Page 34 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

I look down at the sticky mess decorating not just my shirt but apparently also the shoulder of my cardigan, wanting to both laugh hysterically and burst into tears at the same time. The universe really does have a sense of humor.

"Of course I do," I say, my voice wobbling traitorously.

"That's the look I was going for. Applesauce chic.

Very in this season. All the top designers are doing it.

Baby food as an accessory. Revolutionary, right?

" The sarcasm drips from my voice, but there's an unmistakable edge of desperation beneath it.

Brea snorts. Glitzy immediately parks herself at my feet, her fluffy white tail swishing imperiously as she glares up at Brea like she's inexcusably late to an important appointment that Glitzy herself scheduled.

Brea narrows her eyes and glares right back at the cat, neither one willing to break the staring contest.

"I don't know what your problem is, Cat Boss, but unless you're gonna grab a diaper or hem a damn sleeve, stay outta my way," Brea tells Glitzy with the confidence of someone who refuses to be intimidated by fourteen pounds of entitled feline attitude.

She plucks Chloe from my arms with practiced ease, bouncing her gently against her hip as she heads toward the front room, navigating the cluttered hallway with the confidence of someone who's been here a hundred times before.

"Go sit your ass down before you fall over.

You look like you haven't slept in three days. "

"I can't. I've got a million things to do," I protest, trailing her helplessly through my own house. "I've got renderings due by tomorrow morning, and Marla moved the launch up to February, and there's so much hand-stitching to do on the samples. It's everywhere and the deadline is?—"

"You've also got applesauce in your hair," she adds over her shoulder, expertly dodging a pile of fashion magazines.

"Right above your left ear. And if you say one more word about renderings or deadlines, I'm going to personally sew you to that couch with your own expensive thread. Don't test me, Masters."

I open my mouth to argue, then shut it with an audible click of teeth. The fight drains out of me like air from a punctured balloon.

Instead, I blow out a long breath, shoulders sagging under the invisible weight I've been carrying. "I'm a mess. I know it. I just. . .I feel like I'm holding everything up with duct tape and coffee and sheer force of will at this point."

"Good news," she says, setting Chloe down gently on the colorful play mat in the living room and turning toward me with her hands planted firmly on her hips, stance wide like she's ready to physically block me if I try to run back to my studio.

"I brought reinforcements. Me. Also, caffeine and cookies.

The good kind from that bakery you love on Pike Street, the ones with the sea salt on top. "

I laugh, the sound watery and weak even to my own ears.

Brea crosses back to me and nudges me gently toward the couch, her touch firm but caring. "You can't do everything alone, Lia. You're allowed to ask for help. That's what friends are for."

"I'm not good at that," I admit, staring at my bare toes against the hardwood floor. "Asking for help makes me feel like I'm failing somehow."

"Yeah, I know. Which is why I showed up without waiting to be asked. You can thank your brother for that. He texted me that you were drowning. I wish you would have texted me yourself, Lia. I would have come earlier, before you hit crisis mode."

I sit down slowly, letting my head fall back against the couch cushions, feeling every tense muscle in my neck protest the movement.

Glitzy jumps up beside me with graceful precision, curling into a dramatic ball like she's also been emotionally taxed by my stubborn independence.

Her ice-blue eyes regard me with what feels like judgmental concern.

Brea flops down on the armrest, one leg swinging casually as she watches Chloe giggle and bat at the hanging toys on the play mat.

"You've got a baby who thinks you hung the moon and stars.

A cat who thinks she's your supervisor and probably files HR complaints about you in her kitty brain.

Two men who care about you in ways that would make most women swoon.

" She holds up a finger when I start to protest. "Before you deny it, don't forget you've already hinted at your feelings for both Devan and Tobias via text with Alexis and me weeks ago.

I'm not blind, boo. I see how your face changes when you talk about either of them.

Keep your secrets if you want, but Alexis and I got your back no matter what happens there.

With that said, you also have a career about to take off like a rocket.

You're doing great, L. Better than great. "

I smile. Just a little. The corners of my mouth lifting despite my exhaustion. I knew she and Alexis would have guessed that more had happened between the three of us than I've admitted out loud. I'm not surprised there. Those two miss nothing.

"I don't feel like I'm doing great," I reply, absently attempting to rub out the stubborn applesauce stain from my shirt with my thumb. "I feel like I'm barely treading water most days."

"You don't have to feel like you're conquering the world every day.

You just have to keep showing up. Girl, none of us are perfect.

You think I want to get up and go into the studio and produce music every single day?

Some days I want to throw Betsy out the window.

Or Alexis, well. . ." She pauses, tilting her head thoughtfully.

"She may be an exception, actually. That woman is a little obsessed with her writing cave.

I swear she'd live in there if Tor didn't physically drag her out sometimes. "

I look up at her and smile, because yeah, Alexis is a certified workhorse when it comes to her novels. That woman can disappear into fictional worlds for days. "Thank you. For coming. For knowing exactly what I needed."

She shrugs, like it's no big deal, but I see the genuine softness in her eyes beneath the casual exterior. "Anytime. You've got a tribe now, remember? People who love you. People who want to help."

I nod slowly, letting Chloe's infectious giggles fill the space like sunshine through a window, brightening even the darkest corners of my anxiety.

Brea's right, I am no longer an island unto myself. I'm a woman with a village willing to lend a hand, even when I'm too stubborn to ask for it.

My phone buzzes again from where I dropped it on the coffee table, and I glance at the screen, expecting another message from Devan or Tobias checking in. It's not either of them.

Ridley: Is my Luna there?

A lump catches in my throat at my brother's nickname for Brea.

I glance over at her, she's now crouched on the playmat, making Chloe giggle uncontrollably with exaggerated peek-a-boos and silly faces.

Glitzy supervises the proceedings like a disgruntled general from the couch arm, tail twitching occasionally to signal her continued disapproval.

Me: Yeah. She's here.

Ridley: You're welcome.

Me: Thank you.

There's a pause as dots appear and reappear on the screen, like he's typing and retyping, then:

Ridley: I love you more than anything. Always here for you.

I set the phone in my lap, eyes stinging with unexpected tears as I lean back again and let the moment settle around me like a familiar, comfortable blanket.

Through it all, through our parents' death, through the grief and the messy aftermath, Ridley has been there.

He took care of me when he should've been living his own carefree life, just barely starting in the NHL at twenty, carrying the weight of both our worlds on his shoulders.

He's protected me from everything he could, and even when I've tried to keep him at arm's length out of my own fear and pride, he's never let go of my hand.

I don't know how much longer I can keep my secret safe from him. From everyone. The weight of it sits heavy in my chest, pressing against my ribs with every breath.

No matter what's coming. . .I know he'll have my back.

Because he always has.

Even when I was too stubborn to see it.