“The honeymoon was almost over anyway, you big goof.”
I can fake my way through this. Maybe when I get out of the hospital I can paint some really sad examples of how shitty I feel now. Maybe I’ll join a rock band and scream out my pain. Or maybe I’ll get Marty a companion or sixty to join us.
By the time I’ve been smothered in hugs and taken a good ribbing about getting caught with my pants down—Jules actually head slapped Park for that one—I look up and he’s gone.
“The honeymoon was just getting started as far as I’m concerned, but you’re right. I had to come back to work eventually, no matter how sexy my wife is in a bikini.”
“All jokes aside though,” Jules says seriously, taking my hand in her grip and squeezing gently. “You’re my hero.”
“But I didn’t… It was all Bee,” I whisper, feeling my eyes tear again.
It’s not this that’s making me cry but the reminder that someone died, that Eric, even in his madness, had lost his life and that no matter how necessary it’d been, Bee will have to live with this for the rest of her life.
She’d killed a man she’d loved once, and that…I can’t imagine what she’s feeling if even I’m struggling not to cry for him.
“You kept your head and gave her the break she needed to get out and get help. Now tell me how you feel,” Parker says gently, cuddling in beside me. “You look sad.”
I am, because Eric isn’t the only thing that’s died, and I need to find a way to move past it.
Chapter Forty
I ended up attending the funeral three days later, and it’s truly sad how few people Eric had left to call friend. I’d laid a rose over his casket and hugged his Aunt Lo when she’d broken down and cried, telling me that he’d been a good boy and that he’d just been lost.
I don’t quite agree with that, but it didn’t stop me from saying goodbye and telling him that I forgive him for everything. Of course, I’d had my hard-eyed daddy standing off to the side, watching everything with a stoic reserve that I was proud of, especially when one of his cousins had yelled obscenities at me.
Daddy’s eye had twitched frantically, but he’d kept his cool and not beaten the shit out of the guy. He had nodded regally at one of his security guys, and I’m not sure what had happened to that cousin, but I hadn’t seen him at the gathering after.
Now I’m just plum exhausted and disgustingly grateful that my parents and Justin have left the city—under order from Bee, thank God for her—and that I can sit back on my sofa and relax.
That’s not true. I’m brooding and feeling sorry for myself more than anything, and quite relieved to be in a hotel room rather than my apartment.
Daddy’s having my things packed and held in storage till I get a new place. When the hotel phone rings it takes me a split second to realize it’s nothing sinister, and I answer with a frown, ready to cuss Mama out if she’s calling to check up on me already.
Everyone around me has been treating me like I’m made of freaking glass, and I’ve gotten some weird looks from Parker.
“Hello?”
“Sissy.”
“Vincent?” I squeak, blinking in confusion at not only the name but the fact that he knows where I am and that he’s calling me.
I haven’t seen him since the day I’d woken up in the hospital, and I’d quite frankly thought I wouldn’t. Ever again.
“I’d like you to have dinner with me tonight.”
“Um, uh… I’m kinda tired,” I aver, staring up at the ceiling.
Seriously? He wants to have dinner to tell me what? Let’s be friends? That’s not something I can safely do without losing what little dignity I have left.
God, I’ll probably grab onto his freaking ankle and beg him to take me back.
“Please.”
That does it for me, and I find myself agreeing to meet him at his place at six for a light dinner that makes my stomach knot.
I get there at 5:59 and take the steps with a gulp, nervously straightening my black slacks and loose peasant blouse as I knock and wait.
“Dove. Come in,” he says when the door finally opens to reveal him in a pair of faded jeans and an old black t-shirt that’s seen better days.
He looks gorgeous, perfect in his barefoot casual, and I smile tremulously, taking his hand.
“You’re looking well.”
Dinner has been…an ordeal of flushed faced stares—from me—and nervous scrapes of my fork over food I can’t work up a decent appetite for. By the time dessert rolls around I’m tense and anxious and my old impatient self.