Page 28

I avoid signing the final paperwork until I finally have a day off and can no longer pretend I’m too busy to look at it.

I call the nonprofit to let them know the signed contract is on the way, then I hole up on the couch and turn the TV on to my secret indulgence — a show called Unnatural about two firefighter brothers who investigate arsons they think have supernatural causes — and surround myself with junk food.

My stomach squirms and I stare unseeing at the show as I shove Doritos in my mouth.

It’s gonna be fine.

It is.

The clang of the doorbell yanks me out of a half sleep. I jerk upright. Are you still watching? My TV asks. A splitting headache jabs my temple immediately.

With a groan, I bury my face in the couch cushions. My mouth tastes like stale fake cheese powder and my throat is so dry it hurts to swallow. It’s not the worst wakeup I’ve had, but these days it’s as bad as it gets. Who the fuck would be ringing my doorbell at this time of the morning, anyway?

Ding-ding-ding!

“Fuck off ,” I growl at the mystery person who won’t leave my doorbell alone. My phone buzzes from where I dropped it in a pile of clothes and I fish it out.

Slow as the Titanic, my memory comes online.

Oh, shit. Fitzie!

“Took you long enough, asshole,” Fitzie snaps when I open the door. And then, “Holy shit, you look terrible.”

“You look —”

He looks the same as always — vertically challenged, curly red hair, gloss on his pouty lips. He’s wearing electric blue leggings and an oversized sweater, with a bag that’s almost the size of him slung over his shoulder.

“You look amazing,” I choke, yanking him in. “C’mere.”

“Ugh, emotions!” But he hugs me back, which is a win. “Don’t fucking cry on me. I swear to god if you get snot on this sweatshirt I’m gonna fight you.”

“Shut up. I need this.” I squeeze him until he squeaks. “My yearly dose of Felix.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pats my back begrudgingly.

When I manage to swallow back the sudden lump in my throat enough to face him, I let go.

Fitzie grabs my shoulders and leans in, nose flaring. “Ezra Pine, I say this with all the loving kindness of a best friend, but what is that godawful smell?”

I cringe. “Probably redbull.”

His gaze sharpens. “Let me inside right now. How bad is it? You’re not drinking, are you?”

“It’s fine! I’m fine. It’s not like that.” For once, it’s the truth. “I swear it’s only redbull.”

“So I won’t find your little depression nest on the couch?” he asks darkly.

“Well —”

Too late — Fitzie slides past me before I can protest and flicks on the light. I sigh. My apartment is a series of grim tableaus of a guy who hates cleaning and has way better things to do — like hang out at work and avoid his responsibilities.

Fitzie’s sharp eyes miss nothing. “Five day old bananas on the counter. Crusty dishes in the sink. Shoe dirt on the carpet. Ez, you’re hopeless.”

I slump into the wall. “Fuck, I know.”

“But you’re not spiraling. This is normal filth.” He drops his bag on the coffee table. “Disgusting, but normal.”

“I’m sorry! I meant to clean.”

I don’t miss the relief in his voice. Fitzie’s seen me at my absolute worst, before the court date when I wasn’t clean or dry yet and I was still reeling from Jasper’s betrayal.

In those days it was the coke keeping me up, not redbull — I wasn’t too bright, risking another conviction while on bail — and I chased it up with cheap beer and a heaping dose of self-pity.

The memory makes me shudder.

“You weren’t gonna clean, you enormous liar.” He huffs. “Don’t worry, I brought supplies — and you’ll help. I won’t sleep in filth.”

“Fuck me. Putting me to work in my own house.” I put my phone face-down on the side table. “I missed your texts. Didn’t sleep much last night after the energy drinks.”

“It’s fine. I took the bus from the airport.” He throws himself onto the couch. “You can make it up to me by driving me around while I’m here.”

“How long are you staying?” I’m a little hesitant to ask. Fitzie is a flight risk — a hint of attachment and he dips. I need to keep it chill.

“A month.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like it’s not the longest I’ve seen him in one go since he left.

“A whole month?” Not chill, not chill. Reel it back, dude. “Gonna have to charge your freeloading ass rent.”

“The gift of my presence not good enough for you?” He catches the expression on my face and groans, scrubbing a hand through his messy ginger curls. “No emotions! Stop that.”

“Shut up.” I nudge his knee with my socked foot. “I’m having them. You can’t stop me.”

“Go shower. You stink.” He pushes my foot away.

I get out of the shower feeling marginally better.

Or maybe it’s just that I feel better cause Fitzie’s here.

He’s already bouncing around the kitchen, humming as he fills the sink with soapy water and piles dishes into it.

The small, genuine smile when he catches sight of me is contagious, and I grin back at him.

“How are your classes?”

“Oh, the kids are amazing. But everyone else is horrible. I hate the parents. The teachers hate me.” He smirks. “That’s why I quit.”

That’s not what I expected to hear. “You quit ? Your dream job?”

Fitzie aggressively rips a long strip of paper towel off the roll. “Yep. I’m jobless, but on the plus side, I sleep through the night!”

I wince. “That bad?”

“Oh, Ez.” His mouth tightens, and a dark look sweeps over his face, so brief I barely catch it.

My stomach tightens. Fitzie used to get that look a lot, and I wished I could wipe the person who put that look on his face off the face of the planet.

But I didn’t have that power then, and I don’t now, either.

“It was worse,” he chirps. “But it’s all done, and I gave them a big ol’ middle finger on the way out.”

“So that’s why you’re here for a month?”

Are you moving back, is what I really want to ask, but Fitzie vocally hates Greenriver and I don’t blame him.

Any time I’ve broached the topic, he says stuff like Maybe when the asshole who gave me my name kicks the bucket I’ll move back so I can piss on his grave every day.

All with the sweetest smile on his face.

“Yep. Figuring out my next move.” He holds up a box of stale granola bars. “Are you eating real food?”

“Those are real food. They’ve got peanuts, and peanuts are nutritionally complete.”

“You’re talking about peanut butter , and those words don’t mean what you think they mean.” He drops the granola bars in a big black garbage bag. He wasn’t kidding about coming prepared.

I throw him a lifeline. “I eat at the club sometimes.”

“Comped?”

“Obviously.”

“The job is good?” he probes.

“It’s good. It’s great, actually. The team is awesome and the tips are unreal. The club has a ton of events and they run kink nights twice a week, but the vibes are chill.” I stop myself before I spill everything. “I’ll bring you by while you’re here.”

Fitzie’s eyebrows pull down. “Sounds too posh for me.”

“It’s not like that. You’ll fit in great, trust me.”

Whether he meets them as humans or monsters, I know everyone at The Sanctum will accept him just like they accepted me.