by Jesse Grey
Silence crowded around them like an abundant fog of stagnant thought as Sumner’s former friends explained a few things to the other involved individuals in the wake of an earthshattering murder.
Once the police had found Blanche’s body, Homecoming was officially over. Police tape and sirens cloaked the entire mass of Westbrooke High, and the friends had spent the rest of the weekend inside an interrogation room, answering an onslaught of angled questions from Detective Dagger. Ultimately, they had gotten out of Dagger’s line of fire, but only because of Sterling claiming she asked Blanche to meet her there and forced the rest of them to help prove Blanche’s innocence. It had worked. But not for all of them.
Sterling and Straton were still being bombarded with questions by the police for their former relationships with Blanche, from their time with her before she became a patient at Arclan Asylum.
Blanche Baxxen was dead, and everyone thought it was because she knew too much.
No one knew who killed Blanche, but they all had a mutual suspect. One they didn’t have to voice out in the open to one another.
Now, the others previously blind to Slayer Society affairs thought there might be another potential killer. They were being told of the news of a stalker trying to bring them down by any means necessary. The silence was accumulating in heavy sheets to the point of discomfort, so Faith was the first one to infiltrate the sound’s restraint.
“So, just so I’m hearing every detail correctly, there’s been someone following you, stalking you in every sense of the word, leaving messages and threats for months, and you haven’t gone to the police...why?”
“Because we can’t.” Her brother answered with a much needed sigh. The four of them were standing in the empty St. James household, thankful that they had waited for Abram and Willa’s parents to leave for work before they had called everyone over to hold their private details enlightenment, as he and his friends looked into the open faces of their sisters and one particular girlfriend.
“Why can’t you?” Willa heaved, unfolding her arms and massaging her temples with one of her hands to ail the forming headache she felt galloping upon her. “What possible reason could there be for not getting the police to catch whoever is doing this to you?”
“It’s complicated.” Mercer sighed.
“We just can’t.” Abram added to Alex’s earlier ideal. “We’re already risking a lot bringing you guys up to speed on this. We just wanted to tell all of you why we had to be there to meet Blanche.”
The speaking of her name chilled all of them, like the air conditioning had been suddenly set to frostbite, their spines coated with icicles. But Faith couldn’t stop her mind from regurgitating queries that kept sizzling her tongue.
“You were meeting with her because of the stalker?”
“Yes,” Mercer stated. “She’s connected to Sumner and the stalker had a message that tied her to him.”
“She’s Streetcar, isn’t she?” Kirby had kept quiet the whole time they’d been talking to them, listening to them expound the intricacies of their anonymous follower, and instead deciding to take every detail in; until now. “From Shadows Manor.”
“What is she talking about?” Faith growled.
“It was evidence from the room Sumner hid in below Arclan,” Kirby furthered. “They went there to get it, because the stalker sent you there. And one of the pages said ‘Streetcar’, which was code for Blanche. Am I right?”
Taking a moment to look at each other, speaking silently between one another, the friends gave the reigns of conversation to Mercer to conclude. “Yes.”
“I’m still not getting why you can’t tell the authorities.” Willa shook her head.
“We just can’t, okay?” Bridge yelled, a little louder than he needed to. Bridge, amidst the chaos of being questioned in Blanche’s murder, hadn’t had time to tell his friends about the connection between their stalker and Paige having the same stationary. And it was consuming him, considering he was also dealing with an unfortunately rough breakup. “You know enough. Take it or leave it.”
“But—”
“No, I’m done with this.” Bridge said defiantly. “Anyway, we need to go if we’re goinna make the assembly.”
The assembly had just started when all of them arrived at Westbrooke High School. Luckily, the girls hadn’t asked anymore questions once the notion of them being late for the muchanticipated assembly, that Principal Cobbins was issuing before classes began, had been brought up. Since the untimely demise of a certain former patient of Arclan Asylum crashed Homecoming before the announcement of King and Queen, the whole school was being gathered for the awaited reveal.
“Before we begin,” Thalia ushered as they found a place in the crowd. The Homecoming Court was standing behind Thalia on the floor of the now repurposed backtonormal gymnasium while everyone else settled into the extracted bleachers. “I’d like to take a moment of silence for Blanche Baxxen, as well as all of those who knew her.”
An unsettling sweep of sorrow and despair descended upon the communal of students and faculty. Blanche wasn’t a student at the school, but the loss of such a young life resonated with everyone. It was a good two minutes before Thalia started speaking into the microphone again.
“Alright, without further ado, let’s announce the winners of Homecoming King and Queen.”
A teacher came over to Thalia and an envelope was exchanged between their hands with the fluid flick of their wrists. The principal ripped at the edges of the news of who had won the coveted Homecoming titles. A smile skated across her face as she read the results from the dance’s voting. She looked up from the results and spoke evenly into the mic.
“We have a first here at Westbrooke High School.” Thalia beamed. “For the first time ever, our school doesn’t have a queen.” She paused as a few girls gasped at the newfound fact. “Our two Homecoming Kings are none other than Alex Llewellyn and Abram St. James.”
The couple shared a look of pure disbelief, wondering how they both had gotten the most votes as the crowd joined their friends in clapping congratulations to the new reigning supremes of Westbrooke High. They hugged and kissed swiftly right before they were crowned, Abram taking the crown intended for the potential Homecoming Queen as Alex donned the prized King’s encrusted headdress of gold.
Abram and Alex kissed again as people applauded their feat, which was a complete flip of how they had been greeted back to Westbrooke at the start of the school year. Everyone clapped as they came out of their kiss, glad that people were seeking repentance from their actions earlier in the school year. The young Homecoming Kings soaked in every moment of their winning, especially before they had to leave during lunch to possibly meet with Emmy Walker, a meeting they knew had the power to change everything that they knew to be true.
Arriving at The Bistro, Alex and Abram felt their nerves fully ablaze with anticipation. They had gotten to the meeting place early to meet the woman with the answers about Emmy Walker, surprised at how busy the quaint shop was.
The venue was all modern architecture and sleek furniture, the pungent aroma of freshly brewed coffee and timely baked pastries wafting from table to table. They took a seat in the middle of the shop, awaiting the presence of the woman who could set the record straight about who Emmy Walker was.
“I hope this works out.” Abram stated, fidgeting with his fingers while he repositioned himself in his chair.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Alex brought to question, scooting his own chair closer to the metal table. “This is good, Abe. We’re one step closer to figuring this whole thing out.”
“Things aren’t exactly going our way, Alex.” Abram shook his head, countering his boyfriend’s heartfelt words. “Blanche was just murdered for coming to tell us everything.”
“Keep your voice down.” Alex looked around, making sure no one was overhearing their hushed discussion. “Listen, this is good.” He reached over and grabbed Abram’s hand, applying pressure to subside t
he taller man’s growing anxiety. “Just stay focused and everything will be fine.”
At the end of his utterance, a middleaged woman walked into The Bistro, looking around the establishment like she was hunting for someone.
“Abe.”
He followed Alex’s trail of vision until he too saw the officious gestures the woman was making as she looked around the room. Taking the lead, Abram lifted himself out of his chair and made his short walk over to the dark haired woman.
“Ms. Walker?” Abram asked, hoping his outright prompt at her identity wasn’t misconstrued and didn’t anger their guest.
But to his favor, the tall woman just smiled at him. “Sort of, but please,” she ordered. “Call me Reyna.”
Sparing no second, they found their seats once again and Abram and Alex prepared their questions mentally before they voiced them.
“Alright,” Reyna started, eyeing them eagerly. “You both want to know about Emmy Walker. Why?”
“Ms. Walker—”
“Reyna.” She corrected again. “My last name is Walker because of my brother and…anyway, my legal last name is Prescott.” She shifted the conversation ahead of any questioning about her family, dodging before any asks could sputter to fruition. “Why are you looking for Emmy? What led you to her?”
“Sumner.” Abram uttered softly. “Surely you’ve heard of the phenomenon of Sumner Shadows.”
“I have actually, but—”
“Sumner knew Emmy Walker,” He went on. “We found something of his that had her name all over it. Clearly she has some sort of connection to him.”
Reyna sighed, looking away and placing her hands on the table. “I understand. You want answers about your...friend. And you think Emmy has something to do with it.”
“We know she does, Reyna.” Alex said, suddenly including himself. “You said your last name was Walker. Are you related to Emmy Walker?”
She heaved a massive breath, obviously fortifying herself for the tale she was about to unfurl to the two teenagers in front of her.
“I used to be. Emmy was married to my brother years ago.” Reyna seemingly nodded. “She was my sisterinlaw.”
The boys shared an uneasy glare, something that wasn’t lost on the woman with them.
“Emmy is your family?” Alex said.
“Was my family.”
“Why was?”
“Emmy went missing, that’s why.”
“Missing?” Abram’s voice rose an octave. “For how long?”
“About twenty years.” Reyna sighed again, her hands slightly shaking at the situation. “My brother and I are from Hanover originally, which is how he met Emmy. They were married just over a year before she went missing. We looked for years and years. She just…vanished. The police told us she was gone, probably dead.” Reyna sniffled while Abram and Alex quietly listened on.
“What would have caused her to up and leave without a trace, if she isn’t dead?” Alex wondered sternly, lightly shaking his head, mentally searching for a reason behind Emmy Walker fleeing from her life.
“Because of what happened right when she left, because of the—” Reyna cut herself off as something dawned on her, something that she previously hadn’t even thought could be apparent.
“Because of what, Reyna?” Abram asked, hanging off of her incomplete sentence.
“It’s one of you, isn’t it?” The couple looked at each other frantically, Reyna seeing the action and standing up from her chair. “Oh my God, it is.”
“Reyna, we don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly. You were about to say something.” Alex stood up then too, Abram mirroring the move as well.
“I’ve said too much.” Reyna shook her head. “Forget we met here today and everything we discussed. I have to go.”
She turned to leave, but Abram’s words halted her. “But what about Emmy Walker?”
“Emmy Walker is dead!” Reyna screeched, whipping back to face them with tears staining her olive skin. “I suggest you learn to face that truth.”
Reyna Walker heatedly fled The Bistro and the inquiring nature of the two young men that were trying so hard to stir up her past baggage. Once she was gone, Abram eyed Alex with heavy doubt.
“She’s hiding something, something huge.” he nodded. “Reyna knows something more.”
“Abe.”
“She was just about to tell us something, but our conversation triggered something she knows, Alex!”
“Abe!”
The shrieking of his name brought his monologue to an abrupt end, causing him to stare at his boyfriend expectantly. “What?”
“She said Emmy Walker is dead.” he neared Abram then, so that no one could hear the next words to exit his mouth. “What if she’s been traceable back to Sumner this whole time?”
“What are you saying?” Abram questioned.
“Maybe she does know more, maybe there is a bigger connection between Emmy and Sumner,” he said positively. “But what if she’s dead, has been dead, because Sumner got her to go to Armor Falls Cemetery the night he attacked us?”
“No…” Abram gasped, staring into the depths of Alex’s hazel eyes, the weight of his words crushing any other response from his mouth.
“Abe, what if that night we killed Emmy Walker?”
Bridge was very close to being wasted. It was only about an hour since school had ended. He and his friends hadn’t had any other classes together or any opportunities for Alex and Abram to explain how their meet up had gone, so they had gotten together after school let out to retell the events that had transpired at The Bistro. And that’s when everything went to hell. Abram brought up everything that had happened, which was already majorly confusing, but then Alex had opened his mouth. Even the thought of Emmy Walker being the woman they had accidentally killed and buried in the woods was too much for Bridge to take in. Knowing that he personally could have killed their greatest lead caused him too much boiling selfturmoil.
And that’s why he was getting drunk at a bar on the far end of town, putting his fake ID to further good use to hide his true feelings. His feelings for Ben, for Paige possibly being their stalker, which he still hadn’t told his friends about. And now, his feelings about murdering someone, someone with a name now. A family.
He was tenderly sipping on his tequila sunrise, minding his own aggravating thoughts, when a really attractive guy sauntered up to the bar where he was sitting.
“Can I get a shot of Patron, anejo, please?” The guy slapped down his ID on the counter as the bartender strode over.
Concluding that the man’s ID wasn’t fragulent, the bartender gave him a curt nod. The man took his seat at the bar, giving Bridge the chance to really look at him. His dark brown hair, which he kept relatively short, was slicked back effortlessly. He had brooding, bright brown eyes that dressed perfectly with his earth tone ensemble of a dark khaki shirt and black jeans, pairing it all with a dark brown leather jacket that mimicked his hair along with his mahogany boots. And Bridge couldn’t stop staring at the guy’s intricate hand tattoos. The back of his hands were each inked by a different flower, and his fingers were engraved with peculiar symbols.
And the stranger must have noticed his stares, because he smirked at Bridge and simply said, “Planets.”
Bridge took a little longer to react, probably due to the tequila sunrise vibrating against his veins. At least, that’s where he decided to place his blame.
“I’m sorry?” He spat out, putting down his drinking glass, and gazing into the dangerous eyes of the mysterious stranger.
He chuckled. “My hands.” The sexy stranger strummed his fingers on the bar’s counter, giving Bridge a sloppy, and pretty striking, smile. “The flowers are larkspur and lilac, but the symbols at the base of my fingers, they’re the symbols for all the planets excluding Earth because, who are we kidding, Earth is boring.”
Laughing in harmony, Bridge just shook his head at the man. “You’re really deep, aren’t you? Clearly
you know your way around Tumblr.”
“I know you’re not old enough to drink legally.” A deadpan look soared across the surface of Bridge’s skin. The guy just cackled to himself. “Don’t worry, dude. I won’t tell.” He leaned into the small bubble separating them and whispered, practically purred, into his ear. “My ID is fake too.”
When the man pulled back, Bridge bore the brightest sneer on his face. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” The man looked over at him, tilting his head into a question. “So, what caused you to crave tequila so badly? Boyfriend give you trouble?”
Tossing back another gulp of his tequila sunrise, Bridge gave him a sideeye glare full of pondering poison. “What makes you think I’m gay?” Bridge gestured toward him, the guy shooting another anejo shot. “Are you?”
He shrugged. “What happened with the boyfriend?”
“Exboyfriend,” Bridge sighed between breaths, quickly ordering himself a third tequila sunrise. The bartender sat down his drink as Bridge continued. “Which is the smallest of all my problems.”
“Ahh, damaged goods.” The man nodded. “Me too, if it makes you feel better.”
“Damaged goods is a bad thing.” Bridge chuckled.
“But at least it’s never boring, like Earth is to the other planets.” The man raised his now refilled shot glass, angling the glass toward Bridge’s own drink. “To damaged goods.”
“To damaged goods.” he laughed harder.
They clinked their glasses and sucked down the respective libations until their glasses were empty. The man gasped in refreshment, gazing over at Bridge, winking. “Us damaged goods need to stick together.” He stood up from his barstool, leaning over to once again utter hushed words into Bridge’s awaiting ears. “Do more damage with me in the bathroom.”
The handsome guy left Bridge with a familiar stirring within himself, ordering a quick shot as the man receded from his view and took a sharp turn down the hallway where the bathrooms resided. Using the last of his money he had saved from jobs over the summer, Bridge threw down a wad of bills before he threw back the shot quickly, standing up afterwards to saunter down the hall to the bathrooms. And when he threw open the bathroom door to the men’s room, he was attacked by the man’s mouth upon his entry. The pair made out fiercely as they made their way across the empty men’s bathroom to find a stall. The sexy stranger ripped off his pants as Bridge did the same, grinning as he faced the man’s now bare rear end, allowing Bridge to forget his worries with a really hot tatted up guy that was giving him such an opportunity to lose himself entirely. And maybe, just maybe, he could put aside the incriminating thoughts rotating within his frame like a Category 4 storm.
“Alex, can you get the door?”
The obnoxious doorbell combined with his mother’s pleading led him to the door, anticipating the excuse Bridge was sure to have for being late, considering that he was the only one that had yet to arrive.
An hour had passed since the last person arrived for the massive dinner party at the Llewellyn household that Celia had asked Adelaide to throw together, and that guest had been Celia herself. All of his friends were in attendance, including all of their parents, upon Celia’s request. Sterling and Straton had also been invited, but both declined, which Alex had figured would happen. They were once so close to Blanche. He could only imagine how they were handling her brutal murder, especially with both of them still being questioned ruthlessly by Dagger.
Sure enough, Bridge’s face was the one hidden behind the house’s mahogany ornate opening, wearing a huge lopsided grin that was twisting his face into an effervescent parody of his usual self.
“I know, I’m late.”
Alex wrinkled his nose at the friend standing in front of him. “You’re freaking me out. Why are you smiling so much?”
Bridge smirked. “I was at a bar across town and this guy—”
“Whoa,” Alex threw a hand up swiftly. “Sorry I asked. Just get in here.”
He joined Alex inside the lush, modern stylings of the Llewellyn residence, heading into the living room where everyone was relaxing with mouthwatering hors d'oeuvres, save that for Adelaide and Ethan, who were putting the finishing touches on dinner.
“Bridge,” Celia, who was hanging off the side of the entryway, beamed down at the young man with an eerie, faraway look in her eyes. Almost like her thoughts were somewhere else, somewhere vastly opposed to their current setting and it were affecting her stay within the realm of reality. “It’s good to see you again.”
He just gave her a nod and the smile that still shined through brightly on his face. “Yeah, you too, Mrs. Shadows.”
“Oh, I just remembered,” Alex wore an expression of pure forgetfulness, throwing his eyes at Bridge. “I needed to ask you a question about our calc homework.” He gave Celia a shake of his head. “Excuse us, Mrs. Shadows.”
“Of course, dear.” Celia smiled as they began their walk from the sophisticated woman and to a different part of the house.
“You seriously have a question about calculus? Because you should know by now that I’m a lost cause on the subject of arithmetic.”
“I know, I’ve seen your grades from the last quiz.” He sneered at his less mathematically inclined friend. “But would you rather have stuck around and cut up with Sumner’s stepmother?”
“Good point.”
Alex led them into the downstairs bedroom, which was the Llewellyn guest room, where their friends had decided to use as their reclusive hangout. While their parents and the others were out in the living room, Abram and Mercer were talking amongst themselves in a room free from listeners when they made their way inside.
“Finally.” Mercer scoffed at the sight of Bridge as he strutted in with Alex, stepping away from Abram. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, after we all talked about Emmy Walker…” Abram engineered, but their friend shook their concerns with the same action with his head.
“I’m fine. Well, maybe not fine exactly, but I’m alright. I will be.”
“Well, if you ever need to talk—”
“I know, Merce.” Bridge cheered, his face visualizing the joy over his friend’s mawkishness. “Anyway, anyone know why Celia is rounding everyone up like cattle?”
“No idea. Not even Mom knows. Or if she does, she’s not letting on.” The only Llewellyn family member in the room spoke squarely to his friends.
“And the others?”
“Our sisters haven’t asked any more questions if that’s what you’re trying to segue to.” Abram nodded.
“Neither has Kirby.” Mercer added.
“Alright.” Bridge rolled his shoulders, using the tension in his tendons to signify a shift in their priorities. “How long till we find out, because I’m still feeling the subtle pangs of tequila and Daddy’s hungry.”
Adelaide announced that dinner was ready just as the friends cackled at Bridge’s comment. Everyone piled into the dining room, making as much room as they could with as many people that were gathered around the adequately massive Llewellyn dining room table.
Time skewed as everyone dug into their food, most of them eager to sustain their ravenous appetites. Once everyone had at least some food in their stomachs, Celia clinked her wine glass to halt all conversation, cleared her throat, and stood up from her chair between Adelaide and November. Everyone granted her their attention, set to hear her clarification for this dinner.
“By now, I’m sure all of you know that I orchestrated this little get together. Hendrick was going to be here, but he had one final meeting.” Celia reconstructed her stance by leaning more to the right. “The reason both Hendrick and I wanted to get all of you in one place, is because he’s come to the decision, after the heinous act in which Blanche Baxxen lost her life, to close Arclan Asylum for good.”
A crash of quietness fell on them like a sheet of rain falling from a suddenly open cloud. No one spoke right away, but when someone did, the speaker was Athena Wheaton.
> “Why haven’t I been told about this? I’m an employee.”
“That’s why Hendrick was supposed to be here.” Celia nodded. “He wanted to tell you himself.”
“What’s going to happen to the building?” Clay asked.
“And what about the patients?” Steven pondered.
Celia opened her mouth to respond, her jaw slightly jerking as everyone heard the front door of the Llewellyn residence swing on its hinges in a burst of kinetic action. The motion to move didn’t rustle any of them to check out the malevolent disturbance, mainly due to the culprit being Hendrick Shadows. He stuck his salt and pepper contrasted head into the dining room, his eyes finding Ethan and Adelaide as they stood up from the heads of the dining room table.
“I’m so sorry about just barreling in here,” Hendrick spoke in between gaspy intakes, his lungs grabbing at a chance for chaste breaths. “I was trying to get here before Celia broke the news.”
At that admission, Celia stepped closer to her husband, her eyebrows arching up at him in mock question marks. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Not anymore.” he smiled.
“Hendrick, what’s happening?” Araec leapt at the question, beating everyone else to it.
“Arclan isn’t closing.”
All the adults and teenagers present felt the tense prickling sensation of confusion combust over them like an alcoholic rain.
“How?” Adelaide asked.
“Ever since I’ve come to this decision, I’ve been trying to come up with one last effort, one last option before I completely gave in.” Hendrick halted his decree, his eyes falling over the faces of everyone there. “We all know that...that my son—” he stopped himself once more, tears singeing the rims of his eyes as he felt the full typhoon of his emotions whirling at the helm of his core. “That Sumner probably is the one behind Blanche’s murder. And that thought is consuming me.”
“Hendrick,” Celia’s tone was full of sympathy and concern for her husband’s wellbeing and state of mind.
But he just shook his head at his worrisome wife. Everyone just kept staring at him, waiting for more words to spew forth from Hendrick’s mouth, the audience craving his jagged barbs of information.
“But, despite my personal turmoil, I couldn’t let my father’s legacy die without expunging all of my choices. So, I agreed to meet with someone looking to make an investment, someone willing and able to breathe new life into my father’s mission of helping those who couldn’t help themselves, no matter their backgrounds or reasons. And that someone is saving Arclan, coming in and helping run it with fresh eyes and new ideas for the safety of our patients and our staff. And if it’s alright, I’d like to introduce the savior of Arclan Asylum.”
No one felt abrasive enough to object, so Hendrick called around the corner, beckoning someone to reveal themselves.
A vibrant middleaged woman with soft fair skin stepped into the dining room, a chic nude hued trench coat that looked right off the runway hiding her fit frame, her nude top and black pants snugging her body perfectly. Her hair was completely grey, almost silver because it had been dyed the lighter hue from her natural dark color. Her dark, looming eyes scanned over all of them, silently calculating all of them with excruciating intent that none of them were quite sure of.
The woman was trailed by a young man, presumably her son, judging by their shared likeness. His brown hair was slicked back, perfectly highlighting the savory chocolate eyes they both donned. His outfit oddly mirrored the woman’s, a khaki shirt paired with his deep brown leather jacket and black jeans. And his hands were covered in tattoos.
But Bridge didn’t get to call out his hot bar hookup because Kirby and Athena almost broke their chairs as they ascended to their feet. The woman and her son too felt their irises expand once they rolled over the mother and daughter duo.
“Maxima?”
“Salem?”
The greyhaired vixen, Maxima, remained silent, too stunned to speak and her jaw open in awe as she gawked at them. But her son, Salem, couldn’t keep himself as contained as his mother.
“Kirby?”
In a few gasps and exasperated sounds of astonishment, Kirby ran over to him as he did the same. They collided right behind a standing Ethan, arms wrapping around familiar and seemingly forgotten bodies.
“You...know each other?” Hendrick said in Maxima’s direction, just as perplexed as the rest of them, all while she continued to stare over Athena.
“Athena Wheaton,” Maxima scoffed, shifting her stance as her Louboutin’s purred against the carpet. “I had no idea I’d really ever see you again.”
“Likewise.” Athena chuckled, walking over to her old friend and the pair sharing a brief hug while everyone was still quite confused.
“Maybe we should take a break from dinner.” Adelaide suggested, cackling nervously and allowing everyone to mingle.
Before anyone else took their attention, Kirby unraveled from Salem’s embrace and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the vacant foyer.
“Salem, it’s amazing to see you, you have no idea.” Her grin took up the entirety of her supple face. “But what are you doing here?”
“Me?” Salem smirked. “I’m still convinced that you’re a mirage.”
“I’m real, trust me.” she laughed. “What are the chances of us reuniting here in Armor Falls?”
“Arclan Asylum brought us here.” he nodded.
“But what about your dad? And where’s Holly?”
“Don’t talk to me about Holly.”
His severely stern tone set Kirby’s nerves aflame, her caution fully sizzling like the tapping of a taut snare drum. Salem saw the hurt throbbing in her eyes, quickly shaking off the grainy nature from his soul.
“I’m sorry. It’s just...a lot has happened, especially with Sahalia, in the past year.”
Kirby’s eyes flexed, knowing the feeling Salem’s words expressed all too well. “Tell me about it.”
Salem looked away from her then, catching Bridge’s eyes as he walked down a hallway alone, realizing that he had just hooked up with the young man at the bar not too long ago.
“Hey, we’ll delve into details later, okay?”
Simply nodding, Kirby smiled into another embrace with Salem, taking in his usual scent of leather. He retreated from the foyer, ambling down the hallway until he found Bridge in the bathroom. He went inside, closing the door behind himself.
“This is ridiculous,” Bridge stated, one hand on his hip while the other combed the side of his head. “Why does every guy I end up with have some inevitable connection or plot twist to my life?”
Salem laughed. “Did we not have fun earlier?” He closed the space between them, letting his hands rest on Bridge’s hips.
“Stop.” He pushed his inked hands away from his body. “We had an amazing time, really amazing, actually, and I’m not denying that you’re insanely hot, because look at you.” Bridge just ignored Salem’s coy blushing, because it made him all the more adorable. “But you don’t even know my name.”
“Right, introductions.” he nodded. “I’m Salem.”
“Bridge. And Kirby’s boyfriend, Mercer, is my best friend. So tell me, Salem. What’s your connection to Kirby?”
Seconds sweat from the evening as Mercer found Kirby alone in the foyer. He had just watched Salem march off from her, having looked on at their exchange from afar. He made his way over to his girlfriend, watching her eyes change as she looked him over.
“Hey.” Mercer grinned. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Kirby absentmindedly stroked her chin fleetingly. “I just can’t believe he’s here.”
“Who is he?”
“That’s Salem Simon.”
Like the intensity of burning wreckage, all the six degrees of separation fell into place for Mercer like descending dominoes. “It’s him.” He didn’t propose it as a question, since he knew that his assumption was valid and free of doubt.
�
��Yes,” she nodded, looking into the chasm of her boyfriend’s comforting cobalt orbs. “Salem is the father of my baby.”
18
MORIOR INVICTUS