Page 182 of The Next Lie

Reva trembles between us, boneless and warm, her face tucked against mine. Shiloh kisses her shoulder. I keep my arms around her because letting go feels impossible.

Eventually, she lifts her head. Her eyes are heavy, but clear.

“Better?” she asks.

The same question from the mats. My throat tightens.

“Yes,” I say.

Shiloh laughs softly behind her. “For everyone, I think.”

She huffs, but it has no bite. “Men.”

I kiss the corner of her mouth. “You brought it up.”

“I did.”

“Good.”

That earns me a tired glare.

I ease my hand up her spine. “Still with me?”

She nods.

“Say it.”

Her expression softens in a way that hurts. “I’m here, Ever. I’m not going anywhere. She’s not going to get me.”

I close my eyes for half a second. When I open them, Shiloh is watching me over her shoulder. No joke this time. No grin.

He knows. He always does when it matters.

I look at the hairpin on the bench beside us. Reva follows the movement of my eyes. The gala waits. Mother Superior waits. The room I cannot enter waits.

But Reva is in my arms now, breathing evenly, warm from us, her body loose and safe between two men who will be parked outside that venue ready to tear the city apart if her voice changes the tiniest bit.

I still don’t like the invitation.

Reva reaches for the hairpin, closes her fingers around it, and presses it into my palm.

“I’ll wear the hairpin,” she says.

I look at her.

“I promise.”

I fold my hand around hers and the pin.

“Thank you.”

She makes a face. “Gross. You’re welcome.”

Shiloh kisses the back of her shoulder. “We should probably get dressed before someone comes looking.”

“Nash?” she asks.

“Cal,” I counter.