by Cassie Wild
No. I only need a few minutes then I’ll be down.
But even as I sent that response off, I regretted it.
Was I really that ready to leave?
In less than half an hour, the next visitation for my parents started, followed by the funeral service and their burial. It was a closed casket service. My mother had died from smoke inhalation, but my poor father…he’d been determined to get to her, and what the fire had done to him…
The coroner had tried to talk me out of seeing him.
I should have listened.
Some part of me insisted that I see him, though, because I wouldn’t believe he was gone unless I saw.
Now, I just had to live with the nightmares.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I rose from the bed, hurrying over to the mirror in the small bathroom. I hadn’t bothered with any makeup. I’d cry it off in just a few minutes, so what was the point?
I’d kept my hair down too. I’d gotten my mom’s dark, golden-blonde hair, but it had curled just like my dad’s. They’d both loved my hair, so for them, I’d left it to fall free to my shoulders instead of pulling it back in its usual ponytail.
The skirted dress suit I wore was a muted shade of blue-gray that made my eyes looked darker and impossibly big, although that might have been the shadows beneath them.
Mom had always been after me to dress up a little more often. I wasn’t sure she’d like the suit, though.
You should wear more cheerful colors, baby. Always t-shirts and jeans and black sweaters.
Tears threatened again. I pressed my fingertips under my eyes and willed them back.
“One day,” I told her spirit. “One day, I’ll wear bright and cheerful colors. Just for you, Mama.”
I finger-combed my curls once more, then checked the time. I had to go. If I waited much longer, Wylie would park the car and come looking for me.
The graveside service was simple. It was January in Oklahoma, and the weather could be unpredictable. A few days ago, they’d been talking rain and a chance of snow for the day. Mom wouldn’t have forgiven me if I kept people out in that mess, so I hadn’t made arrangements for anything complicated.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and if there was going to be any rain or snow, I couldn’t tell.
The vicious intensity of the sun felt like a mockery. I kind of wished the forecast hadn’t changed. Rain would have suited my mood. It would have hidden the tears on my face. As it was, I kept having to fight them back, dabbing at my face with the handkerchief clamped inside my tight fist. People kept sending me looks of sympathy and concern, and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to bury my face against Wylie and hide away from it all, but although he didn’t show it, he felt out of place.
Was it a small-town thing I hadn’t noticed before?
Kindness and courtesy was rampant, but that didn’t mean excessive displays of emotion made people comfortable.
There were only a couple of people crying, and all of them did so discreetly, burying the quiet sounds in handkerchiefs like I was trying to do.
I didn’t want to quietly and demurely sob.
The misery inside me was too big, too deep for that. I wanted to fling myself onto the coffin closest to me—my mother’s, the soft, golden oak matching my father’s perfectly. The flower display on top was all pink and lavender, while the flowers on my father’s were red and white. He would have hated the very sight of them, but it hadn’t felt right not to have them.
The little girl inside of me, the orphan who needed her parents, wanted to storm over there and yank the tops of the coffins up—screw the fact that they’d already been sealed—and yell at them, beg them to wake.
A sob shuddered through me, and I bit my lip to keep it down.
The preacher’s voice droned on.
I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.
Wylie, as uncomfortable as he was, must have sensed something because he tightened his arm and tugged me closer. Finally, I let myself lean against him, and although the sound was muffled, the sob escaped me.
Somebody from behind me laid a hand on my shoulder.
The small gesture shattered the rest of my strength.
My parents had attended the First Christian Church for as long as I could remember. For the past few years, I’d fallen away, but the church hadn’t forgotten me. The fire that had killed my parents had still been burning when the associate pastor arrived, followed soon by the head pastor and his wife and several other women from the ladies’ group.
I’d spent the night with one of the ladies. Now, I couldn’t even remember her name.
She’d been the one to take me shopping for the few clothes I had. And she’d paid, refusing to let me give her any money.
Why couldn’t I remember her name?
“Are you okay?”
Wylie took the seat next to me, the hard, metal folding seat screeching on the concrete floor as he pulled it out from under the table. We were in the church’s basement, a space reserved for communal meals and the occasional party. The atmosphere was a mix of somber respect and quiet, poignant laughter. My parents had been loved…and they’d loved. The few scattering bits of conversation kept bringing me to tears…or to the edge of laughter, although I never quite went over.
One old farmer talked about how my dad had come over one fall to help with harvest, and some of the farmer’s pigs had scared him to death.
It sounded like my dad.
A woman chimed up and told how my mother spearheaded book drives every year to help distribute young adult and juvenile fiction books to the native tribal groups in the state.
That made me want to weep.
I’d gone with her on trips to distribute those books so many times. Even this past summer.
Wylie touched my shoulder, and I looked over at him. “I’m…hanging on,” I said. I wasn’t about to lie and tell him I was fine. I was so far from fine, I couldn’t even begin to imagine a time when fine might even be on the horizon. But I hadn’t run away screaming yet. Surely, that had to count for something.
“You don’t have to stay for this, you know.” He watched me with calm eyes, brushing a strand of hair back from my face.
“It’s my parents’ wake,” I said, voice wobbling a little. “I’m staying for a little while.”
One of the women from the kitchen bustled over to me. “Tish, can I get you anything to eat?”
“Thanks, Pat.” I managed to smile. “But I’m not hungry.”
“Oh, baby.” She rested a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re not, but you have to eat something. Did you eat anything for breakfast? Or dinner last night?”
I looked away.
She patted my shoulder. “How about I just bring you some soup? Maybe some of the fresh bread Maxine made? She told me you ate some of that the night you spent at her house.”
Almost absently, I sought out the figure of the woman who’d taken me shopping. Maxine. That was right. That was her name.
“Sure.” I looked up at Pat and nodded, although it was more so she’d leave me alone than anything else.
Once she was gone, Wylie smoothed a hand down my hair. “You do need to eat. Getting sick won’t make this any better.”
Listlessly, I nodded. And when Pat put food in front of me, I ate. Not because I was hungry, but because I just wanted everybody to leave me alone, and if I pretended I was okay, I might be able to get them to do that.
Instead of going back to the hotel where I lay crying myself to sleep for the past week, I let Wylie talk me into going back to his apartment with him. His roommate was out, spending the night with his girlfriend. I had a feeling that was Wylie’s doing.
He could be very sweet when he wanted to be.
Sitting in front of the gas fireplace, I accepted a glass of wine from him and snuggled more comfortably into the corner of the couch as he took a seat next to me. He was close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, and when he moved in even closer, I we
lcomed it. It felt like I’d been cold ever since I saw those flames licking up into the sky, pouring from the bookstore.
With his body warm against mine, and the wine comfortably heating my belly, the chill seemed less intense. So I didn’t mind when he brushed his lips over mine.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, brushing my hair back from my face.
I couldn’t exactly return the sentiment. I’d been too lost in a morass of pain so deep, I couldn’t focus on anything but keeping myself together. But it was nice, feeling him against me, feeling his arms come around me.
When he pulled me closer, I didn’t resist.
I didn’t even mind when he laid flat and pulled me on top of him, his hand tugging my skirt up, palm coming up to cup my ass. He tugged at my clothes while I pulled at his.
We ended up with his shirt unbuttoned and mine on the floor while he pushed my skirt up and tugged my panties off.
Hands braced on his chest, I rocked against him as he thrust up into me.
“Are you close?” he asked, staring up at me, voice rough. He slid a hand between my thighs and pressed a thumb against my clit, roughly rubbing it.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I shifted my angle.
Abruptly, Wylie groaned and grabbed both of my hips, driving up into me, hard and fast.
I reached down and massaged my clit, just as he began to climax. I felt his cock jerk. I kept moving, both hips and fingers. My orgasm finally hit. It was over fast. But as it faded, it left behind a nice lassitude, and I sank down against Wylie’s chest with a sigh.
Five
Sean
Weaving back and forth, clutching a bottle of scotch in my hand, I stared at the phone on the counter and tried to focus on the words coming from the machine.
I had to rewind twice and lean in, squeezing my eyes shut so the world spinning around me wouldn’t throw me off-balance. If it did, I’d have to start all over again.
For like the tenth fucking time.
A woman giggled and came up behind me, pressing her tits to my back and hugging me. “Did you bring me up here so I could listen to messages with you, or so we could have some fun?”
“Lemme the fuck alone for a minute,” I told her, trying to make sense of the words I’d just heard.
It was from the cop who’d been calling me ever since the explosion so many months ago.
Ever since Isabel.
Bile churned, and the booze in my throat threatened to make a reappearance, but I fought it back.
“…hate to tell you this, but at this point, we still haven’t been able to link Marcos Castellanos to the events of that night…”
The woman behind me stiffened.
“Castellanos?” she said.
I hit the button, silencing the message. I wasn’t clear-headed enough to figure out what the detective was talking about, and I didn’t know this woman—at all—so I didn’t need her hearing my personal shit anyway.
Putting the bottle down, I turned and leaned back against the counter, pulling her up against me. “Jus’ a job,” I lied, smiling at her.
She stared at me from under furrowed brows.
I tugged her even closer and pushed a hand through her hair. “Come on, Valentine.”
That was the name she’d given me…right? I was almost sure it was.
“You told me you could help me forget alllll my problems…” I wagged my brows at her and bumped my hips against hers suggestively. We’d met when I’d gone to the liquor store a couple blocks away. I’d had to walk.
At some point, one of my brothers had stolen my keys—and my rental.
Bastards. Guess they didn’t trust me not to do something stupid, although maybe they were right. What I’d really wanted to do today was go for a long, fast drive, and I hadn’t been sober when I’d entertained the thought. If the rental car I’d gotten had been there, I might have done just that.
Maybe I would have gotten lucky and wrapped the damn thing around a pole.
Would have squared things up.
Valentine stared at me with big, somber eyes. “You’re sad.”
I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a heavy pull off it.
“Somebody died,” I said bluntly.
Her eyes didn’t widen the way I expected. Maybe a lot of guys came to her with their hearts ripped open and their wallets hanging out.
She smoothed my hair back.
“Was it because of your job?”
I’d never given her my name or told her what I did. It would be so easy to lie.
“No,” I said hoarsely. “It was my wife. And it should have been me.”
Something that might have been sympathy moved in Valentine’s eyes, and she swayed forward, pressing her lips to mine. “I bet she’d hate to hear you say that,” she whispered as she kissed me, light and soft.
“It’s the truth,” I said raggedly.
She braced a hand on my chest, just over my heart. It raged like a caged beast. “Did she love you?”
I thought about Isabel. How we fought. How we laughed. How she’d acted the past few weeks before she was killed. And the way she looked at me as she pulled away when I kissed her…just seconds before my world exploded.
“I think she did.” It hurt to even say that.
“And if it had been you…would you want her wallowing and feeling sorry for herself?” Valentine said it boldly, the words a challenge.
I caught her face in my hand, glaring down at her.
She didn’t look away. Shoving my fists into her hair, I cranked her head back. “I think I’m paying you for sex, not therapy.”
“Okay.” Her lids drooped. “Then stop feeling sorry for yourself and fuck me.”
The chasm in my chest widened.
“Get on your fucking knees,” I told her.
The thought of taking her to bed, to the bed I’d shared with Isabel, almost made me physically ill. And judging by the way Valentine looked at me, she knew it too. She went to her knees in front of me, eyes challenging, no longer soft.
She was a chameleon, this girl.
I lifted my bottle to my lips and drank deeply as she dragged the zipper of my pants down, then slowly freed my cock. Thanks to her tantalizing stimulation, I was hard even before she closed her mouth around me. Bracing one hand on the counter, I closed my eyes and tried to forget there was ever anything other than this moment.
But my mind didn’t want to work that way.
I kept seeing Isabel.
I kept seeing her on her knees in front of me. But there’d be a glint in her eyes, like she knew she could make me kneel with just a look, just a smile. And she could. She’d loved driving me right to the edge and back. Maybe she’d even loved it too much.
Valentine hummed in her throat, and I groaned, reaching down with my free hand to cup the back of her head, thrusting deeper into the wet cave of her mouth.
Is this how you remember me, baby?
It was like Isabel was right there.
I tried to shove the voice out of my head…but couldn’t.
“What the fuck—”
Valentine jerked back.
That was the first indicator that those words hadn’t come from inside my head.
I’d been having WTF moments off and on for the past two hours. No. Weeks. Months. Longer. But usually, they stayed inside my head, and this had clearly been outside it.
Forcing my lids open, I stared at the tall figure standing in the doorway, limned in light. It was instinct that had me putting the bottle down and fumbling my zipper up, not any real sense of decorum. That had left me long ago.
“Get out,” Brooks said.
I scowled at him. “This is my fuckin’ apartment,” I told him, the words slurred and thick.
“Shut up,” he snapped. “I’m not talking to you.”
I opened my mouth to argue and swayed. Valentine’s soft, steady hands caught me, steadied me.
I peered down at her and found that I was smiling. She had a pretty fa
ce, I decided. And a young, sweet smile. Not too young, I hoped. Abruptly, I scowled at her. “You’re not a kid, are you?”
“No, Sean.” She tugged my pants the rest of the way together, the gesture gentle. “I’m twenty-two. You didn’t ruin your nice-guy image.”
That made me laugh. I all but collapsed against the counter and nausea welled up inside. “Nice guy image?” I choked out.
She backed away slowly, eyes wary.
My muscles melted away, and I slumped to the floor, still gripping the bottle of whiskey.
I couldn’t see her anymore. She’d disappeared around the counter, and while I could hear her talking, I knew she wasn’t addressing me.
I wasn’t surprised by the soft sound of the shutting door a few seconds later. I wasn’t even surprised when Brooks came around the bank of counters and crouched in front of me. His dark blue eyes took me in from head to toe. Although I’d already known I’d been lacking as far as the Downing family went, I couldn’t help but flinch at the disappointment I saw in his eyes.
Shoving it aside, I sneered at him. “Wha’s a matter, brother?” I demanded, pushing into a somewhat upright position. “Was I supposed to report in for duty today?”
“Why are you doing this?” Brooks asked, his eyes sad and somber as they explored my face.
“Doing what?” I demanded belligerently.
When he didn’t answer, I shoved until I was almost completely upright and glared at him. “Doing what?” I demanded. “All I’m doing is sitting around and killing time. That’s all I ever fucking do. All Dad ever let me do. So, I guess I’m wondering if maybe things wouldn’t have been better if I’d been the one to get in the car. Fuck, it’s not like we don’t all know the bomb wasn’t meant for me anyway. Don’t you—”
Brooks shot out a hand.
I flinched but couldn’t evade the hand he buried in the front of my shirt. He jerked me up against him and locked his other arm around my neck. “Don’t say that, you little shit. You hear me? Don’t you ever say that,” he said, his voice ragged and harsh in my ear.
I stayed silent, and after maybe a minute, he let me go.
