Page 100 of Riot

“I need a favour.”

“I heard about what happened at the clubhouse. You okay?”

I ignore his probing. “Do you still have the number of that nerdy computer kid?”

“Neo?”

What the fuck kind of name is that?“Whatever. I don’t know. Do you have it?”

“Uh, yeah, why?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I lower my head, trying to find my centre. “I need him to trace some messages sent to Ivy’s phone. The only problem is I don’t have the phone, and even if I did, it’s trashed.”

“He won’t need it. He’ll go through the servers.”

I don’t know what that means, but I don’t care as long as he gets answers. “Also, can you find out who paid to have flowers delivered to her address from a shop called… Posies, I think.”

“Sure.” He pauses. “You all right?”

Not even close.“Yeah.”

“Send me Ivy’s number and I’ll see what he can do.”

The line goes dead, and I message him the number before I tuck my phone away.

For a second, just a second, I stop. I recalibrate. I breathe.

Then, I unlace my boots and kick them off. I hang my kutte on the back of the door, staring at the words arced over the leather for a second.

Fuck.

Ivy is where I left her, and she glances up as she becomes aware of my presence.

“I want to put her down for a bit.”

“There’s a cot in the bedroom.”

As she passes me, I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t have the words.

What the fuck can I say anyway?

Sorry I lied about choppin’ up your fuckin’ ex?

Fuck.

I make coffee. She’d probably prefer something stronger, but I don’t think alcohol is going to help here.

Drinks made, I head back into the living room and find it empty, so I head to the bedroom.

Ivy sits on the opposite side of the bed, her back to me, holding her daughter. The balcony door looks out over the city, the twinkling lights like stars in an urban canvas.

I set the mugs on the dresser and cross the room, my pulse racing.

She doesn’t look at me as her breath hitches, like she’s suffocating on her pain. Then, her shoulders shake as a sob catches in her throat. The first one is silent, an aborted cry that grows until it’s a tsunami of emotion, an unstoppable force.

She claws at the mattress, gasping like she’s drowning. It’s unbearable to watch her fall apart like this, and when she covers her mouth, as if she can silence the outburst, I shatter with her.

I move before I consider whether she wants me to witness this and drop to my knees in front of her. Tears stream down her cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut, pain carved into every line on her face.

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