“We still on for drinks?” I ask, turning back to fix the fresh flowers in front of her tombstone.
Lilies. She loved lilies.
“You know it. I’m surprised Brin isn’t with you. She seems like the super supportive type. I didn’t expect to find you here alone.”
Brin... It’s getting too serious. She wanted to say something last night, and then she backed out. I was drunk, but I remember it. And then today she started in with trying to get me to admit something by making me jealous. Silk is always crawling with people who want to find a girl for the night, and she’s heard me say that before.
“Brin doesn’t know about this. And you need to back off of it. It’s not serious, it’s not going anywhere, and she and I are just having fun. That’s it. You of all people should understand that.”
He frowns as he glances at the grave, and I pull the last present out of my pocket. The tombstone was made with a locking frame and bulletproof glass—to keep someone from breaking it. I unlock it and change the picture out, just like I do every year.
This time it’s her sitting with me when I was five, reading me the Dr. Seuss story of the week.
“Just for fun?” he asks as I finish locking the case back up.
“Yep.”
He sighs out heavily, and he joins me as we walk away. The coffee cup sits proudly beside her grave, and I give my mother one last look before turning away.
“Is this because of your mom? Because it’s not healthy to—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I warn.
He frowns, but wisely doesn’t say a word as we make it back to the road. “I’ll meet you there in ten,” I say, climbing inside the car.
As he drives off, I wipe away the stupid fucking tear that falls.
I really hate this day.
***
BRIN
“So he thinks you’re at Silk with me?” Maggie asks as I start sifting through the mail.
“Not yet. He thinks we’re going to Silk, though.”
“Should we really go?”
“Nope,” I say, finding an unusual letter that is from John’s address, but it’s not his handwriting.
Curious as to what shit he’s done now, I open it. When I start reading it, I get sick. That stupid son of a bitch! I’m going to kill him.
“What’s wrong?” Maggie asks.
“John. The bastard took out a loan against my car title, and now they’re threatening to come take it if I don’t pay the full amount within two weeks.”
Maggie stands and rips the letter out of my hand, and then she curses. “This can’t be legal. How did he get your title?”
I groan as I try to think, pulling the letter back from her hands. “I don’t know. I assumed it was still in some of my unpacked boxes in storage. My car title wasn’t high on the worry-about list. How can he do this to me? I’m still paying off his fucking credit cards.”
I could kill him right now. That bastard is determined to ruin my life.
Grabbing my keys, I head for the door.
“What are you going to do?”
I glance across the street, wishing I could use Rye to punch John right in the nose. He’d do so much more damage than I can. But I can’t do that. That’s not our relationship. And besides, this is a little humiliating. And knowing him, he’d pay the money without my knowledge.
My envelope with five-hundred dollars keeps magically appearing in my room no matter how many times I try to leave it in his house.
“If the police ask me for an alibi—”
“You were with me all night,” she says with a grin.
I won’t really kill him. Maybe.
***
BRIN
John curses from inside the apartment after I continue to bang on the door for a full five minutes. I can’t help but wonder who sent me that final notice, because it sure as hell wasn’t him.
How did he convince the pawn shop it was in his name? Because this was originally addressed to him.
The door swings open, and the asshole I once stupidly married is standing there with tight lips.
“Before you freak out, I’m just going to say I’m sorry,” he says, his dark hair in disarray and tossed around his head like he just woke up. Apparently he has knowledge that I got that final warning.
I barge into his small apartment, and he lets me through without protest. I don’t want his neighbors to witness his murder.
“That’s my car, John! You had no right. How did you even do it? The title was in my name.”
He frowns and then makes some unintelligible sound, telling me more with a grunt than he could have with words.
“You forged it and made it look like I signed the title over to you, didn’t you?” I bark, reading between the lines.