I quickly adjust myself in my jeans and wipe a hand over my mouth before making my way to the door.

I’m not surprised to find Ivy on the other side. Who else would be trying to break down the door when we’re so obviously closed?

“Where’s Waylon?” she demands breathlessly, shoving past me. Black hair nearly smacks me in the face as she whips her head around, seeking out her cousin.

Slowly, I shut the door with a click, and flip the lock. Assuming someone must have called her after what happened upstairs—Shawn, maybe—it doesn’t occur to be worried when I turn to find her standing there, frozen, arms hanging at her sides as she watches her cousin kneel down next to the broken glass. Whiskey soaking into his jeans.

At least...not more worried.

She sucks in a slow, shaky breath as she turns her head just enough to catch my eye as I make my way around her.

“What happened?” she asks tensely.

I drag my gaze from hers to Waylon. He must have grabbed the dustpan and some towels while I was letting Ivy in, because he’s currently in the process of scooping up the glass.

“You’re late, Ivaiah,” he says coolly, eyes trained on the floor, jaw jumping.

“What?” she whispers, so low there’s no way he heard her, but he goes on regardless.

“You just missed the big ol’ grand finale,” he says caustically, using his fingers to pick up some of the bigger shards. “Mason finally decided Izzy’s dead. Pop the fucking champagne.”

His face is flushed. Dark hair still askew. It’s like he didn’t even bother trying to cover up what Ivy interrupted. Like he doesn’t care if she knows, if she sees. Fuck, maybe she already does know.

But something tells me it’s more than that.

Hell, anyone could have walked down while we were attacking each other’s mouths and it’s like he suddenly doesn’t give two shits.

There’s nothing proud or brazen about it, though. If anything, there’s a bitter aftertaste to this sudden change in his behavior, that has nausea creeping up my throat.

This isn’t good. None of this is good.

Ivy’s wide, green eyes shoot to mine as her face visibly pales. “What?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out as dread wraps its spindly little claws around my airway. Squeezing. Choking, as I realize she’s not here because of what happened.

Ice rushes through my veins and I am frozen. Unable to do anything but stare blankly back at her as redness tinges the corners of her eyes. She starts to shake her head. Breath hitching as she tries and fails to speak. “I—”

And all I can think is, No.

Please, God, no.