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“Don’t worry, this one is said to cause extreme levels of euphoria. Just like the club name. It’s a sign!”

“I’ll try it… but I swear, Cassie, if this shit lands me in the ER again?—”

“It won’t. Chill. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

I’m playing it cool, sipping from my latte as the girls’ conversation shifts to another topic. For most of the day I’ve been investigating Rafael and his background. It’s funny that a development on the other recent news story I’ve been researching—the mafia and these alleged drug shipments—has fallen into my lap.

The question is, do I dare follow this latest lead?

* * *

Jayla’s lounging on the couch when I get home. She’s gone on a hiatus from the salon since her sprained ankle and fractured rib make the task of doing hair much more difficult. As the door opens and I walk through, she sits up and flips off the TV.

“You okay, sissy?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Cheng was on the news. Not you.”

I toss my purse onto the loveseat and crash down along with it. “Oh, that. I left early. Sick leave.”

“Again?”

“You sound like Baron.”

“You’ve been…” Jayla pauses as if to choose her next words carefully. Her normally feathered Halle Berry-style pixie cut is disheveled from hours of lying on the couch. “Ever since the whole yacht thing, girl, you’ve been off.”

“You were the one who almost decided not to go. It turns out your premonition was right.”

“Nobody could’ve predicted what happened there.”

“But your intuition was telling you something.”

“Please, I was just down about turning thirty-two. It had nothing to do with the party itself.”

I frown. “It… it didn’t?”

“You and Rafael broke up over it.” She sighs with a shake of her head.

“Because you were hurt!”

“And did Rafael hurt me himself… or was it whoever the crazy was who planted the bomb? By the way, the detective on the case called earlier. No new leads.”

“Not surprising.”

“I don’t want you using me as an excuse to end the relationship,” Jayla says. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Truthfully, I’m not even sure why I ended things the way I did.

In the days since, Rafael has reached out to talk. He’s had more flowers sent to the apartment. I haven’t responded to any of his attempts.

My suspicions have gone nowhere. They’ve been on hyperdrive since I’ve started digging into his life.

But another, more honest part of me recognizes what else is true too—I used the yacht incident and Jayla’s injury as an excuse to put distance between us. It was another defensive mechanism of mine, acting out of past trauma and hurt.

It always circles back to Lincoln and our failed marriage.

Basically all of my failed relationships with men.