Page 11

Kabir

Yep.

Same apartment.

Almost every night.

Probably in the same room.

Possibly the same fucking bed.

Perhaps Dylan could help me find some painless ways to die.

Because that’s what I wanted to do right now. I wanted to fucking—

“Zip it.”

I snapped out of my spiraling thoughts, looking over at Zane, who was nursing his whiskey and staring at me with what I could only describe as pure amusement.

“Hain?”

His head tilted slightly. “You’re speaking out loud, idiot.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face.

Fantastic. Now even my self-destructive monologues had an audience.

Zane just rolled his eyes and took another sip. No, gulp.

“What’s your damage? Why are you drinking?” I asked.

He chuckled and ran a finger over his neck tattoo. “That’s why.”

I leaned over the lounge couch, probably too close for his comfort, because I could practically feel his breath near my neck. I squinted at the ink on his skin.

I slumped—no, collapsed—back into the couch.

“What does it mean? It’s just numbers.” I slurred.

“It’s a date, you moron. Today’s… but from four years ago.”

I nodded solemnly. “Oh. Who died?”

“No one.”

“Did you die? Like… on the inside?” I tapped on my chest.

I wasn’t even aware of what I was saying anymore.

Zane snorted. “You could say that.”

Maybe I should get today’s date tattooed on my neck.

I definitely died a little today.

Or maybe just the month and year.

That sounds—

“Stupid.” Zane said, cutting off my thought.

I scowled. “Stop reading my mind.”

“Stop saying things that come to your head. Better yet… think in Hindi.”

Oh.

Shit.

Maybe I should.

“Or…” Zane took the glass I didn’t even realize I was holding and set it on the table. “You go back to your room and sleep this off.”

“Sleep what off?”

“Whatever your depressed ass is thinking about.”

I let out a slow breath, my head lolling back.

“I was just… Amelia.”

Her name escaped me. A breathless, half-broken whisper.

Shit.

I didn’t think I would ever get rid of this feeling. This was different from before.

Just her name on my lips made me want to have her on my lips.

Her anything, really.

Her forehead.

Her nose.

Her lips.

Her throat.

Her collarbone.

Her breas—

A hand slapped over my mouth.

“Jesus! Stop!” Zane hissed.

I snorted.

“Go to bed, Kabir. You’ve had enough to drink.”

I barely heard the muffled sounds of someone else walking into the lounge—but I was already closing my eyes.

A warmth spread across my cheek.

Fuck.

Had I slumped sideways onto the couch?

Was it warm because Zane had just vacated the spot?

Was I indirectly face-planted onto Zane’s ass?

“Yep.” A feminine voice. Amelia?

“Nope.” A grunt followed as arms wrapped around my shoulder. “Fucking help me, Lo.”

Suddenly I was upright.

“Jesus! You’re heavy when limp. Leo, get his phone!”

Oh, so it was the siblings.

“Where’s your huzzzband, Leooooora?” I slurred again.

“I’ve never seen him this drunk.” Leora said.

Where was my answer? Where was my boss?

“I have never seen him drunk… like, at all!”

I was sure Leora answered eventually. She was polite like that. But I had no recollection of the night after that.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was in my bed. Still in the clothes from last night, with a pounding headache.