Page 139 of Faithful

“Okay.”

* * *

I’m not sure why I feel like time is running out, like the world I live in is about to be reset, to rebuild itself from scratch. And in that world Kai and I won’t know each other.

Do I credit this uneasy sensation to the fact that Iodine is leaving for Europe?

Or do I credit it to my father’s attempts to destroy everything that I hold dear?

No matter how much I think about it, there are no satisfactory answers. Just more questions.

In the end, I decide not to break my head over something I can’t control.

Instead, I concentrate on things that are still within my reach, things that are still possible.

Like getting a new tux or securing another donor for Blue Sun Project or seeing Kai in person three days before the gala.

We meet at the same place where we saw Filthy Magic perform live a while back–the same band that’s taken all the rock charts by storm after their Vegas residency with Iodine.

Divine Dave even has a series of videos on his channel dedicated to Bash Spade’s tats and the story behind them. Dude’s basically convinced that there’s a connection between Filthy Magic’s front man and a satanic cult Iodine has been (allegedly) heading.

After the photos of Kai and me were leaked, Divine Dave even made a suggestion that the man whose identity Kai tried to hide was Bash. I mean, fucker wasn’t wrong by a lot. Turns out, Bash swings both ways. He just doesn’t make it the public’s business. I realized that after that night in Vegas. His Instagram is riddled with candid photos of him with men and women. Some more intimate. But unfortunately for Divine Dave, Bash isn’t the one having an affair with Kai Delisa. Bash also doesn’t look like me. For starters, our hair is different. As a result, not many people bought into this insane theory and the rumor died before it even took off.

How do I know about that?

Well, I know everything about Kai.

Yes, I’m still a sick creep after all this time.

I still hate him a little bit for being under Ava’s thumb and playing that stupid game. But that hate has become insignificant, like a small crumb on the floor. It’s there, but you can’t see it and you don’t feel like it’s worth bothering over.

What you really care about seeing is him in the flesh.

And that makes you weak in your knees and rash when it comes to ordering a drink at a crowded bar while on the small stage an unknown band is singing about redemption and angels. You ask for a shot instead of your usual, and you drink that shot in one go, and your head is filled with fuzz in a matter of minutes because you haven’t been hitting the bottle much ever since you moved in with Leigh Farley.

Her preferred method of curing all aches is ice cream.

And you’ve been forced into working out more because of all the sugar you’ve been consuming, and every newly formed muscle in your body hurts because you’re tense during those few moments while the alcohol is working its way through your veins until that darn fog envelops your brain.

And as time slowly ticks by while you wait, you relive every second you once spent with him. You try to understand how you went from wanting him dead to wanting him by your side until you’re both nothing but memories.

At some point, when you look at your phone, you’re scared he won’t show up because he’s ten minutes late, but then a hand touches your shoulder, and you sense his presence before you even see him.

You catch his scent.

You bathe in his warmth.

You forget about the past and the present and the possible future.

It’s this moment that matters.

It’s this moment that you two have.

“Let’s go somewhere a little quieter,” he shouts over the noise of the drunken crowd, pulling me away from the bar. His arm hooks around my elbow.

I follow him blindly. I’m buzzed. My body feels so light, like a feather. Maybe one of the angels lost it and it became me.

Kai drags us through the club and into a small patio-like area filled with smoking patrons engaging in loud conversations about weather, music, and weed.

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