Page 124 of Vicious Desire (Fallen Royals 4)

“You poor thing,” Jackie tuts. “So strong.”

I shake my head. “Not sure what you mean.”

“The mere fact that you are able to be out in public without a boatload of concealer and eye drops…” She pouts. “I wish I had that courage.”

I suppress my sigh. “I’m sorry, Jackie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ah.” She leans in, like she’s going to tell me a secret. “Eli told us about your little game.”

I rear back. “What?”

“You know, where you guys were just pretending? It explains a lot, really.”

Does it?

Our relationship hasn’t been fake in a long time—but maybe he’s been telling old stories. How we first met and became friends.

“Still. That you’d be so open with him having sex with other girls so blatantly—”

I cough. “What?”

“And especially now that it’s public,” she says, not missing a beat. “I mean, you can see why I thought you’d be upset!”

“He’s sleeping with other girls?”

She tips her head back, looking down her nose at me. “Just one, as far as I know. They hooked up at a party. But where there’s one, there’s probably more. Like cockroaches.”

I can’t see straight.

“You took him back after he planned that stupid funeral thing,” she adds. “That was surprising. But then he encourages your brother to party, like a complete asshole? Everyone knew Noah was coming off the rails, but Eli just kept encouraging him.”

“He’s not off the rails,” I snap.

I know better than to believe her about… half of that. She’s Amelie’s sidekick, of all people. So I take a deep breath, then turn on my heel and leave her standing there.

Politeness be damned.

I go straight home, but once I’m in the driveway, I don’t go in. I open my phone and go to Eli’s social media, scrolling through pictures people have tagged him in recently. There’s a new photo from just a few days ago. One of the new cheerleaders posted it and tagged him, although only his arm, slung over her shoulder, is in the picture. She’s grinning like a fool at the camera in a skimpy white dress.

Where was I?

That pressing lump is back in my throat, and I’m finding it hard to swallow.

I click on the girl’s profile.

Eli’s lacrosse jersey number, 54, is in her bio with a black heart next to it.

Bile rushes up, and I jerk my car door open just in time.

That’s it. But it isn’t just it. She basically just accused Eli of being the reason Noah had a drug problem, and the funeral party that he staunchly denied.

And I believed him.

I jump out of the car and race upstairs.

My room is an assortment of all things Eli.

But before I can even deal with that, I call Noah. He isn’t allowed to have a cell phone at the inpatient facility, so I wait through a long series of clicks before it transfers me to his room phone.

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