Chapter 45

I woke up to the sound of monitors beeping. Over. And over. And over. I forced myself to open my eyes, so I could yell for silence properly. But when I did, I thought I must have been hallucinating.

Savannah was sitting cross-legged on my bed playing war with her brother. The hospital gown she was wearing was clearly not standard issue, far nicer than anything I had ever seen on a patient, even if it still was just a gown that fastened in the back. She was crowing about kicking his ass when I managed to choke out my first words: "You cheated."

Savannah and Sean looked at me and then Savannah threw down her cards and laughed. "Took you fucking long enough. I was shot through the chest and I've been up for hours."

"Show off," I muttered, coughing a little. My throat didn't seem to want to work properly. Sean quickly got up to get a glass of water. "How long were we out for?"

"Three days."

"Not bad." Not too bad at all considering both of them had been dead. "Everyone's okay then?"

"Bryce and I are fine. He's still a little out of it—and then You-Know-Who wanted to talk to him just now, so he's probably wishing we had just let him die. Leech is mostly okay, except for when he's not. The bad guys are dead, we think, though we aren't sure how many of them there were supposed to be so the Cabals are still looking, just in case. And...did I forget anyone?"

"Paulson?"

She sat down on the bed and began picking at the blanket. "They found his body in Bryce's car at some girl's house. Thomas came with her dad to identify the body, which is why he's been making himself annoying here."

"Here you are," Sean said, handing me the glass of water.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I should probably go check on my brother..."

But he didn't leave, just glanced at his sister, trying to tell her something without letting me know what it was. Savannah just stared, uncomprehending. I averted my eyes when Sean started using sign language.

Savannah snorted. "You can stay if you want, Sean. Gillian won't care."

His lips became a thin line. Evidently, he thought I should.

"Fine, fine," Savannah waved him on. "Go. Leave us to girl talk."

When Sean closed the door behind him, I burst out: "The whole dying thing must have affected you more than we thought. Because the two of us don't girl talk. Like, ever."

"I know that and you know that but Sean doesn't so...he wanted me to tell you that oh-so unfortunately you lost the baby when you did whatever crazy magic healing spell that Bryce, Leech and me all refuse to tell them more about. I think a doctor is going to come around and tell you soon, so you should probably start practicing the fake crying."

"So for sure they don't know about...anything?"

"Well, no one's killed either of us, or tried to extract the key of immortality from us, so I think we're safe." Her face took on a serious expression I so rarely saw on her. "That was really stupid, lying to Thomas like that."

"It was Bryce's idea. Sort of."

"He wouldn't have gotten killed if it had gone wrong. You really are a mess without me."

"That's what I've been saying for years."

She went back to picking at the blanket. "The bodyguard of the salty goodness said hi and he hoped you were getting better."

But because she didn't immediately start wondering if I had slept with him too, I knew there was something more coming. I was right. "He...asked me to remind you that your mother had requested that you call her when I was found. So...I passed on the message."

"Thanks, Savannah."

"You don't have to talk to that bi—but you could, I mean, if you wanted to, I don't care. Whatever you want."

"Does it make me really stupid for wanting to?"

Her blue eyes looked at me frankly: "If I didn't think it would piss her off, I'd be willing to risk killing myself again just to talk to Mom for five more minutes. I guess I can see why you might want to talk to your mom for a second. The bodyguard gave me a phone, if you want."

A cellphone lay on the bedside table beside me. When she saw me looking, Savannah reached over and got it for me.

"I'm going to go check in on Leech. His crazy psycho father is probably still lurking around so I'm sure he'd like some actual good company."

I said goodbye and then went through phone, looking for the number of the hotel. As I suspected, Grant had programmed the number in for me. The concierge was eager to help me reach my mother (especially since I mentioned I had been staying with them as part of the very large army that was currently paying everyone's salary). My luck didn't hold. My mother answered the phone.

When I told her Savannah was all right, she seemed happy enough that I kept talking to her, asking how her vacation was going. It was a bit like starting an avalanche; this vacation was probably the nicest thing that had happened to Lynsay in her life and she was delighted to be talking about it.

And, to my surprise, I found myself laughing out loud at some of the crazier things she had Kritsty had gotten up to in L.A.

As we talked, I realized something: I really did like Lynsay. Don't get me wrong, she was still officially one of the worst mothers on the planet. But as a gossipy acquaintance? She kind of rocked. Maybe I was too desperate for some flesh and blood family, but I think I was going to take what I could get.

She didn't love Dana—Dana didn't love her. But I wasn't Dana. And yeah, it had taken me way too long to figure that out, but there was no denying it anymore. I wasn't my sister and as long as I didn't expect actually mothering from Lynsay, we might be able to do all right.

She must have thought so too, because when the conversation wound down, she said, "If you're ever around, sugar, feel free to drop by. I wouldn't mind putting you up for a night or two."

It was the best she could do. It wasn't much, but she was trying her hardest and I needed to forgive her.

"Will do, Mom. And if you're ever in L.A. again, give me a call."

"What's the phone number?"

I told her; I think I even heard her write it down. It didn't change what had happened between us, nothing could. But trying to ignore her entirely hadn't helped me at all, so something had to change. I would see where this led us.

After the doctor came by and I gave the performance of my lifetime, I let myself take a nap. Faking heart-break was hard work; and there was part of me that wasn't faking the feeling of loss that kept washing over me. No wonder I fell asleep.

When the knock sounded on the door, it was three hours later.

"Come in," I called.

I was too tired to hide my surprise at seeing Alba enter my room and too surprised to be frightened, though the part of me that remembered Nadira's face just before she died was telling me I should be.

"Thomas thinks I came to visit you two nights ago, so the doctors think they are lying to you, when they tell you it was just a natural side effect of whatever it is you did. They don't know what happened, so they're just guessing, and I'm doing my best to lead them in the direction we want them but it would be easier for me if I knew—"

"I can't tell you what we did; I'm sure Bryce has already told you that."

"I didn't ask," she said, pretending to be offended. "As I said, they've accepted what I've told them about your poor health, as well as Bryce's request that the rest of the shamans leave you alone, so that should be everything. Oh, and if you attempt to interfere with this company and its resources ever again, I will kill you."

"If I leave without demanding anything, Thomas might get suspicious. But once he pays me off, you won't have to worry about me."

"I wish that was the truth," she said as she sat down on the chair beside my bed.

I wasn't sure how to take that, so I just said: "Savannah said Thomas was talking to him. I don't think that's a good idea."

"Sometimes even Thomas realizes there's too much at stake. He didn't become CEO for nothing. Right now, he's fixing this. Bryce will forgive him—he may even understand. Whether he does or not, everything will go back to the way it was before you."

Understand? I really couldn't see what Thomas could possibly say that would get his grandson to forgive him, let alone agree with the decision, but I held my tongue about that.

"Doesn't it bother you that the way it was before sucked?"

"Why do you say that? If Sean becomes the head of the Nast Cabal, shamans—and those with actual talent, in general—will have a much better chance of reaching the board of directors than they have ever had before. And that will be good for everyone."

I was starting to think she had agreed to go along with Bryce's plan just to keep an eye on me. Maybe he was right, she did feel oddly responsible for the girls the company tried to destroy on a regular basis. But she also had to make sure I wasn't a threat, that I couldn't try and take him away. Because Sean needed an heir.

"Thank you for your help," was all I said. She accepted my thanks gracefully and took her leave.

As I got dressed in the clothes they had set out for me, I started to think Lynsay was right, as funny as it sounded. Lynsay was right and the Cabals were wrong.

Sure, with money and power and a sometimes even a little charm, you could encourage someone to be loyal or to forgive you or even to love you. But I think Lynsay was right. The last little step, that had to be all you, or it didn't mean anything. Whatever she might have said in defence of their treatment of the Eisenbergs, I don't think Alba knew that. She thought I could have taken him away by fluttering my eyes. Bryce would never learn otherwise. The whole company would go on thinking the way it always had: you could make people do what you wanted them too.

And when it all went wrong, when there was another dead runaway in the streets because their arrogance blinded them to all threats, they would just clean up the mess and go on thinking as they had always done.

I felt sorry for them.

Climbing out of bed, I headed out to thank Leech and make sure Bryce survived whatever it was his grandfather decided to do him this time. The hallway stretched out on either side of my door. One side had more noise coming from it than the other, so I figured that's where the lobby was. So Leech's room would be...

How could I get lost in a building this small? I had no idea but apparently I was managing. Eventually, though, I ran into Hollis.

The necromancer didn't seem pleased to see me, but he was the one who spoke first:

"Can I help you?"

"Is Martin awake now?"

"Claire is leaving soon; they wanted their privacy."

"Oh. Well, if you see him before I do, tell him I hope he's okay."

Hollis nodded. For a second, he appeared less evil, despite the moustache. "The inner family has rooms in the back so as not to be disturbed. Turn left, then right at the second hall and you'll be there."

"Thank you," he left me calling to his retreating back. Cabal employees—always helpful, always rude.

Even with Hollis' instructions, I still had to ask one of the nurses where to go. He hesitated, but gave in eventually, assuming that if I had the guts to ask, I must have the authorization as well. I didn't bother to explain I was just crazy about some things.

There were three doors at the end of the hallway and Grant was not standing in front of any of them. Two of the doors were closed, so I went to the one that was opened, assuming Bryce would be in that room.

Only he wasn't.

Thomas was sitting in a very comfortable looking sitting room, coffee on the table in front of him, and an ever-smiling secretary across from him. On seeing me, because of course I hadn't bothered to be sneaky, Thomas scowled.

But he did speak to me. Not things I wanted to hear, but still. It was impressive, for him.

"We have some business to discuss, don't we girl?"

"I guess we do."

Sherri put her hand on his shoulder, touched him like he was an actual human being and not the scary CEO monster that haunted my dreams, and interrupted us.

"You can discuss that after. Don't you think?"

If anything, Thomas's scowl deepened. She seemed to take that as a sign he agreed with her, though.

"Two doors over, dearie."

I shut that door as quickly as I could.

When I reached the other door, I knocked.

Grant opened it, so I knew I had finally reached the right place. The bodyguard smiled when he saw me, glad I was alive and more: "I knew we wouldn't be able to get out of saying goodbye to you."

"You're leaving?"

Inside the room, which was four times as big as the very generously sized room I had been in, Bryce was standing by the window, tying up thousand dollar Italian loafers as he stood around in dress pants. The cross on his back didn't really seem to fit with the reserved clothing. Someone had brought him a clothing rack, one filled with suits. Or it had been, before he had tossed most of them onto the comfortable chairs around the room.

I had addressed the question to Grant and when he was certain his boss wasn't going to respond, Grant answered. "Thomas arranged a flight back to New York for us. It leaves in three hours. With the traffic, we thought it best to leave as soon as possible."

"I see."

"The East Coast division can't run itself." Bryce couldn't even turn away from the window as he repeated their bullshit.

"Have a safe trip," I told Grant.

"Thank you. Take care of yourself, Miss MacArthur." He looked so stern I found myself nodding. "Go to class. Eat more often. I made you a list, if you'd like."

"Really?"

He pulled out of a sheet of paper and handed it to me. The whole thing was very Grant-ish: strong, easy to read script, evenly written, expressing things directly, and just a little bit eloquently. All the tiny little things I forgot to do for myself that I really shouldn't. I hugged him and though he stayed there stiffly for a moment, he eventually hugged me back. He even patted me on the head.

"You two are so touching I might cry."

I flipped Bryce off behind Grant's back, though the bodyguard must have known because he shot me a warning look before he turned the full force of his disapproval on Bryce, who went back to staring out the window.

"If you don't mind, sir, I should go make sure the car has arrived."

He finally turned around to dismiss Grant. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Certainly." Then: "Don't be stubborn just for the sake of it, Bryce."

Grant waved to me and then shut the door behind him.

I headed over to the clothing rack, to give my hands something to do. "Are you sorry you came back?"

Bryce came up beside me, carefully not touching me, and began picking through the dress shirts. They all looked the same, really, but it was the subtleties that they could crucify you for, so he was careful about it.

"Of course not. I just...it made the most sense. The two of you..." I guess we had been heart-warming. "I couldn't think of why I wanted to come back, besides the fact I was supposed to want to. Why should one of you die for me when I couldn't come up with a single reason to stay alive? But I'm not sorry I came back."

"No regrets and all that."

"Something like that."

"I ran into your grandfather." My voice went up three octaves as I tried to pretend everything was all right. "Guess he brought in Sherri to comfort him which—ew. I hope they decided the comforting should take place not two doors away from you."

"He's never slept with Sherri."

"You said—"

"Well, I was wrong. Grandpa wouldn't have...he never did anything with her, except convince her not to retire. There are rules against sleeping with your sister-in-law."

"You're grandmother wasn't a shaman."

"No, she wasn't." He bit his lip, but I already knew far too much. What was one more thing? "Apparently, she wasn't even his first wife."

Apparently you could keep secrets in the Cabal world. Pretty dark-haired girl with sad eyes and blood. Oh god. "She tried to swallow a gun and—it worked."

He stopped shrugging on the dress shirt he had picked out and actually condescended to look at me for the first time since I had entered. "He still thinks he should have known it was coming. I think he finds it more comforting to think his father had it done to protect the company than to think she just couldn't hack it and he didn't notice."

"Did your great-grandfather...?"

"Maybe. Grandpa doesn't know. He says the guy did, though. How is thinking of your dad as a monster comforting?" Bryce knew, like I did—that way it wasn't your fault for not noticing. "I guess you can't really blame him for wanting to think that way."

"Please tell me you didn't buy that—so what his wife blew her head off? Cry me a river. That doesn't give him the right to do...whatever it is he does to you."

There might have been blood on Thomas' hands, but he was trying to give absolution to his sons and to their sons. They would never have to take responsibility for their callousness, for their arrogance, for their selfish impulses that the family encouraged. Thomas thought it was a gift, making his family stronger. Thomas was an idiot. All it did was deny them any opportunity to grow up, to stop thinking they deserved to have everything handed to them because of their stupid last name.

Now that Bryce understood why Thomas had lost it at the thought of his grandson being with a witch whose father had taken a razor blade to his own wrists, he had forgiven Thomas without even blinking. So what if the old man had wanted to murder his unborn child? Bryce was fine with it. I wondered if it was even true; I would have lied, why wouldn't Thomas Nast?

"You're adorable when you try to be morally outraged."

"Shut up. I'm trying to...whatever, you don't care. Could please make sure your employees stop acting bipolar around me?"

"Who's been bothering you now?"

"Alba. Hollis. Plus, I'm sure Sean's going to call me a whore again. He can't seem to help himself." I sat myself down on the hospital bed. I was tired and it looked ridiculously comfortable. It was. Laying down and stretching out, I continued, "You really need to get him to stop. It makes me think that nobody loves me."

Keeping my eyes closed, I finished stretching out my back, cramped from the funny way I had fallen asleep, not wanting to see the pitying look in his face. It was poor word choice; nothing more. I had never expected anything from him; I wasn't dumb enough to start now.

But when I did open my eyes, Bryce wasn't scowling. He was just shaking his head, eyes fixed on me, studying me. Always looking at me, and not always displeased with what he saw despite what he said. He opened his mouth, once, twice and then just blurted it out:

"Come with me to New York."

I managed the intelligent response: "What?"

"Come to New York. Finish up the semester and when you're done come out east. I could talk to a few people about getting you a job somewhere where you can read all those musty books to your heart's content. And after the summer's over, if you wanted to stay, I'm sure I could get you into Columbia to finish up your degree. If they let me into Harvard, the Ivy League will take anyone."

What skill was it that let him say all of that like it was perfectly reasonable? Like it was the smartest thing I could do? Like it would be easy? "You're asking me to move across the country? Just so...to be with you."

"That would be the idea, yes." His lips curled upwards. "If you're seeing someone else from New York, it would help that too."

Not that I was terrified at how serious Bryce was being, but I was pretty damn terrified. He barely knew me, except to know I was an emotional disaster and the people I cared about ended up dead. But I don't think he cared about any of that.

"You don't think it would kill me?"

"It's not about dying, you said. I believe you; you're tougher than you look. I think you can handle it. Or you can pretend well enough that you'd convince anyone."

"You're grandfather would kill me."

"Only if you interfere with business."

That was the nice way of saying I was only ever going to be—and this was the absolute best case scenario—his mistress. He would probably make sure I had the best of everything and openly introduce me to his wife (I'd probably get along better with her than he would, because I could fake politeness and he wouldn't) and the rest of the world, but I would never officially count as much as she would.

It said something about me that I still found the idea slightly tempting. More than slightly tempting.

It was everything I had ever wanted. Financially, I would be so secure it would be obscene, with more money than I could count and no chance of it ever running out. There would be no soup kitchens in that future. Accessories and clothing that I currently couldn't afford to buy knockoffs of could be mine. But the financial security was less appealing than the other sort of security he was offering.

I would have a home. A beautiful home, a place to stay that would be all my own. And Bryce wouldn't change his mind and run away, if only because he was too damn stubborn to ever do that. He might try and drive me out, eventually, but he would never leave.

He would never leave me. Or the company. That was just how he was built.

Was it funny that my favorite thing about him was also the thing I hated most? Or was it just sad?

"Thank you. It's very kind—"

"I get it. Don't worry about it. Grant'll be disappointed, but he'll get over it."

"Grant?"

"He kept—I think he just wanted an excuse to watch out for you. I told him it was a dumb idea to ask; I thought you'd say yes. You usually chose the stupid option."

"I want to. Even if you think it's stupid."

"Of course you want to come. World at your tiny little feet."

"Not because of that, you idiot." He knew; but I wasn't afraid to say it like he was. "I want to go because of you. I just refuse to watch you be miserable for the rest of eternity. Believe it or not, I have finally had my fill of sharing the people I care about with the Cabals. It sucks and...I have to stop. But if I had agreed, it wouldn't have been because of the money." I couldn't help adding, "Though the money wouldn't have hurt."

He laughed and came over, silently asking me to fix the tie he couldn't force straight without a mirror. It was silk, I think, or something equally expensive and delicate against my fingers. I kept my eyes down as he spoke.

"Does it make me a terrible person that I'm pissed you chose now to do the smart thing?"

"Yes." When I looked up, I found that we were almost the same height, now that I was kneeling on the bed and he was standing in front of me. His eyes were amused, but tired, so tired, so I just blurted out: "You speak Spanish, right? You seemed to understand Leech when he spoke."

"Yeah. Fidelia taught me. Her English was never the greatest."

More information than was necessary sprang from his lips unbidden even though he had a lifetime to prepare him for not sharing. No wonder I was flattered. No wonder I couldn't help giving back. No wonder I said what I did.

"They speak Spanish in Argentina. And lots of other places, too—Spain, if you wanted to be near Europe, or the Dominican, if you wanted to be on an island. Mexico's probably too close, but—"

"Gillian..."

"You have the money; or I could pawn all that jewelry you gave me. Let's just go—someplace nice and warm where no one knows us. We can just start all over. I can teach English or something and you can, I don't know, play the guitar on street corners and it won't be nearly as nice as it is for you now, but at least you'd actually have a chance at being happy. We can always pretend we're brother and sister if you wanted and—"

"I hate to break this to you, Gillian, but outside Georgia, they don't approve of incest."

"It might be kind of fun, for a while." The corner of his mouth twitched, so I knew he found me funnier than he would admit to. "Whatever. We just need to get out, that's all. Get away from everything here. The weather's just a bonus. I...I could make you happy, I think. You wouldn't be so pissed with me all the time if you weren't scared it was true. And I'd try to do my best, for you. I know I screw up a lot so that's not exactly reassuring but—"

"You could," he agreed, his voice soft, like a caress. "But I don't think I could return the favor."

"I—I'd let you try." It was more than I had given anyone in a long time; there was something about his incessant demands that worked. I'd let him try—I think I'd even be rooting for him to succeed. "And maybe it wouldn't work out but maybe it would and...it really wouldn't matter anyway because we'd be away from this stupid world and...please?"

His lips found mine then, his mouth hard against mine, fingers in my hair, pulling me closer but not close enough, never close enough. It was a goodbye kiss; I didn't need him to explain that, so I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him tightly. He was warm as always—I promised myself I could cry after he left. That second I just concentrated on remembering the way his lips felt against mine. His fingers dug into my hip, like maybe if we could close the distance between us everything else would somehow miraculously work itself out. But we knew it wouldn't work—that's why we stayed locked together for so long. Because it was over now; over and done.

"I can't," he whispered when I finally pulled away.

"I know. But Bryce...if you ever quit, if...you know, call me."

"I love it when you order me around," he told me frankly, pushing my hair gently behind my ear. My cheeks were flaming, but I didn't drop my eyes even though I really couldn't handle holding his gaze. The best he had, given to me. It wasn't much, but I would take it.

"It's good for you."

"Sure. You take care of yourself, okay? If you ever need anything, please call. Preferably before you get your cute little neck broken. And..." He reached into his pocket and came up with a ring of keys. "Which one do you want?"

"I don't need a car."

"I know. But I need to give you one so just take one, okay? You want to pick by make? Color? Whatever you want?"

"Which one's the fastest?"

"The Veyron, but I'm not giving you that. I wouldn't give Sean that car, even if he begged."

Laughing, I took one of the keys he held out. It seemed to make him feel better, though he wasn't done giving out handouts. "And when Grandpa's writing you a cheque, don't be afraid to push him for more. He wouldn't have been so rude to you if he wasn't so damn scared of you."

"I don't need his money."

"Take it. UCLA's great and everything, but you'd do better in Greece or Israel or wherever it is that they actually speak the languages you keep trying to learn. You have a lousy ear, but immersion would work, even on you. Hell, you might even want to go to Germany."

"My German's not that great."

"So Germany would be good practice." Seeing my face, he dropped the forced enthusiasm. "Seriously, Gillian, I know it won't make up for anything. But it's all I can do, so...just...take it. Please?"

"It's okay, Bryce."

"Not really. Her name was Tabitha, if Grandpa proves difficult."

"Stop it. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do." He forced himself to smile. "Don't worry. It's not about you. It's about me and making myself feel better."

It was scary how he knew how to get me to agree to things.

"Well, in that case...thank you, I guess. It's very sweet of you."

It made him laugh, the way it hadn't before. The word was growing on him, I guess. But he picked up the suit jacket in order to leave.

"Thanks, Gillian."

Then he left, like it was that simple. Maybe it was.

Thomas didn't make me browbeat him with the name of his long-dead first wife. He didn't let me say a word, really, just whipped out his cheque book and wrote a bunch of zeroes. A lot of zeroes.

"I hope we understand each other, Miss MacArthur."

I think he was saying sorry.

For three million dollars, I could shake hands with Thomas Nast.

Dana would forgive me.

I made my way back to Leech's room, hoping I'd find Savannah on the way. Not that I didn't want to see Leech, I just wasn't sure I could handle a sympathetic listener right at the moment.

Hollis was standing outside the door, scowling; Claire was still inside. I hoped Bryce had said his goodbye to Leech before I found him, because it didn't look like he would be able to now. Claire only came out of the room as I reached the end of the hall.

She was a very pretty woman, if a little smaller than I had pictured her. She was still a lot taller than me, but probably a lot shorter than Leech. She looked like the sort of woman you would find in that pristine kitchen in Leech's house, without a smudge of flour on her face. Her posture was almost as good as mine, as she responded to Hollis with an imperious air. Her eyes didn't once glance at back at the room she had just left.

Why had she come? She knew you couldn't go up against a Cabal and win, even if she didn't know what a Cabal was. They hadn't broken her yet, exactly, but everything would have been a little bit easier if she hadn't met him. It had been unnecessarily cruel to drag her back. I didn't blame Hollis for looking out for his own. But I didn't like it either.

She had been his wife and she had gotten far less than I had. It didn't make me feel better, exactly, but it stopped me from feeling worse.

There was no way Leech would be up for company at the moment, though that didn't stop Hollis from going back into the room. Never mind Leech, I didn't want company right now. I had to gather up whatever was left, remind myself I had done the right thing (by what absurd Paige Cortez standard?) in refusing to move to New York for some jerk I had just met, and just mourn in private. Hiding out in my room might have been juvenile, but it was the only thing I could think of.

Paige and Lucas had left a message, promising to come back as soon as they could to check on me. I don't know why that set me off, but it did, and I found myself crying like a child.

When I heard the door open, I hurriedly to dry my eyes as Savannah came in carrying a lunch tray. The piece of cake looked bigger than my head. I tried to force out a grin, but I'm not sure I managed before she dropped the tray on the bed.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted to eat, so I raided Thomas's fridge and grabbed the good stuff. And the whipped cream almost cost me my life so don't you dare say you're not hungry."

"I wasn't going to."

With a sigh, she flopped down beside me. "You look like crap."

"Thanks, Savannah."

"I brought you ice cream, too. I figured since we've girl talked already, eating our feelings can't be far behind."

"There's no feelings to eat," I promised. "Even if there were—which there aren't—mindless eating wouldn't make me feel better. It would just make me feel fat."

"You so need help for that. I'm glad you're taking this so well," Savannah said. "Personally, I punched Bryce after the bodyguard said he was trying to sneak off."

"Smart."

"He didn't hit me back though, this time. Just made fun of my form. He promised to take me to his gym when I came to visit—he's going to teach me how to box. Cool, right?"

"Just what you need, more knowledge on how to destroy people."

"Yup."

Keeping my eyes on the food she had brought me I tried to casually ask, "Are you going to visit?"

"When Sean flies out, next time. Unless you don't want me to. Hoes before bros, and all that."

"That's not how it goes."

Opening up the box of chocolates, Savannah shrugged. "It's close enough. Seriously, Gillian, say the word and I will shun Bryce the way he shunned me the first twenty years of my life. I wouldn't care."

"Sean would."

"He'd get over himself. Evil half-brother versus you? There's no contest. I'd feel bad telling Kris, sure, but not enough to change my mind."

Now the tears were coming for a very different reason.

"Thanks."

Savannah rolled her eyes at me as she flipped through the channels. She was carefully watching the high-definition cartoons; it was one thing to state facts, another to create a scene. Normally, I knew this—I guess dying had really messed me up.

"You should go to New York. You'd be awesome, getting to punch things."

"I know, right?"

"Besides...the three million dollars Thomas just gave me didn't cover not passing messages through you."

Would it make me pathetic? So what if it did? He needed a friend, I needed a friend and it was nice having someone to talk to who understood. Bryce wouldn't mind—he was good at sneaking around behind the company's back.

But mentioning the money had Savannah choking on the strawberry she had in her mouth. I ended up pounding on her back, trying to help. When she stopped almost dying, she burst out laughing: "Three million? Are you serious?"

"Want to see it?"

"Shit. No. What are you going to do with it?"

"No clue. Got any ideas?"

She had a few. One in particular I found horribly amusing. It needed a few tweaks, of course, and Bryce would have to help, but it would be sort of perfect. I smiled and grabbed the chocolate cake.

"You're pretty awesome, you know," I said as I dug into the cake.

"Duh."

She reached over with her fork and we began fighting over the chocolate—just because I loved her like a sister, didn't mean I was going to let her get the bigger piece.