Page 110 of Double Standards

I haven’t eaten. I haven’t slept. My body is wrecked from it, drained, hollow, brittle. I’ve spent every hour since in a vicious loop: guilt gnawing at my insides, grief tightening its grip. Trigger called it survivor’s guilt. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ll always carry this weight, even though I know I didn’t pull thetrigger. Even though I know I tried to save him. It just doesn’t feel like enough.

The duvet cocoons me as I roll over and shut my eyes to the world. I lose track of time. Hours pass. Light fades. Night seeps into the room like ink through water, the day starts all over again. It’s a vicious loop, one I can’t seem to break—grief dragging me under, guilt anchoring me in place, and the silence around me louder than any scream.

“Cass?” Lexie’s voice seeps into my conscious, soft and cautious. “I’ve made you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” I rasp, though my stomach twists at the scent of food.

The door creaks open anyway, and Lexie steps in, sitting gently on the edge of my bed. Her hand finds my leg, offering me comfort I don’t deserve.

I never got to have the traditional Christmas that was promised. The first real one with family since Cooper and I moved in together.

Back when my parents died and Lexie’s father took me in, he tried to make the holidays feel normal, even magical. He’d throw every mismatched, gaudy ornament onto the tree like it was some kind of competition, and Lexie and I would tease him for it. But then he’d cook—God, he could cook—and suddenly the chaos felt like home. Tamales next to turkey, arroz con gandules beside green bean casserole. It was this beautiful, messy blend of his heritage and the holidays we thought we were supposed to have. It becameourtradition, one filled with chaos and laughter.

Deep down—pushing my feelings about the actual holiday aside—it was something I was looking forward to. But now, it’s just another thing I’ve lost.

“You know, staying in here won’t change anything.”

I don’t answer. I don’t move.

“You can’t stay in here, Cass,” she urges, tapping my leg. “Come out. We can watch a movie.”

I mumble something unintelligible into my pillow.

“I bought ice cream,” she adds, her voice lifting like a peace offering.

I want to appreciate her effort. I do. But even ice cream sounds too sweet for the ache in my chest.

“Okay, I’ll compromise,” she sighs, not giving up.

Somewhere deep inside, I manage the faintest flicker of a smile. Lexie’s trying, even if it kills her. She’s been watching me like a hawk, checking in every hour. I’ve given her nothing in return but silence and shadows.

“If you come out from here, I will drive you to see Axel tomorrow.”

My breath catches. “The doctor said she’d call when he woke up,” I croak.

“Fuck the doctor.” She stands abruptly and rips the blanket from me in one swift motion. “If you want to see him, I’ll take you. But tonight, you need to meet me halfway. Eat something. Then sleep.”

She doesn’t say it, but I hear the worry in every syllable. I’ve barely functioned since Axel went down. And Lexie, who’s never had a kind word for The Five—is here, holding me up when I can’t stand on my own. That’s friendship. That’s love.

Trying to live normally while the man you’re falling for lies comatose in a hospital bed feels like pretending your soul hasn’t just been torn in half. I didn’t mean to fall for Axel. But the moment he collapsed—when blood soaked his shirt and I pressed my coat against his stomach like it could hold him together—it felt like a wrecking ball had smashed through every wall I’d built.

I saw him. The real him. Not the mobster. Not the mask. And somewhere along the way, I fell in love.

Lexie leads me out to the living room, where a blanket waits on the couch. Ice cream, popcorn, and Jurassic Park are already queued up. She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to. Her quiet presence is enough.

I curl up beside her and slowly let the silence settle. I don’ttalk. I barely eat. But I’m not alone anymore. And for the first time in days, I let myself drift off to sleep.

When I wake, sunlight filters through the blinds and soft music echoes from the kitchen. The scent of toast warms the air. I stretch and groan, every muscle stiff from sleeping on the couch, but somehow, I feel better. Not whole. But not broken beyond repair.

“You’re awake!” Lexie chirps, hands full with two mugs.

“Yeah,” I rasp, sitting up as she hands me one.

She nods toward the hallway with a grin. “Come on.”

“What?”

“You kept your end of the bargain,” she beams. “So I’m keeping mine. First, shower.”