Page 70 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

“You look good, Wynnie.”

My lips twitch. “Thank you, Auty.”

“I know you’re mad–”

“I’m not mad, Auty,” I say, as my tone betrays me.

I’m not mad… not really.

Not at her.

Never at her. And that’s why I’m mad.

Because Autumn is wrong. Sometimes dead wrong. And the anger is there, right there. I want to tell her I’m mad at her, and why. But what good will that do? I don’t want to argue with her. I don’t even care for an apology. I just want that look, that little hint of disgust to leave her eyes every time we meet each other’s gaze.

I see it, even in the distorted video call. For whatever reason–maybe it’s her evolving relationship, or my niece cracking her heart open–Auty feels responsible for me. She doesn’t want to, but she’s opened her home up to me, to support me on my sobriety journey. She’s kept all my stuff in storage, throwing away all my stashes. She’s trying.

It feels so fake. But maybe her generosity feels so inauthentic because for so long, we’ve been at odds.

Autumn has always hated me a little more than she loves me. I don’t think that’s changed, but pity has been added to the chat.

“I’m tired. I’ma go to bed. Tell Deucey that his TT loves him.”

“What about Rue?” Auty arches a brow.

“When she can string a sentence together, I’ll tell her the same.” I stick my tongue out at her.

“Whatever. Bye Wynter.”

She hangs up, mad because she thinks I’m mad. And Autumn Night has to always have her guard up with everyone, even herself.

Turkey has the patience of a saint.

Shit, Patience, too.

I close the laptop and set it on my nightstand. The blinds aren’t drawn, so moonlight seeps through the dark room. I’m so tired, I don’t even care. Mars kept me up through the day, playing some game he invented where we basically run through the sand, and he tired himself out enough to agree to sleeping in his own bed, so I stretch out, sigh, and doze off.

Movement has me whimpering, not wanting to open my eyes. It’s still dark, so I know I have way more hours before I need to get up to attend to any abnormally nice old ladies, adorably clingy shark-teeth boys, and the like.

And yet… someone is in my room. The kitchen needed to be remodeled completely after Rico’s tantrum. Mars, Nan and I have been staying in one of the very expensive suites of the resort for the past few months. I mean, I know luxury, but I can’t even remember the type of wood they imported here; I just know it’s expensive and worth every penny.

The bed dips, and then I’m pulled back, suddenly, into a hard chest.

A familiar, hard chest.

My body melts instantly, even if my lids pull back immediately.

His heavy arm rests against my torso, between my tits, pulling me even closer. His breath warms the back of my neck. His toes wiggle against mine.

“Did I wake you?” he hums.

“Um… yeah.” My lids finally lower, and I decide not to question it. Why the hell, after months of avoidance, Richard Alvarez comes back from Colombia and falls into my bed.

“Sorry,” he yawns, settling in more. His other arm stretches underneath my pillow, until it’s nestled in the bend of my neck.

We fit perfectly.

“Reem and YT are fucking.”