would still let him [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]
I blink at that last one, then scroll past it quickly before my brain can fully process the explicit imagery. People are weird. The internet is weird. Everything about this situation is weird.
The timestamp on my phone ticks over to 4:17 AM.
Still no Rex.
Still no Bells.
The only thing keeping me sane is the knowledge that at least they’re here in the apartment and not out there where we have no way of reaching either of them.
I keep replaying the moment Bells climbed out of my car and disappeared into the rain. The look in her eyes. The certainty in her voice when she saidI'll find him.
How did she know where to go?
I've known Rex for years.Years. And I had no idea he visited Nash's grave. He's the king of being in denial, which is the only reason he still doesn't seem to suspect Bells is his scent match. I'm shocked he'll go anywhere near the cemetery at all. Sometimes it's almost like he thinks Nash will walk in through the door again, whole and alive and smiling and breathing.
But Bells knew. Or figured it out.
Or... something.
The "something" is what keeps nagging at me. This sense that there's a piece of the puzzle I'm missing, some connection between them that goes deeper than blackmail and band dynamics and whatever the hell they've been doing for the past few weeks.
Rafael shifts beside me, mumbling something in his sleep. His arm slides off the back of the couch and lands on my thigh.
I don't move it.
That's new, too. This comfort with casual contact that would've felt weird a month ago. But after everything that happened at the hotel, nothing feels weird anymore.
Or maybe everything does, and I've just gone fucking numb to it.
Raf's door creaks open.
I'm on my feet before conscious thought catches up, phone clattering to the coffee table, heart hammering against my ribs. Rafael startles awake with a snort.
"What the fuck Phoenix?"
Rex and Bells round the corner.
They're…
They'rehandcuffedtogether.
Fuzzy black handcuffs connect Rex's left wrist to Bells's right, a thin chain between them that clinks with every step. Bells is still wearing Rex's hoodie and sweats, her white hair a tangled mess, dark circles under her eyes. Rex's clothes are so rumpled he must have picked them up off the floor, and he's dragging his feet as he walks, pale and completely drained from exhaustion.
"I can explain," Bells says, at the same moment Rex mutters, "Don't ask."
Rafael appears at my shoulder, takes one look at the handcuffs, and makes a sound like a dying seal.
"Are those—" He squints. "Are thosemyfuzzy handcuffs?"
Bells looks slightly embarrassed. "Maybe."
"Why do you have fuzzy handcuffs?" Rex asks Raf, voice flat.
"Why do you want to know?" Rafael counters.
Rex's lip curls.