Page 19 of The Viper
“Neither is living in a cage.”
Carrie’s voice cut in again, firmer this time. “Hey. Enough.” She set her cup down and planted herself between us. “You both love each other, which is the only reason this hasn’t turned into a viral sister meltdown yet.”
We stared at her.
She sighed. “Look, it could’ve been worse. That guy really did spike your drink. You didn’t drink it, and you’re here, so let’s start with gratitude.”
The room tilted for a second, the memory slicing through me. The man in uniform, charming, disarming. The glint of his wrist as he lifted his glass. The stranger’s hand clamping over mine—steady, sure, saving.
“I keep replaying it,” I admitted. “That moment. The sound when his fist hit. The way he disappeared right after, like—like he didn’t even want me to thank him.”
“Probably didn’t,” Hannah said, the bite gone from her voice now. “Probably didn’t want to be recognized.”
“Still,” Carrie murmured. “He saved your life.”
I stared at the wall, my pulse uneven. “Maybe.”
Hannah sank onto the edge of the bed, suddenly looking her age again. “Do you realize what would’ve happened if you’d actually drunk that?”
I didn’t answer.
Her hand found mine. “Promise me, Lexi. No more disappearing acts.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I promise.”
Carrie exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time. “Good. Then we’re going to eat, shower, and face Franklin. He might be pissed.”
That earned a reluctant nod from both of us.
The kitchen smelled like toast and tension. The three of us sat around the farmhouse table, the morning light painting gold stripes across the worn wood. My phone lay between us, face-down. The monster under glass.
“You should look,” Hannah said, her tone softer now. “It’s already out there. You can’t hide from it.”
“I know,” I murmured, flipping it over.
The notifications were endless. Gossip accounts. Fan edits. Slow-motion clips of the punch. My own face frozen mid-shock, mouth open, eyes wide. The comments were worse.
—She’s drunk again.
— Is that her new man?
— Poor Lexi. Always chaos.
— That uniform guy’s career is over.
I scrolled until my stomach turned, then shoved the phone away. “They make up their own stories, anyway.”
“That’s what the mute button’s for,” Carrie said gently.
Hannah took a sip of coffee, still watching me. “You should post something neutral. A thanks for concern, nothing major. It’ll calm the press.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll do it,” she corrected.
