Page 55 of Shield and Savior

That’s the thing about Phoenix, everyone thinks he’s such a great guy, but I know the truth about him. He’s candy-coated poison.

By the way she smiles and gives him a hug, even Honey Badger has forgiven him. In her five inch heels, she makes it up to his shoulders. She puts her hand on his cheek as her brows crease. That’s her worried face. I can’t watch this. Only one of us is allowed to be the fuck up, and right now I’m wearing the fuck up hat.

Darren stands next to me, he’s on duty, not watching one client, but a general body for the party. I nudge him and nod in the direction of the bathroom. I do one more scan of the room, no red flags.

I should use the staff bathroom, but I go to the guests’ instead. It’s fine, I’m dressed fancy enough to be a guest. No one will question it. Once I’m alone I can finally check my messages—a picture from Maria of an animal of unknown origins, and Ian’s math test with an A. When the smile appears on my face, it feels alien, like it’s been too long since I worked those muscles. Nothing from Drew, Shae, or even Izzy.

The door opens, and the music floods in, along with someone calling out, “There goes the sexiest man in the music industry.”

“Thanks,” Phoenix says, but grumbles under his breath, “damn photoshoot.”

My shoulders tense and fire shoots up my spine. I grip the sink. I can’t look at his punchable face. His footsteps stop.

“Oh. It’s you.”

Of course, he recognizes me. I’ve been to plenty of events, walked beside Honey Badger enough times. But this is the first time he’s spoken to me in years. There’s a red ring stain around the sink drain…focus on that.

I’ve been rehearsing what I would say to him if I ever got the chance. “How’s Honey Badger? Are you going to weasel your way back into her life, only to hurt her again, and write a song about it that makes you a million dollars?”

He exhales, and the light in the room shifts and shadows change as he puts a hand on the wall. “Probably. We’re in talks to co-write a few songs together.” There’s no malice in his voice. It’s mostly neutral with a dash of sadness. “I never meant for everything to happen the way it did.”

My knuckles turn white as I growl, “That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it.”

“I remember you.” His voice sounds strained now, like it’s hard to talk. There’s a thunk sound as he rests his head on the wall. “I recognized you years ago. You gained about twenty pounds of muscle and grew out your hair.” He’s silent for a beat. “You changed your name, too. But I guess we all did.”

We all did. We all. Fuck him.

“How else are we supposed to run away from the destruction and pain you unleashed on us?” It wasn’t really us. I wasn’t involved, but I dealt with the aftermath.

“How is…”

“No!” I whip my head up. “No, get that name out of your mouth. You don’t ever get to talk about…” But that’s when I see him. His face is pale, and his eyes are rolled back in his head. His body starts convulsing uncontrollably, and his feet slip from under him. Shit. I grab him before he slams his head against the tile floor. His limbs jerk with ominous force. How much can his body take? Seizure. Phoenix doesn’t have a history of them.

I call Darren and Delta. “Code 257. Men’s room.” I roll Phoenix onto his side, calling him every name I know he uses. He stops when I usethename. A name I haven’t said in ten years. But it’s the eerie stillness in the silence of the bathroom and the hum of the party outside that causes my stomach to drop.

He’s not breathing.

Alanawillkill me if Phoenix dies.

I dial 911 and throw it on speaker while starting CPR. His chest crunches under my compressions as the cartilage between his ribs shatters. But broken ribs are better than death.

The door flings open, barely missing Phoenix’s head, and the 911 operator answers. In unison, two voices say, “What’s the matter?”

“Male, twenty-nine years old, seizure, and he stopped breathing. I’m giving him CPR now, send an ambulance.” Fuck, where are we? What’s the address?

I pinch his nose and breathe into his mouth.Come on! Darren tells the operator the location. One more breath and back to compressions.

“What triggered the seizure?” The operator asks.

I yelled at him, the loud noises, the party. No, all of those are normal stressors. I don’t know.

“His lips are purple,” Darren whispers.

Focusing only on my hands and counting, I don’t look up, “Lack of oxygen.”

“Your lips are purple, too.”

What? I want to check, but I can’t leave Phoenix. Why would our lips be purple? Darren and I make the same connection. “Majesty.”

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