“Listen,” Brendan says gently. “Ian is a beast with no bedside manner, but he’s not wrong. It’s time to think of a new plan. We all still love Juliette, it’s just—” He cuts himself off, frowns. “Wait, is it Juliette or Ella? Was there ever a consensus?”
I’m still scowling when I say, “I’m calling her Juliette.”
“But I thought she wanted to be called Ella,” Winston says.
“She’s in a fucking coma,” Ian says, and takes a loud sip of tea. “She doesn’t care what you call her.”
“Don’t be such a brute,” Brendan says. “She’s our friend.”
“Your friend,” he mutters.
“Wait— Is that what this is about?” I sit forward. “Are you jealous she never best-friended you, Sanchez?”
Ian rolls his eyes, looks away.
Winston is watching with fascinated interest.
“All right, drink your tea,” Brendan says, biting into a biscuit. He gestures at me with the half-eaten cookie. “It’s getting cold.”
I shoot him a tired look, but I take an obligatory sip and nearly choke. It tastes weird tonight. And I’m about to push it away when I realize Brendan is still staring at me, so I take a long, disgusting pull of the dark liquid before replacing the cup in the saucer. I try not to gag.
“Okay,” I say, slamming my palms down on my thighs. “Let’s put it to a vote: Who here thinks Ian is annoyed that J didn’t fall in love with him when she showed up at Point?”
Winston and Brendan share a look. Slowly, they both lift their hands.
Ian rolls his eyes again. “Pendejos,” he mutters.
“The theory holds at least a little water,” Winston says.
“I have a girlfriend, dumbasses.” And as if on cue, Lily looks up from across the room, locks eyes with Ian. She’s sitting with Alia and some other girl I don’t recognize.
Lily waves.
Ian waves back.
“Yes, but you’re used to a certain level of attention,” Winston says, reaching for a biscuit. He looks up, scans the room. “Like those girls, right over there,” he says, gesturing with his head. “They’ve been staring at you since you walked in.”
“They have not,” Ian says, but he can’t help but glance over.
“It’s true.” Brendan shrugs. “You’re a handsome guy.”
Winston chokes on his tea.
“Okay, enough.” Ian holds up his hands. “I know you guys think this is hilarious, but I’m being serious. At the end of the day, Juliette is your friend. Not mine.”
I exhale dramatically.
Ian shoots me a look. “When she first showed up at Point, I tried reaching out to her, to offer her my friendship, and she never followed up. And even after we were taken hostage by Anderson”—he nods an acknowledgment at Brendan and Winston—“she took her sweet time trying to get information out of Warner. She never gave a shit about the rest of us, and all we’ve ever done is put everything on the line to protect her.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Winston says, shaking his head. “She was in an awful position—”
“Whatever,” Ian mutters. He looks down, into his tea. “This whole situation is some kind of bullshit.”
“Cheers to that,” Brendan says, refilling his cup. “Now have more tea.”
Ian mutters a quiet, angry thank-you, and lifts the cup to his lips. Suddenly, he stiffens. “And then there’s this,” he says, raising an eyebrow. As if all that weren’t enough, we have to deal with this douche bag.” Ian gestures, with the teacup, toward the entrance.
Shit.
Warner is here.
“She brought him here,” Ian is saying, but he has the sense, at least, to keep his voice down. “It’s because of her that we have to tolerate this asshole.”
“To be fair, that was originally Castle’s idea,” I point out.
Ian flips me off.
“What’s he doing here?” Brendan asks quietly.
I shake my head and take another unconscious sip of my disgusting tea. There’s something about the grossness that’s beginning to feel familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I look up again.
I haven’t spoken a word to Warner since that first day—The day J got attacked by Emmaline. He’s been a ghost since then. No one has really seen him, no one but the supreme kids, I think.
He went straight back to his roots.