My hands go cold.
I grab the bouquet and shoulder back through the door with the roses in my fist.
Bells sees them before I open my mouth.
Her face goes blank and her mouth opens. Closes. Her hand drops to her knife pocket and stays there.
"Who thefuckknew we were here tonight?" Raf's voice is low and tight.
Nobody answers, because the answer is almost nobody.
And that's the problem.
Rex meets my eyes from the stage with cold fury.
This is fuckingwar.
CHAPTER 28
BELLS
The elevator doors open and I amdone.
Done with Carmine.
Done with the wordsgothic romanceandPhantom of the Operaandstrategyrattling around my skull like a pinball.
Done with fucking roses being delivered again.
Done with thedick printon my jeans, which I didn't notice until we were in the car and Raf reached over, pointed directly at the smudge on my thigh, and said, "Did your dick fall off when you were toking marijuana on the roof?"
Phoenix nearly drove us into oncoming traffic.
So the first thing I do when we get inside is announce, "Everyone change. Now. Sleep clothes. We're done for the night."
"It's eight thirty," Raf protests.
"Yup." I kick off my combat boots. "And we're having a fucking slumber party so we can recover from all the bullshit happening right now. Let's get all the mattresses, blankets, and pillows wecan find into the living room. I'm declaring a moratorium on all band talk whenever we're home, starting tonight."
Nobody argues.
I go straight to Rex's room and lock the door. The binder comes off first—fuck, the relief—and then the prosthetic, which I rinse and set on the counter without ceremony. I kick off my pants, note that is definitely an unmistakable silicone dick print and there's no way Carmine didn't see it, groan, and pull one of Rex's many black hoodies over my bare chest. It hangs to mid-thigh, the sleeves dangling past my fingertips. It's a thinner one than usual, and the peaks of my breasts are visible through the fabric.
No binder.
No prosthetic.
No cologne. Just me and an oversized hoodie and a pair of boxer shorts.
The collar stays on.
When I emerge, Phoenix is already in the kitchen in gray sweats and a white t-shirt stretched across his massive chest, the sleeves riding up over his biceps. His hair is loose. He's microwaving popcorn.
Raf appears from the hallway in red flannel pants and nothing else with an armful of snacks, including a family-sized bag of sour gummy worms I immediately yoink out of his hands.
"Hey!" He tries to grab them back, but I'm already stuffing them into my mouth like a woodchipper.
"Where did those come from?" Phoenix asks him, his eyes narrowing.