Page 40 of Infamous Heart

“Head of marketing pulled me into a meeting.”

Sebastian had bailed on plans with me because of Rebecca. At least as Wraith, I could understand her motivation. According to Lydia, if you weren’t good, then you were bad. It made sense. But her twisted game with Sebastian? That would drive a wedge between us. What did she have to gain? Worse than that, he waited an hour, letting me sit here in this posh restaurant looking like a fool.

“Sir,” I jumped at the sudden appearance of the waiter. He bent at the waist, whispering as he spoke. “I hate to do this, but if you’re not going to order—“

“No, no, that’s fine. I understand.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience.” I pulled the napkin from my lap, dropping it on the table. I reached into my back pocket, pulling out my wallet, opening it and handing the man a twenty. He quietly accepted, trying to keep the situation from becoming more awkward.

I grabbed my phone off the table and moved through the restaurant. The bartender looked up from polishing a glass and I could swear even the older couple’s eyes followed me. The hostess opened the door, giving me a slight bow as I left.

Turning right, I walked to the end of the building, where it split into an alley. Stepping off the sidewalk, I pressed my back to the wall. I banged the back of my skull against the concrete, fighting to keep myself afloat.

I lost the battle and started to spiral.

The tears gathered in the corner of my eyes, and I stopped resisting. A tightness formed in my chest, and I struggled to pull at the buttons, feeling it constrict. Even once I managed to unbutton half the shirt, I struggled to draw breath, and each time I managed, it came in a ragged sob.

This had been the breaking point. I had defended Sebastian to Lydia, and then I endured Damien’s volley of demeaning remarks. Each jagged remark drew blood, only a few drops, but they left stains. As Rebecca attacked, she had gone for the jugular, and I thought her a vile bitch. But she had been right.

I lifted my phone. There should have been another text, one apologizing. It should have complimented me for stepping outside my comfort zone and making reservations at a restaurant that I’d have never gone to if it weren’t for Sebastian. There should have been a cute remark about making it up to me. Instead, I reread the second message.

“Maybe another time?”

* * *

I slowed as I walked along the pavement in front of the Hideout. After nearly three miles of collecting my thoughts, I hadn’t gotten any closer to shaking the wretched feeling making itself at home in my chest.

I had considered calling Xander, but I couldn’t handle the waves of anger once he found out what happened. Alejandro would be off to work, and somehow, I feel like I would have let Bernard down. While they were a great group of friends, the sense of loneliness was palpable.

I stopped walking for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. If they strayed too far, bending and warping at the request of self-doubt, I’d start crying again. At this point, I’m not sure it mattered. There was a good chance there were no tears left for tonight’s ordeal.

“Griffin?”

There was no way to speak without sounding pathetic. I must look a mess, because the moment the light caught my face, Chad was already out the door, arm around my back, guiding me into the coffee shop. There was no fight left in me, and I moved forward as if being guided through a dream.

The only lights that remained on were over the coffee bar. I had never been in the shop without dozens of patrons sipping their hot beverages. He steered me toward one of the bar stools while he assumed his role behind the counter.

He flipped over a mug without flourish and set it in front of me. I held up my hand to protest. The last thing my anxiety needed was enough energy to rally and begin its second assault of the evening. However, as Chad ducked low behind the counter, he held up a bottle of bourbon, pouring me a healthy amount.

“I can’t tell if you look good, or you look like a wreck. Where are you coming from?”

“The city.” I tipped the mug so I can see the contents. There must have been five or six shots, more alcohol than I had consumed in the last six months. I had never been one for booze, but after three miles of my brain wrestling with itself and losing every match, it couldn’t hurt.

I gulped the liquid, and even as it burned my throat, I swallowed another mouthful. Once the cup emptied, the taste of moss filled my mouth and my eyes widened. My sinuses had cleared, and I could breathe easy, even if the only thing I could smell was rubbing alcohol.

“You’re going to feel that in an hour.”

“Couldn’t feel any worse.” Everybody knew Chad. He always had a kind word to say, and like a psychic, he could read a room with the best of them. If a situation called for humor, there were jokes to be told, and if a patron had a bad day, he had a knack of knowing how to lift their spirits. We weren’t close, but he’d assume the role if I needed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Yes, I wanted to talk about it. I wanted his opinion on relationships, one of his favorite subjects. What I didn’t want was another deluge of tears and snot running down my face as I lost my cool.

“When I saw you this morning, you were excited about a new—oh.”

He reached across the counter, squeezing my hands. “Is it about Mr. Perfect?”

I nodded. “He stood me up.”

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