“Sorry for which part?”
“Raising my voice at you,” he says, his reddened eyes meeting mine. “And for saying that to Akara. I didn’t want him to leave you after…fuck.”
“After what?” I take a heated step forward. “After my relationship leaked? Because Akara might be right, Dad. This might all return to normal once the world thinks the triad was a lie and that I’m just with Banks. Then will you go back to being happy again that Akara left me? That your grand idea of Choose One worked? Or were you just hoping that Banks was the one to self-sacrifice?”
“No.” He shakes his head a few times, gaze dragging across the snow until he looks to me again. “I’m so fucking sorry, Sulli. Leak or no leak, private or public—it doesn’t fucking matter because it doesn’t change something.”
“What?” I cage my breath.
“You’ll never be completely happy if you lose one of them. And I know…” He chokes on emotion and pinches his eyes. “I know what it’s fucking like to drag yourself down—and I’m angry at myself for asking Akara and Banks to shackle themselves with that weight. I asked them to step back from what makes you all fucking happy, when life’s too fucking short.” He almost starts crying. He blinks back tears, staring up at the sky. “I just thought you’d be alright with one—you’d still be happy with one—and then I saw you three at the lake house. I saw them run after you into the woods.”
Pain passes between us. I’m barely breathing.
“And I realized I’ve been trying to take away the people you need and love in this world, and that’s not fucking right. It’s not okay—you won’t be okay, and I can’t lose you to that or to silence or anger or resentment. I want you to be able to live your life one-hundred-fifty miles per hour. No brakes. And I’m so fucking sorry I tried to slow you down.”
My cheeks are wet. Heart pounding with a ragged tempo. I’ve waited so long to hear those words. Fuck, I thought they might never come. He apologized three separate times, and hearing everything he said should bring relief and happiness, but I’m weighed down in unbearable grief.
“Your approval is too fucking late,” I tell him, holding back more tears.
He wipes at his own eyes. “I fucking know that, Sul.” He drops his hand. “I fucking know.”
I take a short breath. I think about forgiveness. How I suck at it. How in times like this, I wish to be better than my past. How I’m in so much pain. And right now, I just really need my dad.
I rub my fist over my tear-streaked cheeks. “But I’m not going to hold it against you.”
His eyes rest against mine in confusion. “I’d understand if you fucking did.”
Tears build and more squeeze out of my eyes. “No, I need you too much to be mad at you.”
His face breaks. “Sulli—”
I clutch at my jacket. “It hurts really bad. And I don’t know how to get it to stop.”
My dad bridges the final distance, and he wraps his arms around me in a hug. He’s the sturdy foundation that I’m built from. The mountains. The air. The ocean. “It’ll fucking be okay.”
“But I love him. I still love him.” I don’t see how that’s going to change.
Akara is already gone.
49
AKARA KITSUWON
I stand at the top of a mountain, water in every direction. A breathtaking island. Palm trees sway on sandy beaches. Waves crash into jagged rocks, and snow…snow falls from the sky and kisses my skin. It builds on the island mountaintop.
My breath smokes the air as I see her standing at the edge of the cliff. Sulli stares off at the horizon, back turned to me. Her wild, brown hair blows in the cold breeze.
“Akara!” Banks screams. He’s standing close but out of reach from me. Feet chained to the ground.
I try to move to him, but my body jerks back. Shit. Chains wrap around my own ankles.
Snow falls harder, and I glance up to the cliff. Sulli whips around, green eyes on both of us. She scoots backwards towards the edge. “SULLI!” I yell, pure terror shooting through me.
“NO!” Banks screams.
I yank at the chain.
He grapples with his restraints.
She keeps stepping backwards. Her eyes numb to the world. “SULLI! STOP!” Panic rips through me as I claw at the lock on the chain. Fingernails bleeding. “STOP! STOP!”
“SULLI!” Banks screams louder, his veins protruding from his neck, face reddened.
“STOP! SULLI!” Spit flies from my mouth as I yell with raging desperation, and I start tugging with my ankle. I can break it. I can break my foot.
I have to break my foot. I have to reach her. I have to reach her.
All the while, my eyes stay fixed on my heart who’s faltering at the edge of a cliff. “SULLI!” My voice dies in the wind as she goes over.
Her brown hair billows around her body.
I jolt awake, choking for breath.
Sweat built up, I grip at my damp T-shirt, feeling my speeding pulse. I rub at my eyes and roll over to my alarm clock. Three in the fudging morning. Great.
Awesome—so awesome.
I sit up and hug my knees to my chest. My nose flares as I recount the dream again and try to level my breathing.
Third consecutive one this week.
All three have been the same. The island. The cliff. The chains.
First one, I was at the cliff. Sulli and Banks were chained.
Second one, Banks fell over while Sulli and I screamed for him.
Now this.
I dig the heel of my palm in my eyes as emotion begins to build. “I know, Dad, I know,” I whisper to myself. He’d be dishing out so much advice if he were here right now. Telling me to listen to these nightmares. They haunt me like they did before the three of us got together. Somewhere, deep down, I’m aware how much I need them. Love them.
I can’t shake it.
It’s in me deep, and maybe one day these will just stop. Right now, that seems unlikely.
I reach over and snatch a bottle of sleeping pills from my nightstand. My eyes graze the bed on the other side of the room. Empty. Banks still stays over in Sulli’s room, and I’m glad about that. I don’t want them to break-up.
I don’t want her to be alone.
I don’t want him to lose her.
Yawning into my arm, wind whips around me.
This time, I’m not asleep in a screwed-up nightmare.
I’m on the ski slopes.
Seven days have passed since I broke up with Sulli and Banks, and in that time, I’ve coped with sleeping pills and burying my head into work.
No new leads on the mole. Which means I’m not any closer to stopping another leak from hitting the internet. Plus side: I was able to open my gym for a couple days this week. Since I’m no longer Sulli’s bodyguard, I’ve had time to manage Studio 9 myself.
But sitting behind a desk all day, answering phone calls and welcoming potential new members with their “first day free” promos has been less than stellar.
It gives me way too much time to think about them.
So when Donnelly and Quinn pulled me out of bed this morning and said we’re going snowboarding, I didn’t combat them. Didn’t tell them not to take the day off for me.
They’re my roommates, my employees, but I also know they’re my friends.
Donnelly is snowboarding on an easier hill, off on his own, and I’m at the top of a Black Diamond with Quinn. Already unmounted from the ski lift, Quinn buckles his foot to the board.
Snowboard goggles on the front of my helmet, I bring them down as the sun casts a glare on the bright white slope. “You sure you can handle this one?” I ask him.
I’ve seen him on some decently difficult runs in the past, so I’m not too worried. But he’s never been on a Black Diamond with me.
“One-hundred percent. Outside of the gym, my sister and I would spend all day on the slopes. We’re big snow bunnies.”
I give him a sideways look with a near-smile. “
Back in my day, we called snow bunnies hot chicks who hang out at the lodge. Not six-foot-three Quinn Oliveiras.”
“Back in your day,” Quinn laughs. “Come on, Akara, you’re only like two years older than me—hardly a senior citizen.”
“I’m six years older,” I correct. “And your rabbity-ass is going down.” I wish I could compete with Sulli on the slopes, but at least Quinn is game for a good old-fashioned race.
Quinn is smiling as he puts on his goggles. “Catch me if you can, bro.” He’ll definitely be easy to spot. His helmet is a bright neon orange that matches his jacket and pants.
Oscar gave him shit for resembling a traffic cone, and Quinn just laughed it off. It reminded me about therapy. The scheduled therapy I have with Banks starts in a couple weeks, and I’m thinking about canceling it or…in the very least, move the start date.
Everything is too raw to hash out right now.
Quinn gives me a quick fist-bump before taking off with a laugh and exclamation of joy. He’s in high spirits after I let him know the good news on our drive here.
He’s going to be transferred to Baby Ripley’s detail.
Maximoff agreed to my proposal.
At least something is going right.
I hang on to that win. And I should follow Quinn fast—obviously, I’m racing—but something roots me here.
Them.
I balance on my snowboard and take out my phone. Check the news outlets. Nothing. I expel an agitated breath.
Over the past few days, I’ve texted Sulli and Banks reminding them to announce their relationship online. None of this works if the public still believes the leak.
I’m going to have to call them. Shit.
With a glove wedged under my armpit, I dial a number and press the cell to my ear.
Once the phone rings, panic escalates in me. I haven’t spoken to her in a week. One whole week. Barely even talked to Banks on comms.
The line clicks on the second ring. “Kits?” Sulli’s hopeful voice nearly tears me apart.
“Hold on a sec.” I put her on hold and call Banks.
He picks up on the third ring. “Akara,” he says, relieved.
I inhale a sharp breath and ignore skiers in pink vests who shuffle around me. “Wait for a second, Banks. I have Sulli on the other line.” I merge the calls with one click. “Okay, can you both hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” Banks says.
“Yeah,” Sulli replies. “What’s going on, Kits?”
“You’ve both been ignoring my texts.”
Silence bleeds over the line, and for a moment, I think they’ve hung up on me.
Then I hear Sulli’s strained breathing.
Don’t do this, Nine.
I blink back pain. “Hey, this isn’t up for negotiation,” I say lightly like we’re all still friends, even when I know we’re not. “I need you to announce your relationship.”
Banks lets out a rough noise. “You can shove that order up your ass. You’re gonna have to fire me.”
My hand clutches the cell tighter. Cold bites my exposed flesh. “Then you’re fired.”
“Kits!” Sulli yells. “You can’t fucking do that.”
I grind my teeth. “I know what you’re both doing,” I snap. They’re stalling. Hoping. Waiting. For me to change my mind. I tell them bluntly, “I’m not changing my mind. Announce your relationship or I’m going to start shifting Banks off your detail.”
Firing him is a crap bluff. It isn’t in me.
Silence again.
Then Sulli breathes, “How do we confirm it?”
“However you would’ve announced all three of us.”
“No, I won’t fucking do that,” she refutes.
“Then some way,” I snap. “I don’t care how as long as it gets done.”
“Why the rush, man?” Banks asks.
Because it hurts.
Because I need the door shut.
Because if I have a chance, I might run back. And I can’t. I can’t. This is how it was always supposed to be. They need to be happy without me.
“Just do it today,” I say coldly. Then I hang up.
I press the side of the phone to my forehead, gripping it tighter. AHHHHHH! I silently scream in my head. Nothing feels right. Even in my winter gear with my favorite snowboard beneath my boots, I feel sideways and bent.
I slip my phone back in my pocket, and with my glove back on, I take off—Quinn way ahead of me and out of sight. Wind whips against my face as I speed down the steep slope with precision and ease, shifting my body left and right.
For a mere second, troubles fall to the wayside and I just breathe.
And then I hear a guttural noise—a scream that pitches my mind back to the horrific sounds inside my dream. I’m dunked into dread. Until I realize the scream isn’t mine and it’s not in my head—it’s coming from somewhere further down the Black Diamond.
Birds squawk and flap away from treetops. The scream morphs into a groan, and my dread becomes nothing but urgency. Someone’s hurt.
Quinn.
It can’t be him.
He’s a fudging snow bunny.
It can’t be him.
I accelerate as fast as I can go without losing control of my board.
Halfway down, I easily spot the bright orange blob lying against a tree on the right bank. No. No. “QUINN!” I yell, crouching expertly and gaining more speed.
When I reach the tree line off to the right, I apply pressure to the edge of my board, coming to a stop, and I snap off my buckles. “Quinn, talk to me.” I whip off my goggles.
He groans, banging his head against the pile of snow. “I tried to…slow down, the tree.”
“Okay, okay—what hurts?” I pull out my phone to call the ski patrol.
He winces through his teeth. “My leg. I think…I must’ve just sprained my ankle…a little. I’m okay. I can…I can walk it off.” He’s about to vomit.
I talk to ski patrol and call in the accident on the Black Diamond. While I do, I silently wish Farrow were here right now to assess his injury. Fuck.
Shit.
I swear up and down in my head. “Okay, thanks.” I hang up. “Ski patrol is coming.”
“Is he okay?!” A couple girls slow on their skis.
Quinn makes a woozy smile. “Yeah…just a scratch. I’ll be…fine.”
“Oh…you’re Quinn Oliveira,” the girl in a purple puffer jacket gasps. “Are you sure you’re okay…?”
Great. Just great. The Casanova of SFO is attracting not two but suddenly five girls. They congregate around me and an immobile Quinn, but the purple-jacket girl is the only one who says her name: Nessa Nolan.
As the audience shouts over each other, I cut in, “Everyone shush.” Yeah, I just shushed them with zero bowls of Instant Regret. Quinn is my responsibility. He’s only twenty-two, and I need them to back off.
Shit, he’s been like a little brother to me. He’s my roommate. He said he was a fucking snow bunny?! How did he end up here?!
FUCK!
I swallow the curses, and while the girls quiet, I shift his oversized ski jacket that blends into his pants. Getting a better visual of his leg, and I go cold.
“Oh my God, his leg!” Nessa gasps, dropping to her knees at his side. “It shouldn’t be bent like that…is that his bone?” She turns to me, wide-eyed.
“I can’t look,” another girl says.
Yeah. His bone ripped through his pants.
“I can walk…” He blows out a measured breath. “Just…help me up, Akara.”
“No, don’t move. That’s an order.”
He pulls off his goggles, squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s fine….I promise, I can walk. I can walk.” He opens them on me, his desperation and pain clawing at me. “I’m going to work tomorrow…I’ll be there, on the dot. You don’t have to worry about me…” His nose flares, eyes welling up.
Mine burn. “It’s okay, just breathe, Quinn.”
“I’ll be there�
��you can still count on me for Pirate Parrot.” Pirate Parrot is the code name for Baby Ripley, which rarely ever needs to be used, but Quinn is smart enough not to mention him around these five girls. The more he sees my unease, the more he tries to stand up. “I can walk, Akara. I can—”
“No.” I put a hand on him.
“I can walk!” he screams, almost as excruciating as his first wail at the collision.
“Your leg is a pretzel,” I force out. “I’d rather carry your ass down this hill than see you hobble and break your face, okay?” My pulse is pounding, and his features twist in anguish. He almost tries to sit up again, but Nessa holds his other shoulder.
“Just wait, okay?” she says. “You’re really hurt, Quinn.”
I send a quick text to the Yale boys about the accident. “Let’s just get you to the ER.”
Quinn tries to ease, but he can’t. What this means for his job, his career, his future on SFO—only I have those answers. And my head is spinning, not even wanting to land on the dark reality.
“I see the ski patrol!” Nessa shouts. “Over here!”
“OVER HERE!” The girls wave.
“You’re going to be okay, Quinn,” Nessa says. “Just hold on.” She clutches his hand tight.
He nods through a pained grimace, then asks me, “Can you call my brother?”
A phone call with Oscar, a hospital ride, and an X-ray later, we all learn Quinn Oliveira broke his tibia in three pieces. Since it’s an open fracture, his surgery is scheduled later today and will probably include metal pins. At least six months of recovery.
A half a year without Quinn able to go on-duty.
He’s okay.
I try to hold on to the positive. Which is big. No head injury. No fatal wounds. Farrow already stopped by and examined the X-rays.
He left earlier, but I asked him if he thought the recovery time could be shaved. He told me under his breath, it’s a bad break. Six months is realistic.
Six months.
He’s okay.
Quinn lies on the hospital bed. Flowers overflow the room after his snowboard accident was leaked. This time The Royal Leaks wasn’t culpable.
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