Page 49 of Coco and the Misfits (The Candyverse #4)

ATTICUS

I ’m the first to arrive at my apartment which has become our usual meeting point these days. The concierge knows to open the door for the guys if they happen to arrive before me.

Dropping off my business case and shrugging off my suit jacket, I roll my shoulders, shedding the day’s stress.

I walk into my kitchen and feel Coco’s absence there like a phantom limb.

Nowadays, I always do. She was here only for a brief time and yet it feels as if her absence is abnormal and tragic. How the hell did I live in this apartment all these years without her? Even my plants on the terrace look sad.

It’s a fucking mystery.

Fighting off the sense of discomfort, the loneliness that now feels like an ill-fitting coat, I open my cupboards, take out glasses and drag the whiskey bottle toward me.

At least, the guys are coming. Having them around for these meetings is a life raft.

Who would have thought? Certainly not me, with my distant family and few contacts, only meeting to discuss business, my one-night or even one-hour hook-ups. My empty, meaningless life that had seemed all right until now, only for her to knock down the walls and let me see the ruins and devastation.

Melodramatic. I chuckle to myself just as the apartment door opens and Zach walks in. He grins when he finds me there and my heart settles.

He lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey, big man. What’s up?”

“All good.” I lift a glass in his direction. “Drink?”

“Sure. Man, your receptionist keeps undressing me with her eyes and then it’s always Mr. Ford this and Mr. Ford that. Have you fucked her?”

“Crass,” I mutter. He’s talking about Bridget. Coco thought I was involved with her and the thought makes me sick. “And I haven’t.”

“Good. I don’t like her. Got anything to eat?”

That makes me chuckle because it’s becoming a standard question. This kid is always hungry. “Check the fridge. You know where everything is. I think there are take-out leftovers.”

He ambles over with that easy grace of an athlete. “You never cook, do you?”

“I’m not good at it.”

“Something our mighty top alpha isn’t good at? Is that possible?”

I freeze. He has never called me that. Our top alpha. “I never said I’m good at everything,” I say carefully.

Am I reading too much into this?

He hums, taking out the leftover containers, then he turns around and freezes, too. “Is that okay?”

“The food, or what you just called me?”

“Both.”

I sigh and shake my head with a slow-spreading grin. “Want me to be your top alpha, pup?”

“You… sort of feel like one, you know.”

“Yeah.” I file that for later perusal. “So… any news?”

“Oh, yeah. I thought I’d better give it to you in person. More humane than way.” He licks his lips, taps his fingers on the container. “So… it turns out she likes me best.”

I slap the younger alpha on the back. “Come off it, pup.”

“You wish.”

Then Ryder opens the door. “What did I miss?’ He strides inside as if he owns the place.

Strangely, that doesn’t bother me at all. I… kinda like it, in fact.

I like them in my apartment. In my life.

The truth is, I find myself missing the guys when we skip a meeting.

We’re becoming fast friends. We have our drinks and discuss politics, sports, and art.

Ryder tells us about his projects, his clients, his ideas.

Zach is always full of energy, talking loudly about his favorite athletes, but also authors and artists.

The kid has many interests. And I tell them about my work, my ideas of expanding it, about my security updates at the bar, and about… myself.

Slowly, reluctantly, I’m opening up to them, and it feels right.

I honestly wouldn’t mind living with them and Coco.

Only, Coco seems to have withdrawn this past week.

That’s something I realize only after I ask Zach how their last evenings have been and find out that he hasn’t been invited over to her place. And Ryder, when asked, confesses that he’s depressed because he thought she had decided to ditch him in favor of keeping us two.

Which means the problem is not one of us.

She doesn’t want any of us.

It’s strange. She seemed happy to meet us every night for the past few weeks. We asked and she said she wants to give us a second chance.

“Is this because she thinks she has to choose one of us?” I ask. “Are we shooting ourselves in the foot by not telling her we’re willing to become a pack for her?”

“I don’t think it’s that.” Ryder frowns down at his drink.

“Oh, yeah? Then what?” Zach has one leg crossed over the other at the ankle and his foot has been bouncing for the past half hour. I’ve never seen him so nervous before.

I feel the same way. I only hide it better. The thought of losing Coco is inconceivable. The void she’d leave in my life would be a black hole in space, sucking away all the light.

“I think she’s struggling with something,” Ryder says.

“With what?” I’ve seen that shard of darkness in her, too, but I haven’t figured out what causes it.

“That phoenix I put on Zach? I’d like to put the same on her. To help her with her rebirth.”

“What are you talking about?” Zach grouses. “And for the record, I still don’t see why you put that bird on me.”

“Children.” Ryder rolls his eyes. “You’ve been hiding your true desires all your life, pup. You want a pack and a family, but your parents’ divorce scarred you. Just like something scarred our girl.” He frowns. “I’ll talk to her.”

“You?” I mutter.

His lips peel back. “Got a problem with that?”

“No, it’s just that…”

“I never seemed the chatty type?”

I shrug. “Something like that.”

“I speak when I have something to say. And Coco and I… we have unfinished business.”

“Meaning?”

“An unfinished conversation,” Ryder says. “I think I know what’s eating at her and I need to confront her.”

“What is it, then?”

“She doesn’t feel right in her skin.”

“She, what? Why?” Zach protests. “She’s the prettiest, cleverest, sweetest girl?—”

“She’s perfect,” I mutter.

“That’s what I hope she’ll tell me.” Ryder takes a drink from his glass. “She’s shining bright, but she has a dark splinter in her. It shapes her, molds her, makes her even more fascinating, but like every splinter, it hurts and can kill.”

“Goddammit, Ryder,” Zach grunts. “That’s too dark for me.”

“I didn’t know you were a poet,” I put in, more uneasy than I care to admit at his words and going for flippant. “Go and get that splinter out, will ya? I want our girl back.”