Page 37 of Reign

“How could I?”

“Because we were young and stupid. Still are. My brain is my own, though. I’ve owned up to my decision to stick junk in my veins. Matt helped me through it, sure—I dunno if I could’ve gotten through it without him. And yeah, I was mad at you. Ravenously furious, actually. But therapy, and Matt, and rehab, told me a different story where you weren’t the villain. You were merely the rabbit hole I chose to fall into. You had your own demons, too. With your mom and being orphaned. Having a stepdad who you were totally sure killed her … Callie, you were wrung out, too. And we got strung out, together. But we’re out of it now. Right? We’ve moved on.” She squeezes my hand. “I want to move on.”

I squeeze back. “I want that, too. God, I ache for that.”

“Then let yourself.”

“I don’t know if I … there’s so much I haven’t told you.”

Another blond flash changes the filter of my viewpoint, and my head snaps up, following the weave of gold through the crowded shop.

And closer to us.

As he approaches, the twinkling aura of my filter disappears. His angles change, a sharper chin emerging from a heart-shaped face. Sandy hair flopping against a forehead rather than a textural sweep across.

“Babe!” Sylvie wraps an arm around Matt’s—Matt, not Chase—waist, tilting her head and accepting his kiss. “Look who I found! And she has a baby!”

Matt’s mental flash-carding of memories can literally be seen scrolling across his face, his eyes popping wide when he puts a name to who I am and hears the word baby.

“Not mine,” I say, the lighthearted chuckle that follows coming naturally. It ends on a choke the minute I realize how soothing and familiar it was coming out of my throat. “My sister.”

“Shit. Callie. Congrats. Uh…” He looks to Sylvie, probably in an attempt to gauge how our conversation is going.

“We were catching up,” Sylvie says. “Mainly it was me explaining to Callie that I don’t blame her for almost dying anymore.”

“Oh.” Matt’s brows jump, despite being well-versed in Sylvie’s bluntness. “Well. Good.”

I study him for signs—tics or flashes of anger, any clue of unshed blame directed at me for putting his girlfriend in a situation where she could’ve been killed.

My knees nearly buckle when I find none. Nothing except open curiosity as he gets a good look at me after almost a year of silence.

Could Sylvie be right? Am I deserving of forgiveness from these two? From anyone?

Our coffees come, and I swipe mine up with new fervor, itching to remove myself from the happy couple … except, the urge to flee doesn’t feel natural. Sylvie’s question of forgiveness gnaws at the back of my head, shockingly drawing me closer instead of leaping for an escape.

“Sit with us,” Sylvie says to me. She gives me the once-over, reading my body language. “Don’t leave yet.”

“Syl, maybe she—”

Sylvie cuts Matt off. “I won’t interrogate you, I swear. I’d like to catch up for real. See what you’ve been up to.”

Ivy’s loss clouds my vision. Chase’s unexpected cruelty squeezes my throat. My mom’s hidden bloodline stiffens my back, and I’m positive my anguish from the last few months is reflected in my eyes.

Sylvie zeroes in on my expression. “Don’t tell me it’s gotten worse for you since we last saw each other. How much bad luck can one person have?”

Blair gurgles from her luxurious recline, and grabbing at the opening, I search the attached diaper bag for a bottle. “I should feed her.”

“Excellent. You’ll do it while hanging out with us.” Sylvie pulls me in the direction of a recently vacated table, “Because you’ve been through a ton of shit, including a dead mom.”

Matt, while sending me a sympathetic glance, helps Sylvie by nudging Blair’s stroller forward.

Sylvie continues, “You deserve to dedicate some time to inane conversation where I regale you with our pointless semester at school and the lame friends I’ve tried to replace you with. Especially on Christmas Eve, of all nights. This is your second year without her, right? Your mom?”

My heart wrenches open. “I…”

“Sit your ass down, Ryan.” Sylvie shoves me into a seat.

Sylvie may have forced me into a chair, but I stay where she put me, delicately nudging Blair’s lips open with the bottle until she’s sucking contentedly.

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