Good Game (The System, #1) (83)

“I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“I’ll share it all with you, Stevie. The good and the bad, I’m not afraid to show you all of it.”

“And I’ll accept it all.” She caresses my cheek. “Nothing would turn me away from you, Aleks. I spent so many years in a relationship, thinking I was happy, fooling myself. I didn’t realize that the way I was being loved wasn’t love. Maybe at one point it was, but by the end, it was just a toxic cycle of manipulation. But being with you? God, it’s like my life was in black and white, and you’re introducing me to all the colors.”

“Hearing that coming from an artist says a lot.”

She laughs at me. “It’s true. You helped me realize the sort of love I’m worth.”

Love.

I push myself up, leaning on my elbow. I stare at her, bathed in the darkness, haloed by the red light, my angel living in the underworld.

“I’m falling in love with you, Stephanie Andwell.”

Her eyes widen before they soften and melt. Her smile, her sunrise smile, leaks out.

“I’m falling in love with you, too, Aleksander Knight.”

She pulls me in for a kiss. It’s sweet like honey, sticking to my soul. We lie down against the pillows, and I pull her up against my body. She curls into my chest, and I pepper the crown of her head with kisses.

We fall asleep that way—entwined—my body protecting hers. No matter what, I will serve as her knight and slay any foes that get in our way. I will keep her safe because my heart is becoming hers.

No. That’s a lie.

My heart is already hers.





TWENTY-NINE




* * *





STEVIE


AS THEY BLOOM BY UNLIKE PLUTO



My groceries slip out of my hands, slamming onto the floor.

Pink.

Everywhere.

There are bouquets upon bouquets of pink roses in front of my door.

My entire vision is a blur of pink.

I slip to the floor, the pain in my knees registering for only a moment.

Why?

Why now?

He hasn’t sent any in weeks. I haven’t even heard from him. He hasn’t texted me, hasn’t called me. Even when I saw him at an art auction last weekend, he just gave me a bland greeting.

So, why?

I can’t do anything but stare and stare and stare.

“Stephanie, dear, are you alright?”

A hand shakes me out of my trance. I look up into the soft eyes of Ms. Arkin, the sweet old woman who lives in the apartment next to mine.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you were alright, dear?” Concern creases her expression.

I blink at her, then look around. The spilled groceries, the perfect flowers, and me, in the middle of the hallway. It’s a mess.

“Oh, yes, sorry. Just had a fright.” I try to laugh it off so I don’t worry her, but it clearly sounds fake.

I rush to pick up the groceries, shoving them back in my bags. Ms. Arkin crouches down and helps me, which just makes me feel worse. Once I’m standing, grocery bags repacked and in my hands, I expect her to leave. But she just watches me.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Stephanie? I’m sorry to ask again, but I would be doing a disservice to your grandmother if I didn’t.”

I take a deep breath, plastering on an even smile. “Yes, I’m alright. I thought a spider crawled out of the flowers. Silly, really.” I force my shaking hands to calm as I get my key out of my purse and unlock my door. It seems to placate her because she heads back toward her open door.

“Alright, well, I’ll bring over some of my lavender cookies later, they have calming effects.”

“That would be lovely.” I let my smile brighten even more and leave it there until she closes her door. Then it drops.

I stare down at the pink monstrosities again, and all I feel is anger. Pure, unadulterated anger.

Who does he think he is?

I kick one of the bouquets into my apartment.

Trying to mess with my head?

I kick another bouquet, the petals flying off.

Luring me into a false sense of peace?

I kick two bouquets this time with such force a professional soccer player would be proud.

I think fucking not.

I kick the last bouquet, my toe hitting something hard. I hear it go clanking into my apartment.

Weird.

I step inside, slamming the door closed behind me. I leave my groceries on the floor and search the ground for what could’ve made the noise, toeing through the strewn, bruised petals—but I find nothing. My amped up brain must have shorted out.

I stare at the broken bouquets on the floor. As offensive as they are, I can’t be bothered cleaning them up. I’d set fire to them if it wouldn’t burn down my apartment, and Chase doesn’t deserve that satisfaction.

Dammit, I need to figure out how the hell he is getting in here and setting them up.

I pick up my groceries, noting a wet spot on the ground. Groaning, I set them down again and peer inside. Yup. My jar of olives cracked.

Sighing, I trudge with the groceries to my kitchen, emptying out the dry bag before salvaging what I can from the olive-soaked one. My head twinges, a headache forming. My entire body feels drained from that one single moment, my emotional reserves depleted.