Chapter 8 Eight
Chapter Eight
Lena’s POV
The couch cushions swallow me as I sink deeper, the bandage around my ankle tight but soothing, like a promise that the pain will fade if I just stay still. Sebastian’s words echo in the quiet apartment—Take care of yourself—gruff, almost tender, before he walked out without another glance. The door clicked shut twenty minutes ago, but I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin, the way his fingers were careful yet commanding as he wrapped the bandage. My pulse hasn’t settled since.
I stare at the ceiling, the cracked plaster mocking me with its ugly patterns, and try to process the day. My phone buzzes on the coffee table, jolting me out of my spiral. Avery’s name lights up the screen, and relief floods me.
Finally. I’ve been texting her all day—about Tessa, Sienna, Sebastian’s lecture, and the ankle—and she’s been radio silent. I swipe to answer, cradling the phone against my shoulder as I prop my foot on a pillow.
“Ave, oh my God, where have you been?” I blurt before she can speak. “My day was a disaster. Like, apocalyptic. Tessa’s a nightmare, Sienna showed up and threw shade like a pro, I sprained my ankle, and—get this—Sebastian drove me home and bandaged it. Bandaged it, Ave! I’m freaking out.”
“Whoa, slow down, babe,” Avery laughs, her voice bright but harried, the thump of bass and clinking glasses loud in the background. “I’m at work; it’s a zoo. Sienna? That bitch from Wes’s penthouse? And Sebastian… wait, Mr. Embers? Drove you home? Girl, you’re living a soap opera. Spill more later, but I need a favor. Like, a life-or-death favor.”
I groan, shifting to sit up, wincing as my ankle protests. “Avery, I’m half-dead on my couch with a swollen foot. What favor?”
“Okay, okay, hear me out,” she says, and I can picture her leaning against the bar, twirling a strand of her pink-streaked hair, batting her lashes at some customer for a bigger tip. “I forgot my lucky charm bracelet at home. The silver one with the little cocktail shaker charm? It’s on my nightstand. I’m swamped tonight—big VIP party, some tech bros throwing cash like it’s confetti—and I need it. It’s, like, my mojo. Without it, I’ll spill vodka on someone important, and I can’t afford to get fired. Please, Lena, you’re already home; just grab it and bring it to Onyx. Pleeeease?”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out. “Ave, I can barely walk. My ankle’s the size of a grapefruit. And Onyx is across the river. That’s a whole expedition.”
“I know, I know, I’m the worst,” she pleads, her voice dropping to that whiny tone she knows I can’t resist. “But you’re my bestie, my ride-or-die. I’ll owe you forever. I’ll make you margaritas for a month, buy you that cute blazer you eyed at the mall, whatever you want. Just this one thing, Lena. I’m begging you. It’ll take, what, an hour? An hour and a half tops with the PATH and a cab. Please, please, please?”
I sigh, rubbing my temple. The pain in my ankle throbs in rhythm with my headache, but Avery’s voice is so earnest, so desperate, I can’t say no. She’s been my rock since Wes’s betrayal—holding me while I cried, dragging me to Onyx that night, and pushing me to take this job even when I wanted to curl up and die.
The least I can do is hobble across town for her stupid bracelet. Besides, staying here means replaying Sebastian’s touch, his voice, and the almost-kiss that wasn’t. I need a distraction.
“Fine,” I grumble, already pushing myself up, biting my lip to stifle a yelp as my foot hits the floor. “But you owe me big. Like, dinner at that big fancy sushi place.”
“Yes! You’re an angel, a goddess, my hero!” Avery squeals, and I hear a muffled shout in the background—probably her boss yelling about orders. “It’s on the nightstand, little black box. Text me when you’re close; I’ll meet you at the staff entrance. Love you!”
“Love you too, you manipulative witch,” I mutter, but I’m smiling as I hang up.
Getting ready is a battle. I swap my work blouse for a loose black sweater and jeans, careful not to jostle the bandage. Sneakers instead of heels—one fits fine, the other stretches painfully over the swelling. I grab Avery’s bracelet from her nightstand, the silver cool in my palm, and stuff it into my pocket. The mirror in the hallway shows a mess: hair in a messy bun, face pale, and eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion. Whatever. I’m not trying to impress anyone tonight.
The cab ride to the PATH station is a nightmare—every pothole sends a jolt through my ankle, and the driver’s radio blares some talk show host ranting about politics. I grit my teeth, staring out at Hoboken’s quiet streets giving way to the city’s glow. The train is crowded, commuters are packed shoulder-to-shoulder, and I lean against a pole, trying not to put weight on my bad foot. A guy in a suit offers his seat, and I take it with a grateful nod, ignoring the way his eyes linger.
Manhattan hits like a sensory overload—neon signs, honking taxis, and the smell of street vendors hawking halal and hot dogs. I hail another cab to Onyx, the club pulsing in the distance, its black facade lit with purple LEDs. The line outside snakes around the block, twenty-somethings in tight dresses and designer sneakers, all buzzing with anticipation. I limp to the staff entrance, a dingy alley door marked with a faded “Employees Only” sign. My phone buzzes—Avery.
Here yet? I’m dying without my mojo!
Alley. "Hurry up, cripple on duty," I text back, leaning against the brick wall. The air smells of garbage and cigarette smoke, but the bass from inside thrums through the ground, vibrating in my chest.
The door swings open, and Avery bursts out, her hair a wild electric blue tonight, streaked with glitter. She’s in her work uniform—black crop top, leather skirt, fishnets—and her face lights up when she sees me. “Lena! You’re my savior!” She throws her arms around me, nearly knocking me over.
“Easy,” I laugh, wincing as I steady myself. “Your bracelet, oh great one.” I fish it out of my pocket and hand it over.
She clasps it on her wrist, kissing the little cocktail charm. “Yes! I’m unstoppable now. You’re the best. How’s the ankle? You look like you’ve been through war.”
“Feels like it,” I say, shifting my weight. “The first day was a shitshow. Tessa’s out for blood, Sienna’s a walking venom vial, and Sebastian… God, I can’t even. He bandaged my ankle, Ave. Like, knelt on my floor and did it himself.”
Her eyes widen, sparkling with mischief. “Shut up. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Billionaire? On his knees? Lena, that’s hot. Tell me everything.”
“Not here,” I say, glancing at the alley. A couple of staff members smoke nearby, eyeing us. “It’s complicated. He’s cold one minute, then… this. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he just left. Said, ‘Take care of yourself,’ like I’m a project he’s done with.”
Avery snorts, adjusting her bracelet. “He’s playing you, babe. Or he’s fighting it. Either way, you’re under his skin. But seriously, thank you for this. I have to get back—VIPs are demanding custom cocktails, and I’m swamped. Are you coming in? First drink’s on me.”
I shake my head. “Can’t. My ankle’s killing me, and I’m dead on my feet. Just want to go home and pass out.”
“Fair,” she says, hugging me again, gentler this time. “Text me when you’re back. We’re dissecting this Sebastian thing tomorrow. Love you!”
She disappears inside, the door slamming shut. I’m alone in the alley, the city’s pulse loud around me, my ankle throbbing with every heartbeat.