Chapter 24

Chapter 24
Alyssa
"Alyssa, did you hear me?"
I blink, my focus snapping back into place as Ashley throws back another shot of tequila like she's racing the clock.
Jesus.  
We've been at Rapture for maybe thirty minutes, and she's already locked into a spiral. Whatever went down back at the house is still clinging to her, heavy and unspoken.
I have no idea what it is yet.
But she didn't drag us out tonight just to avoid packing or kill time. 
She came to forget.
And every instinct I have tells me Gray's the reason.
Which means I'll have to wait her out until she's drunk enough to talk.
And with her tolerance, that might take the entire fucking night.
"I can't believe the guys let you go out without throwing a big-ass fit about it," Chelsea teases, sliding the straw between her lips and taking a slow sip of her strawberry margarita.
I take a long drink of water, the coolness grounding me. "I know. I honestly thought they would, especially since I've never been to a club before. But... they didn't seem to mind."
"Probably because Gray told them he had Luther bring us here," Ashley snaps, her voice sharp with bitterness as she practically yells over the music.
Yep. Gray fucked up.
Bad.
And judging by the way she spent the entire drive cussing out poor Luther like he personally betrayed her, she made sure he knew he was at the top of her shit list too.
Which is why he's now posted up against the wall nearest us—close enough to do his job, but far enough to stay out of her line of fire.
If I were him, I'd stay there all night.
Who knows when he'll be safe again.
"This is War's club," I add, glancing around the crowded room. "With everything going on, it's the safest, and honestly, the only place they would've let us go."
Ashley rolls her eyes hard. "Here we go, pretending we're not grown-ass women who can do whatever the hell we want."
She pulls out her phone, her finger rapidly tapping the Uber app like it won't open fast enough.
"I'm gonna get us an Uber. We should sneak off and go somewhere else. Like—somewhere they can't find us unless we want them to."
Chelsea snatches the device right out of her hand before she can act on the ridiculously stupid-ass idea.
"Girl, have you lost your mind?" she exclaims, her words just a little slurred. "You know there are, like, three prospects watching us and Luther. We wouldn't make it ten feet before we got caught."
Ashley doesn't protest. She just pouts and reaches for another shot of tequila, grabbing it from behind the empty glass she just slammed down.
I lift my brows, keeping my tone even. "So... are you ready to talk about what's really going on, Ash? Or are we still doing the whole avoiding thing?"
As much as I'd like to sit in this noisy, crowded-ass club all night, I'm ready for her to resolve whatever's going on with her and Gray so I can go home to my babies, relieve the nanny, and wait for my men to come home. 
Ashley doesn't look at either of us. Her fingers curl around the shot glass, slowly rolling the clear liquid along the rim. "He still loves her."
Chelsea stills, the humor draining out of her face. "Oh, shit. Christine?"
Ashley gives a short nod, eyes glued to the bar.
I frown, confusion tightening my brow. "Do you know that for sure—or are you assuming?"
She finally looks at me, hurt and anger flashing in her eyes.
"Bitch, I found his wedding ring," she confesses, the words scraping out of her. "And a photo of them at the altar. Shoved into some kind of fuckin' shrine box in the closet."
My chest constricts at the pain in her voice. "Ash..." I start gently, then stop myself. I don't want to invalidate her feelings, but I won't let her spiral go unchecked either. "Finding that would fuck with anyone. I get why you're hurt."
I hold her gaze. "But that doesn't automatically mean he still loves her. It means he hasn't dealt with his past yet—and those two things aren't always the same."
"Alyssa's right," Chelsea chimes in, leaning closer. "You know he's just another emotionally constipated man who still needs to clean up his baggage." She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. "And be real... as happy as he's been since you moved in, do you honestly think he'd still be in love with that evil bitch?"
Ashley lets out a short, humorless laugh. "I don't know." She shakes her head. "That's the problem. I don't fucking know."
"Then go home and talk to him," I tell her, giving her arm a light squeeze. "Ask him. Find out."
Ashley sighs, long and tired, the fight finally draining out of her. "I know," she relents. "I just... hate that I have to be the one to bring it up. I know he's gonna be mad I snooped through his shit—but it's not like I knew I was gonna find that."
"He's a big boy. He'll get over it," Chelsea reassures her in a matter-of-fact tone.
Ashley exhales, brushing her braids out of her face like she's filing the whole conversation away for later. Then she straightens, lifts her chin, and reaches for another shot.
"Okay," she says, slamming the empty glass down. "Enough feelings for one night. Let's dance."
Chelsea's already on her feet, grinning as she slides out of the booth beside her.
"You comin', Aly?" she asks.
I snort, shaking my head.
Me? Dancing?
Absolutely not.
Already knowing the answer, Ashley just grabs Chelsea's hand and drags her toward the dance floor.
I watch them until the crowd swallows them whole. I should probably feel uneasy being left alone—but then I catch Luther's eye. He gives a subtle nod.
The small knot in my chest loosens.
No matter what happens, I'm not alone.
And besides, I've received enough training from my men to kick someone's ass if they fuck with me anyway.
I turn back to my drink, letting myself breathe for the first time since we walked in.
That's when the energy in the room shifts.
It's barely noticeable—just a hitch in the air, a ripple moving through the crowd.
But I feel it before I see him.
I look up.
And there he is.
People part like the sea as War moves through the room, his leather cut tight against his broad shoulders, his expression carved from stone.
A face I've seen soften, even if no one else ever has.
Our eyes meet instantly.
Recognition flickers across his gaze—and instead of trying to avoid me like he usually does when he visits the clubhouse, he changes course and saunters straight toward the table.
I can't help the smile that slips free when he finally stops in front of me.
"Little psycho," he greets, his gray eyes glinting with mischief.
"Big asshole," I shoot back, my grin widening.
As much as I hate to admit it, I've missed him.
But I also know he needed space and time to grieve. That's the only reason I haven't followed through on my promise to kick his ass yet.
"Gray told me you'd be here," War drawls, one dark brow lifting. "Didn't buy it until now. You here to cause trouble in my club, little psycho?"
I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "Me? Never. I'm just here to supervise my friends and drink water like a responsible adult."
He lets out a deep chuckle. "Yeah. That tracks. You've always been real good at takin' care of everybody else."
A heavy beat settles between us, filled with memories from last year. 
Pain. 
Love.
Healing.
Moments between us that mattered—and still do—without needing to be anything more.
"How are you, War?" I ask, my eyes searching his face.
He smirks. "You see me breathin', don't you? Must be a good day."
Deflective asshole. 
Some things never change. 
But I don't push.
War isn't exactly an open book, but he's never been shy about sharing what's on his mind—no matter how rude and wildly inappropriate it is.
If he wanted to say more, he would. 
War clears his throat, interrupting my thoughts. "What about you? Ain't your wedding in, like, a week now or somethin'?"
I give a soft nod. "Yeah, it is." Then, after I pause, I add, "You're coming, right?"
His gaze holds mine for a second longer than necessary. "Wouldn't miss it, little psycho."
Relief settles deep in my chest.
I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath until now.
As weird as things have been between us, I wasn't sure he'd actually show up. 
But I'm happy as fuck that he is. 
A grin spreads across my face. "Good. Would've sucked not seeing my favorite asshole there."
He snorts. "Wouldn't wanna disappoint you... or the rest of your circus."
Just as I open my mouth to respond, my attention snags on the dance floor.
Ashley and Chelsea are both attempting to swing around a stripper pole, giggling uncontrollably while a pack of guys circle them, hooting and hollering like they actually think they're part of the night's entertainment. 
Fuck.
Time to shut this shit down before Gray walks in and starts shooting the place up.
War seems to read my mind.
He follows my line of sight to the dance floor, his expression hardening the second he clocks Ashley wrapped around the pole and Chelsea smacking her ass while cheering her on.
"Yeah," he growls low. "That's about to become a fuckin' problem." His gaze flicks back to me, sharp but calm. "You want me to handle it, or you got this?"
Actually, this seems more like a Luther problem—but Ashley's a lot less likely to bite my head off than she is his. 
And I'd rather not start a full-blown scene if I can avoid it.
"I've got it," I reassure him, sliding out of the booth. I catch Luther's eye and gesture towards the exit. "Luther, get the car started. We're leaving. Now."
Before I turn away, I give War a quick, hard squeeze. 
One that says "thank you for everything" and "I miss you" without putting any pressure on him to say it back.
He doesn't have to.
I already know he does. 
With one last glance over my shoulder, I head toward my drunk, out-of-control friends, certain he'll keep his word—and that I'll see him again soon.