The humming lights stop sounding like background noise and start sounding like bees drilling into my skull. My jumpsuit itches. My lip gloss is gone. My skin feels too tight and my chest won’t open right.
I press my forehead to the cinderblock wall and close my eyes.
I think about Jett’s voice cracking when he yelled. About Benji’s hands shaking. About Rhys looking at me like he was choosing between saving me and saving himself.
I laugh. It comes out thin and cracked and sounds too much like crying.
Destiny doesn’t look over. She just says, “You’re not the worst thing you’ve ever done, y’know.”
I don’t answer.
Because for a minute there, I don’t believe her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Benji
They arrested her.
Dragged her out like she was nothing. Like she didn’t light up every dull inch of that sterile fucking room, or my whole goddamn world.
And now she’s behind bars and I’m standing here like an asshole while some clipboard-wielding lady tells me, “I’m sorry, sir. She’s being held overnight. The judge won’t be available to set bond until morning.”
Is that supposed to be okay? I’m just supposed to nod and walk away while they cage the only person who makes me feel human?
I take a deep breath, trying not to sound like I’m about to lose it. “I think there’s been a mistake. I can post whatever you need. Cash, card, wire transfer. I’ll figure it out. She can’t spend the night in a place like this.”
But it’s not a mistake. I know that. And she knows I know.
Her expression softens just a little, pitying. That makes it worse.
I turn, heart pounding, and spot Dr. Hartwell standing by the doors like some kind of broody guardian angel in a sweater.
I rush toward him. “Dr. Hartwell, you can do something, right? Have them release her under your supervision?”
He holds out a hand. “Benji. Rhys will do. It’s nice to formally meet you… just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”
Yeah. Same. I shake his hand.
“Judge won’t set bail till morning,” I say, barely holding it together. “But if there’s a way around it, house arrest, ankle monitor, whatever, I’ll take responsibility. I’ll sign anything. She shouldn’t be in a cell.”
Rhys gives me that intense therapist stare, peeling back my skin to look at the bones of what I’m feeling. It’s unnerving. “Let me speak with them.”
I nod. Clench my fists. Start pacing the lobby while he heads over to talk to the woman at the desk.
It takes less than two minutes. Too fast to be good news.
Rhys walks back, shaking his head before I even ask.
“She’s a repeat offender,” he says quietly. “That complicates things. They won’t consider special release without judicial review.”
Repeat offender. Right. Because she loves too hard, and the universe punishes her for it. Boots her teeth in while she’s choking on blood and glitter and still trying to smile.
I grip the back of a waiting room chair, trying not to snap the damn thing in half.
She’s in a cell right now. Probably cold. Probably pissed. Definitely scared shitless under all that glitter and bravado, even if she’d die before letting it show. And I’m here. Helpless. Powerless. Nothing to offer but pacing and promises and the quiet, gnawing fury in my chest.
But she’s not gonna spend one second longer in there than she has to. I’ll be back at sunrise. With bail, coffee, donuts. My whole fucking heart in a paper bag if that’s what it takes.
