Page 19 of Swallow Your Sorries

My bones scream as my fist connects with the tinted glass,hard. Once, twice then—

“For fuck’s sake, we’re here!” Zedd bellows, gesturing to the sidewalk as Bae grabs my fist mid-strike.

I blink at the familiar street, lined with buildings from the former century.

So we were.

“Open the fucking door,” I rasp, but this time it’s calmer. More familiar to my ears.

The door locks click as I rip my fist from Bae’s grasp and stumble out onto the pavement.

It’s been two years.Two bloody years.I thought I could do it. I thought if I sat in the back, I could do it…

No one approaches me. No one says a word as I bend double, trying to shake those images from my mind. They know better.

I just need a minute.

And when a minute passes and I straighten, all eyes turn away from me to the reason why we ventured into the outskirts of town in the first place. Hale’s new club.

“This is Hale’s grand plan for independence?” Bae runs a hand through his elbow-length, straight black hair and arches a brow at the crumbling building.

“So much for distancing himself from the Pierrot name. Looks like he’s taking it to heart instead.” Zedd snorts, and despite his light tone, there’s disappointment in his golden eyes that turn to me accusatorially. “And you encouraged him? You encouragedthis?”

“Looks like you’re taking your name to heart too,” I say, bumping past him and into the dimly lit foyer of the club.

“Zaddy Zedd,” Étienne coos lowly.

“I could kill whoever the hell runs Beaussip for that one,” Zedd mumbles. “Everyone’s been hashtagging me with it.”

“I like it. Zaddy Zedd,” Bae sing-songs. “It has azingto it.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m nothing like my judgemental father if that’s what you’re hinting at,” Zedd says as the doorman gives us a once-over before letting us in without a word. Hale must’ve given him instructions, but even if he hadn’t, I can’t remember a time the Auclair face card’s been declined.

“Really?” I ask. “Lately it’s hard to tell you two apart. Two elderly, distinguished gentlemen. So concerned with legacy and reputation.”

Zedd stops walking, sticks his hands in his pockets, and observes me like the old man he’s turning into. “Is that what you think of me?”

“I don’t know, ask Hale.”

A silent look passes between us. There’s a crack forming between Zedd and Hale, and it’s growing more fragile with each passing week.

Maybe that’s why I indulged Hale since his bestie wouldn’t.

Maybe that’s why I’m a silent partner in this glorified brothel…

No. I’m not so altruistic. I helped Hale because I’m trying and failing to help myself after a half dozen therapists couldn’t.

“Now look who’s being judgemental.” Zedd cocks his head, a lock of his dirty blonde hair falling across his forehead. “I could say what I think of you lately too, but some things don’t need to be said.”

“Gentlemen! You made it.” Hale’s jolly voice booms to my left, but Zedd's and I’s gazes remain locked.

“We almost didn’t,” Zedd says, arching a brow at me before turning to Hale with zero enthusiasm.

To be fair, no one’s feigning excitement. Étienne hasn’t taken his eyes off his phone screen yet, and Bae’s expression is suspended between confusion and revulsion.

“What do you think?” Hale beams, glossing over Zedd’s comment, but he isn’t stupid. He’s charitable with his feigned ignorance, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

We glance around the old burlesque club, eyeing the grimy, yellowing, original wallpaper and peeling, damp-marked ceiling. The wooden floors have gouges so deep they qualify as craters and the air is heavy with a layer of musk that transcends the decades and the designer colognes the patrons have bathed in.

---