Page 19 of Knot Like Other Girls

I make my way to the hospital cafeteria in a daze. It's nearly empty at this hour, just a few night shift nurses huddled over cups of coffee. I join the short line, mechanically ordering four lattes. As I pay with the credit card Braxley had made for me—the one with a picture of us at the beach on it—and wait for the overworked barista to prepare the drinks, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the stainless steel of the coffee machine.

I barely recognize myself. My hair, usually neatly styled, hangs limp and greasy around my face. Dark circles ring my eyes, a testament to sleepless nights and constant stress. And my expression... when did I start looking so defeated?

God, I look like hell.

Braxley must be humiliated.

I fish my phone out of my purse, which cost Braxley—or rather, Braxley's family—more than I used to make in a year, wincing at the flood of notifications. More messages from my parents, asking for updates. A dozen texts from Ashlyn, probably fishing for gossip. And... shit, is that my high school ex-boyfriend? How did he even get my number?

I ignore them all, scrolling until I find Skye's name. Our last texts were from yesterday, about the new Halloween costumes she found for her cats. They're going to be the Three Musketeers. Or mus-cat-eers. My thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before I tap out a message.

Then I erase it.

And type another one.

And erase that.

Yeah, no. I need her to call me.

I bite back a tired sigh and go to slip the phone back into my purse.

The phone buzzes in my hand before I can put it away, startling me. Skye's name flashes across the screen, and for a moment, I just stare at it. I hadn't expected her to call back so quickly. Part of me wants to let it go to voicemail, to put off this conversation for just a little longer.

But I know I can't.

I need this. I need her.

I answer the call, slipping into a corner of the cafeteria. "Hey, Skye."

"Bella? What's going on? Are you okay?" Skye's voice comes through, tinged with worry.

"I'm fine," I say quietly. "Physically, at least. It's just... God, Skye, everything's such a mess. Do you have a sec?"

"Yeah. I ducked into the breakroom. Quiet day at work today. Watch, I probably just jinxed it." She laughs a little. "Start from the beginning, babe. What happened?"

I take a deep breath, glancing around to make sure no one's within earshot. "Braxley proposed."

"Shit," Skye breathes. "Did you?—"

"I didn't get a chance to answer," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "There was... an incident."

"An incident?" Skye's voice sharpens. "What kind of incident? Are you okay?"

I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Someone shot at us, Skye. Right in the middle of the proposal."

"Holy shit!" Skye exclaims, loud enough that I have to pull the phone away from my ear. "Are you hurt? Is Braxley?—"

"We're fine," I cut her off, not wanting to rehash Braxley's dramatics. "Braxley got a tiny cut on his eyebrow and he's acting like he's been disfigured for life."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can almost see Skye processing this information. When she speaks again, her voice is carefully controlled. "Okay, let me get this straight. You were shot at, and Braxley's biggest concern is a scratch on his face?"

I let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, it gets better. He's demanding more tests, specialists from Switzerland, the works. Meanwhile, I'm..." I trail off, not sure how to put into words the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

"You're what, Bella?" Skye prompts gently.

"I'm losing my mind," I admit, my voice cracking. "I don't know if I can do this, Skye. I don't know if I want to."

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