Page 97 of No Mistakes
Me: Maybe
Mandy: Ant… you can’t carry all of this alone. You know that, right?
Her words cut deeper than Axel’s pep talk ever could. Because she sees me, not the job, not the plan, but me. I run a hand over my face, debating what to say, how much to give her.
The room is quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that makes old ghosts louder. I lean my head back, gazing at the ceiling before replying to Mandy.
Me: I can’t stop thinking about her tonight.
Mandy: Her? Should I be worried?
A corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. I type slower this time.
Me: My mom. The night they died.
Dots appear, vanish, then appear again as if she’s thinking of the right thing to say.
Mandy: Ant… She’d be proud of you, y’know. You’re not the boy you once were. You’re the man who’s about to make sure nobody gets hurt again.
My throat goes tight, and I stare at the screen until it blurs. She always finds a way to cut straight through me, even if she’s not in the room.
Me: You shouldn’t have to walk into that room tonight.
Mandy: And you shouldn’t have had to live through whatever happened to you. But we don’t get to pick our demons, Ant. We just fight them.
I sit there, reading her words over and over again, but for the first time tonight, it doesn’t feel crushing.
Me: Stay alive for me, trouble.
Mandy: Only if you promise the same.
I step out of the shower, a towel wrapped around my waist, while I wipe another through my hair. Steam clings to the mirror in the room, outside of the bathroom, blurring the man staring back at me.
The suit hangs from the wardrobe door, black pressed lines, crisp shirt, polished shoes waiting below, my mask next to them on the floor.
A sharp knock arrives on the door, and I walk over, looking through the peephole to see Axel standing there, checking his watch. I unlock the latch, and he walks in, his expression tight.
“Forty minutes,” he says, stepping aside for me to shut the door. “We leave in forty.”
I nod, but his eyes don’t leave me. He studies me for a second before pacing the edge of the room, glancing at the suit, then back at me. “I see the way you look at her. At Mandy.” His words take me by surprise. “It’s the same way I look at Eva. Like if anyone lays a hand on her, you’ll bury them without thinking twice.”
The words stick in my throat, but nothing comes out.
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “I get it. I do. But tonight isn’t about feelings, it’s about precision. If you go in there distracted, we all bleed. She bleeds.” His hands clamp down on my shoulder, hard enough to make sure it sticks. “So whatever you’ve got for her, you hold it steady. Channel it into control. Because if this goes sideways, she won’t make it out without you.”
The weight of his words settles heavily on my chest, but it sharpens me at the same time. He lets go, checking his watchonce more. “Get dressed. We don’t get second chances tonight.” Then he’s gone, the door clicking behind him.
I pull the suit free, sliding into it piece by piece, the silence in the room growing smaller by the minute. Shirt. Tie. Jacket. The man staring back at me in the mirror isn’t the same one who walked out of the shower; it’s a soldier, sharpened and ready.
Another knock arrives on the door, softer this time, and my chest tightens before I even open it. I don’t need to check who it is, because inside, I know it’s her.
Mandy stands framed by the hallway light, wrapped in a dress that shouldn’t exist outside of sin itself. The dress hangs off her shoulders, dipping low to reveal the delicate line of her collarbone, her necklace catching the glow with every subtle movement. Her lips are painted to match, deep crimson that should be illegal, and her hair falls in perfect waves down her back like she walked straight out of a fantasy I’ve had no right to dream of.
Something twists hard in my stomach. Not nerves, not fear. Something else. It’s weightless and heavy all at once, a rush that makes me feel like I’m seventeen again and seeing her for the first time.
“You clean up well,” she says softly, her smile tilting like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I can’t find the words, so I just step aside, letting her in, hoping she doesn’t notice the way my chest closes at the sight of her.
She walks past me, the sway of her dress brushing my thigh before she turns, facing me in the middle of the room. For a moment, neither of us says anything. The air feels different, like time itself has slowed down just for us.
