most.” Nostrils flared, jaw tight, he spoke through gritted teeth. “And I know you stole money out of the drawer last week, too. I covered for you, because if Declan found out, your ass would be in jail. But you couldn’t have just asked me for it? You had to steal again? When you could’ve just fucking asked me, and I would’ve given it to you?”

She was trying so hard to keep herself together, but that ache in her chest stretched wider. All she could manage out was, “I’m sorry.” It came out strained, hardly more than a whisper.

“For what?” Emory barked that question, and Ria flinched. He didn’t notice. Or maybe he was too pissed to care. “Killing that girl? Or doing it behind your sister’s boyfriend’s bar?”

Shaking her head, Ria fought like hell to contain the tears that threatened her eyes. “I would never do that.”

“Then what the fuck did you do, Ari? Jesus fucking Christ, how deep are you? What the fuck’s going on?”

How deep was she?

She was at the bottom of the ocean. There was no light here. There was only darkness. Darkness, and regret, and grief, and no matter how hard she paddled, she couldn’t get out. The weight of all that water, all that pain, was crushing her, and she didn’t know how she was still vertical from all the pressure.

Desperately, she wanted to say so. She wanted to tell him. Tell anyone. Tell him exactly what happened, exactly how deep she was, but that depth caught up to her. But the words lodged in her throat, drowned by the weight of it all. All that water escaped through her eyes instead.

A quiet sob breaking through her lips, she cupped her hands before her face. Shaking her head, Ria tried to stay as quiet as possible. She failed that attempt.

Something between shock and sympathy fell over Emory’s face. Eyes wide, forehead creased, frowning, he found her fingers. Tugging them from her face with one hand, he thumbed her tears with the other. When that didn’t stop her cries, he whispered, “Come here,” and wrapped his arms around her.

Then he held her. He held her so tightly that, even if only for a few heartbeats, she didn’t feel like she was drowning anymore. He traced his hands over her back, murmuring a soft, “shh,” sound, resting his head against hers.

Safe. Here, now, she was safe.

But she wasn’t. Alicia wasn’t, either. Alicia was dead.

Alicia was dead.

Just when she thought she could stop sobbing, that the ocean atop her had finally stopped leaking from her eyes, the thought of Alicia—poor, dead, Alicia—brought another glass shattering shriek from her lips. Thank gods the music was loud, or she’d have died of embarrassment.

Considering the way Alicia died, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. Embarrassment was better than violent vitriol. Anything was better than how Alicia died. Anything.

As had become habit in the last twenty-four hours, Ria moved herself from heartbroken to numb. No matter how much she wanted to enjoy this, to find comfort in Emory’s touch, ease and tranquility escaped her. She felt the soothing touch of his hands on her back, heard his quiet hushing, and allowed the pain, and the peace, to leave.

It was better she felt nothing than to feel what she had felt a moment ago.

When she stopped crying, Emory pulled back to look at her. He still held her upper arms, staring deeply into her eyes. Not a romantic, loving stare. More like how a mother looked at her infant when they momentarily stopped breathing. As if to say, “Don’t you ever fucking do that again because I’ll kill you if you die on me.”

“You have to tell me what’s going on, Ari,” he said. “I’m not letting you out of this room until you do.”

Like he could keep her here.

Ria almost rolled her eyes at that, but she swallowed hard instead. While those tears had been real, from here out, it was an act. If Ria had learned anything throughout her life, it was that men were easy to manipulate. So long as she looked innocent enough, sweet enough, she could get exactly what she needed from them. Fawning. That was Ria’s best defense mechanism.

“I didn’t hurt Alicia,” Ria said, voice sheepish. “She was my friend. I loved her.” She didn’t need to make her words tremble. They did so all on their own. “But I did take the money from the drawer. And I know it was wrong, and I’m really sorry, but I—”

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