Page 151 of Bitter’s Sweet

He steps back from the coffin fast.

Too late.

Far too fucking late.

Trixie yanks her tank down and reaches for her shorts, face red now for a reason that has nothing to do with sex.

“I didn’t know,” she says.

Not to Bitter.

To me.

I believe her.

That might be the strangest part.

“I know.”

My voice sounds normal.

I am proud of that.

Bitter drags his jeans up, but his eyes never leave mine. His face is not blank.

I wish it were.

I see everything there. Regret. Fear. Shame.

And beneath all of it, something stubborn enough to ruin us both.

I wait.

Again.

God, I hate that I wait.

This morning I waited for him to tell me the club had not mattered more. Now I wait for him to cross the room, say my name, tell me he made a terrible decision because he was angry or scared or drunk or broken.

Not because any excuse could fix this.

Because I need to know whether he wants to.

One second passes.

Then another.

Then a third.

Bitter does not move.

Trixie climbs out of the coffin and snatches up her shorts. She looks furious now.

At him.

Good.

Someone should be.