“Did you, ah . . .” Bennito clears his throat. “Did you need to stay in this room? There’s two beds. The other only has one.”
It’s sweet of him to offer. Maybe he thinks my relationship with Rafe is a lot less consensual than it looks. “I like sleeping with Rafe,” I tell him, even though we haven’t done it much. I don’t plan on letting Rafe escape my clutches all night. He needs to talk to someone, damn it. It’s not natural to get so quiet. Not after what happened. I’m still in shock myself and I barely knew the guy.
I give Bennito back his hat, take my bag of junk food and toiletries, and sit down on one side of Rafe’s bed, shutting the door between the rooms. With my comb, I detangle my hair slowly as Rafe showers. My curls are a rat’s nest but with some careful work of the comb, I’m able to get my hair to something decent. It’s a riot of natural sleep-waves, but at least it’s not snarled and matted.
Rafe’s still in the damn shower, so I lean back against the ugly headboard of the bed and pull out a chocolate bar. I’m starting to feel . . . I don’t know. It’s a mixture of depression and shock and loss and despair, and pity. Pity for Rafe, who has to be torn apart, and pity for myself, who could use a hug, and the person I want one from most has shut me out.
I think of Rose. My best friend, the only person in the world that I’m truly close to. My parents have always been distant workaholics, happy to pawn me off on daycare or a nanny or a babysitter so they could do their own thing. We’ve never been close, but Rose and I? We’re close.
Like Garcia and Rafe were close. My throat closes up and hot tears start to flood my eyes. What if I can’t save Rose? What am I going to do? A day or so ago, I felt in control. Like I could get the guy and save my best friend. Now I feel like all that control has disappeared. Rafe’s pushed me away, and all of my hopes for saving Rose hinge on him.
I think of Rafe, and how he must be feeling at the moment. Does he feel like Garcia’s death is my fault? Like I’m to blame? Unhappy, I shove a piece of chocolate in my mouth. Rose and I would always split a chocolate bar, because she couldn’t afford the calories, but she had a major sweet tooth. Whenever she was sad, she’d want chocolate. I guess it’s a habit I’m picking up. Unfortunately, the taste of chocolate reminds me of my missing bestie, and I put the rest of it aside.
I allow myself a bit of surreptitious weeping, but by the time the shower turns off, I’m done. I’m composed, too, and I want to be there for Rafe. However he needs me, in whatever capacity he needs me, I want to be there for him.
When Rafe comes out, though, he’s dressed. No sexy towel slung around his hips. No damp skin. He looks at me, and his eyes are a bit red-rimmed, and my heart aches for him. Then, he looks away and gestures at the door. “You should go hang with Bennito. Help him with the project.”
I sit up in bed, extending my legs because I know he likes to look at them. “I want to stay with you, Rafe. Please, talk to me.” I pat my side of the bed, indicating he should sit.
He grabs the TV remote and shakes his head. “I’m not in the mood, Ava.” He sits at a nearby table, flicks the TV on, and focuses his grim gaze on it.
Loud Spanish jabber from a TV show fills the room. I watch Rafe, but he seems determined to focus on the TV instead of me. I sit up and crawl forward on the bed. “Rafe, come on.”
“No, Ava.” His voice becomes hard and he finally looks at me again. His jaw flexes, and his entire expression is one of anger. “I don’t have time for a pity fuck right now, all right? You’ll still get Rose back, okay? No need to bargain with your body anymore.”
Each word slams into me like a fist. I gasp and recoil back on the bed, hurt making tears spring to my eyes again. “Fine,” I choke out. I gather my plastic bag full of things and contemplate where I can go. In the other room with Bennito, a stranger, so he can give me pitying looks, knowing I’ve been kicked out? I change my mind and head for the bathroom instead. If Rafe can hide in the shower, I can, too.
“Ava,” Rafe says, voice weary, but I slam the door behind me and lock it. I immediately turn the water on to drown out my tears, and wipe my eyes. Fuck him. Fuck all of this. I strip my clothing off and get in the shower. It’s ice cold and I don’t care. I still wash up, because being clean is a luxury. I shave everything—arms, legs, and even run the razor over my *, shaving everywhere. Fuck it.
By the time I turn the water off, I’m calm. Funny how an ice-cold shower can restore clarity to a hot temper. As I towel off, I realize what Rafe’s doing.