He chuckles, and my attempt for much-needed space but my inability to take it on my own works.

He releases me, stepping back a bit.

But he’s intuitive, and he reaches out again, cupping my face.

He nods slightly and I nod back.

I’m okay, Arsen.

He doesn’t believe me, but he does join his friends inside the car.

I step around mine, slipping into the driver’s seat with conscious effort not to glance in their direction. I know their eyes are locked on me and I know they are waiting for me to give them more.

I know because I can feel it.

It’s a tragic, unwelcome warmth, one I’ll freeze out with my mother’s favorite mantra: by any means necessary.

Maybe even tonight.

But since I’m not yet in my right mind, and apparently still a glutton for punishment, I dig Arsen’s note from my purse to read it once more.

Only I don’t get to.

Because it’s gone.

Chapter 15

Hot, sweet, cheap whiskey burns its way down my throat and I welcome the sting, then pull the second shot glass to my lips, experiencing it all over again.

I take a deep breath, finish off half of my glass of water, my mind flashing to the ocean waters from earlier this afternoon.

It was beautiful and blue.

As was the yacht that exploded four feet from me.

I wince, tearing my hand from my face when I realize I had subconsciously reached up to touch the cut on my cheek, currently buried beneath my best layer of makeup, yet is still visible enough to make the bouncer warn me that ‘spousal drama isn’t welcome in this place.’

What made Anthony decide to come to the school when we have never even spoken outside of our routine? He or his receptionist emails me Sunday’s plans, sometime Friday afternoon, I add it to mine and my mom’s calendar and show up when and where I’m told. That’s it.

And then there’s the yacht...

I growl, running my hands over my hair and planting them on the bar top a moment later.

Screw this, I didn’t come here to think.

I came for the opposite.

I turn to the dance floor, getting myself as deep into the crowd as possible.

No matter what angle I shift toward, there’s no more than five inches of space between me and another person. It’s exactly as I want it to be.

Loud enough to block out my thoughts and dark enough to hide my existence. Unruly and crowded, perfectly suffocating.

I can’t think or hear anything outside the too-loud music, but I can move.