Six Feet Under (Mad Love Duet Book 1)

by Whitney Barbetti

  He pulled the necklace from the box and held it up for me to look at it. The juxtaposition of such a dainty thing in his gruff hands distracted me for a moment, but then he took my hand with his free one and used my finger to trace the curves of the eight.

  “It's the infinity symbol.”

  I still wasn't following him, but he unclasped it and pushed my hair aside, so he could secure it around my neck. “This symbol is infinite. Without end. Like us.”

  I wasn't a woman who was often wooed by romance, but in that moment, with his soft green eyes staring intently into mine, I was putty in his hands. He kissed me, and I returned it with equal fervor before he pulled back. For a long while, we lay together, our fingers tracing the infinity symbol around my neck. “What if you find someone else, someone who fits you better than me?”

  “I won't.” He didn't even hesitate.

  “But you might.”

  “There's no expiration on what I feel for you, Mira. If you were to leave me, I'd chase you until you stopped running. I'm in love with you. That doesn't just go away.”

  “Even if you meet someone else?”

  He sighed, sounding exasperated. “I won't meet someone else, but if it means that much to you—I promise you, there is no one else in this world who can replace the Mira-shaped hole you've carved into my soul. Happy now?”

  I smiled at him, because I was. It was a promise he'd given me more than once. The promise felt more permanent now, but I still worried. Ends were inevitable in everything.

  Before my eyes closed for the last time that night, I must have said the words aloud because as sleep pulled me under, I heard Six say, “There won't be an ending, Mirabela.”

  32

  June 2010

  Six months later

  “What?” I asked, dropping the paint brush that’d been in my hand before Six had called. I glanced at the calendar on the wall. He’d been gone three days now, on a trip he’d worried over. He hadn’t wanted to leave me, but this time my jealousy hadn’t been around to make me do stupid shit, like break the table or send regretted texts. This was important, I knew, judging by the anxiousness that had followed him around leading up to when he left.

  “I need you to go to this little town. I’ll have one of my guys pick you up and bring you there. Take anything that’s Andra-specific there, pack it up. I need it cleared out, okay?”

  “Andra-specific?”

  “Photos, notebooks, clothes—just pack it. It won’t take you long.”

  “Why me? Have the goon picking me up do it.”

  “Jesus, Mira. Can you just work with me here?”

  Chastised, I bit my tongue. “Fine.”

  “You won’t be in danger,” he promised me, and the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  “Okay…”

  “No one will be there. Well, Rosa will be in the main house, but she knows you’re coming. She’ll leave you alone. Andra’s boyfriend might show up, but hopefully he’s smart enough that he won’t.”

  “Her boyfriend?” Six gave me so few pieces of Andra’s life—probably best that way, to keep her as shrouded in mystery as possible. But I’d always pictured her as a teenager. Realistically, I knew she’d been a teenager seven years ago, when Six had helped get her out of the place she was living.

  Seven years had gone by quietly. What had triggered this sudden urgency?

  “Are you in danger?”

  “No.” He didn’t continue.

  “Where are you?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I wanted to lash out at that. It was a gut reaction. Why wouldn’t I worry about where Six was? Why, when his own voice was curt and quick, wouldn’t I worry about him?

  But I said nothing else. He gave me the instructions for the plane ticket he emailed me and hung up.

  When the plane ticket finally came through, I saw the date. “He could’ve given me a little heads up,” I told Griffin, realizing I had three hours until I had to be at the airport.

  I packed quickly, watching my phone the entire time. I expected him to call me, to say, “Just kidding, you can stay here,” but he never did.

  I dropped Griffin off with Six’s mom and headed to the airport for the short flight to Denver.

  The place was relatively clean already. A few things—photos of Andra and Six, some clothes that I shoved into big black trash bags.

  The goon, who was one of Six’s guys, was named Fred. He didn’t say much, aside from a few grunts. He took the bags I tossed onto the porch of the cabin where Andra had lived for a few years, huffing and puffing between trips.

  After I’d set the last bag onto the porch, I began to close up the place when I saw a shadow cross the flood light that bled across the grass.

  I wished I’d had a knife on me, but I had nothing. I exited the cabin, slid into the shadows behind it near the tree-line it bordered and watched Fred approach the figure, shine a flashlight into his face. I made out faint murmurs and when Fred lowered his flashlight, I approached slowly.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Come on,” Fred said, to the shadow. A young man approached, his eyes dark and haunting, almost.

  “Who the hell are you?” I asked.

  Fred pointed a thumb at him. “Julian.” The boyfriend.

  “You’re an idiot.” I glared at him. Six had said he wouldn’t be here. I’d only have to deal with his goon.

  “That’s what I keep hearing,” Julian said. He looked over my shoulder at the cabin behind me like a lovesick puppy. “Is Andra here?”

  I waved off Fred but stared at Julian for a long moment before saying, “I need a drink.” I turned away, heading toward Andra’s cabin, not waiting to see if Julian followed me. Which he did. Lovesick puppy, indeed.

  It’d been so long since I’d had a drink, but I figured I deserved one. I wasn’t driving, and I was hopping on the first flight out of Denver in the morning. A little alcohol would loosen my limbs, maybe even help me sleep.

  If I could find any alcohol, though, was the question. I searched cupboard after cupboard, seeking anything—I wasn’t even picky at this point. My nerves were shot. I hadn’t flown on a plane in fifteen years, and I hadn’t seen Six, and I didn’t know where he was, and something about being in this cabin on the edge of the world screamed CREEPY in big, bold letters.

  “Where’s Andra?” the boyfriend asked from behind me.

  I slammed a cabinet door and then gave up putting off the cigarettes. I had one in my mouth, before I resumed my search for alcohol, telling myself I could just taste it without lighting it. I was strong enough.

  “Where is Andra?” the boyfriend asked again. I didn’t want to look at him, into those puppy dog eyes. He just wanted to know where his girlfriend was. Likewise, I wanted to know where my boyfriend was. So, in a way, I commiserated with him. But I didn’t want to.

  “God!” I yelled. I slammed my hands onto the counter. I gave up on fruitlessly sucking the cigarette end and lit it, sucking in a deep breath. It was so fucking refreshing, tasting it, that I almost forgot I wasn’t alone. When I opened my eyes and saw Julian watching me with such intensity, I said, “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  “Well, I am. And I want to know where Andra is.”

  You and me both, buddy, I thought before I was filled with laughter. “Safe. Andra is safe.” According to Six, at least.

  “Which means she’s not here, I’m assuming?”

  I had no clue where she was, but I glanced around the cabin for a moment and raised an eyebrow. “Guess you’re not as big a dummy as I thought.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Why should I tell you?” I blew smoke rudely in his direction, but he didn’t side step it.

  “Because you have something to do with Andra’s disappearance, and I want answers.” His fist hit the island and instantly, my eyes went hard. I wasn’t intimidated by men who showed aggression,
and Julian was no exception.

  “Now listen here, Julian,” I said, making sure my words were clear and firm. “I don’t have to tell you shit. I’ve had a long goddamn night and your presence here only messes things up. So, excuse me if I am not willing to spill my guts out for you right now.” I paused and sucked on the cigarette for a moment, wishing I had booze to wash this away with. “What happened to your hand?” I asked, when I saw the bruises and blood on his knuckles.

  He looked down at it like he’d forgotten. “I was angry.”

  “No shit?” I asked sarcastically. I watched him for another minute. He looked harmless enough. Not dangerous, despite smacking his fist on the counter and punching a tree at some point. I could relate to frustration becoming a destructive thing. So, for the moment, I trusted him with something easy. “Mira.”

  “What?”

  Sighing, I said, “My name. It’s Mira.”

  “And who are you?” he asked, not satisfied with that.

  I tried to figure out what to say. Six hadn’t given me a script in the event that I’d run into someone like Julian. But, considering Six hadn’t kicked his ass, I figured I could tell Julian as little as possible. I tossed the cigarette, feeling slightly calmer. “I’m Six’s girlfriend. Six and Andra are gone.”

  “Where?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I am not telling you anything. It’s best that you get back on the road.”

  “No. I’m not leaving until I know where she is.”

  Then he was going to be here for a long time, I knew. I opened the freezer, grabbed a bag of frozen peas and threw them at Julian with probably more force and less aim than I should have. “Put those on your knuckles.”

  He dropped the bag on the counter and my eyes narrowed when he said, “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  This guy was worse than a dog with a bone. I reached for my cigarettes again, deciding very quickly that the one was not enough.

  “Those will kill you,” he said with disgust.

  I placed the unlit cigarette between my lips. “So will a great many things, I imagine.” I lit it and then closed the light on the lighter, running my thumb over the gold sheen. I was suddenly so tired. “I’m out of here, Julian.”

  He stepped so he was blocking the door. “No. I want to know where she is.”

  “Great for you.” I moved to sidestep him, but he blocked me again. I gritted my teeth, pulled the cigarette from my mouth, and blew smoke in his face. “You will move.”

  “Tell me.”

  I hated that I admired him a little. He was persistent, if a bit rude about it. But I didn’t have time to play this. I wanted sleep, to digest this moment, and to get back home. Most of all, though, I wanted Six. Not knowing where he was weighed on me more than a little—and Julian’s presence only reminded me of that. I shoved around him and exited the cabin, headed toward the car. Fred hustled, dropping his cigarette into the grass and climbing into the driver’s seat.

  But it gnawed on me, the not saying anything to him. So I turned around before climbing in. “I don’t know, Julian. Okay? Even I don’t know where they are.” I climbed in, turned to Fred and said, “Let’s go.”

  I called Six from the car.

  “Get it done?”

  “Hello to you too,” I replied. “Yes, it’s done. The boyfriend showed up.”

  I heard his sigh through the phone and wished I was there to calm him. There was a curtness to his voice that he didn’t often show me, even when I deserved it. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll be back next weekend. Remember the uncle I told you about?” I heard a slam of a metal door and then the gentle roar of waves in the background. “Well, I think he’s back. And, I think he’s looking for her.”

  I felt ill. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m figuring that out right now.” He was quiet for a minute. “I might need your help again.”

  “Well, if it involves flying across several states, I’m gonna need a little more lead time first.”

  “It might involve that. I need to get Andra settled and plan the next move.” He sounded frustrated and I heard the distinct sound of something hitting something else. His fist on wood? “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to worry. It’s going to be fine. I’ll get it figured out. It’s just shit right now.”

  But I wasn’t concerned, not like before. Because I believed Six. Because I trusted him.

  “Anything you need,” I told him, and meant it.

  33

  September 2010

  Three months later

  The phone rang and absentmindedly, with a paintbrush in one hand and a shirt smeared in blues and reds, I answered it.

  “Mirabela.”

  My eyes closed. “Mother.” It'd been so long since I'd last heard her voice, that my own voice cracked.

  “I've been trying to get in touch with you for quite some time,” she began, the shrill annoyance still as clear as ever. “I thought maybe you'd died.”

  I laughed and laid the paintbrush on the table. “Not today.”

  “Hm.” She made a noise and I brushed my hair from my face, and, for a moment, wished for liquor. It was going to be that kind of phone call, I knew. “Did you move again?”

  “Does it matter?” She hadn't sent me money in years, so long that I couldn't even remember when the last time was. That had been the only reason she'd needed my address before, because it wasn't like she made visits that often. But I still hadn’t given her my home address.

  “You fell off the face of the earth and neglected to tell me where you'd gone. I'm your mother, after all.”

  I huffed. “My mother. As if the mere fact that we share DNA entitles you to know where I am.”

  “As if I’m not supposed to worry about you.”

  I blew out a breath, wondering why I was still even talking to her. “You don’t need to. I have things figured out.”

  “I find that hard to believe. What, did you hook up with some pimp or something? Or is the drug business finally paying off?” It amazed me that her derision could be so sharp through the phone.

  “It's not any of your business how I'm supporting myself.” Part of me wanted the satisfaction of telling her I was sober, that I made money from selling paintings here and there at Dry Run. But a larger, more dominant, part of me realized that my best weapon against my mother was withholding knowledge from her. “Did you have a purpose for tracking me down, or were you just out to bother me again?”

  “Really, that's what you have to say to me after ignoring me for two-plus years?”

  “I could think of more colorful things to say, if you'd rather.”

  She sighed, and I mentally marked one line. “I just wanted to check in on you. To see if you needed anything. I haven't seen any hospital bills for a while, which surprised me.” Just as I had begun to warm slightly toward her, she doused me with the ice-cold bucket of her disdain for me.

  “Surprisingly, I haven't needed you to rescue me. Thanks for asking, though.”

  “I suppose since you're in your thirties, you're getting your shit more together than before. That's refreshing. As long as you don't end up dead or pregnant, I guess I'll admit I'm slightly proud.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her not to bother taking any pride for whatever accomplishments I'd created myself, but what she said had triggered a quiet part in my brain that had been dormant for longer than I realized.

  Pregnant. She'd said that, and in the past I would have laughed at it, but in that moment I realized since Six had been gone again, for well over a month now for Andra, I hadn't had my period. When he was gone, I didn't pay much attention to my cycle because it didn’t affect us.

  Abruptly, I hung up the phone without saying another word and walked to the calendar that hung by the front door, run
ning my fingers over when I'd last seen Six.

  Six weeks ago. And I hadn't had a period.

  “Fuck,” I groaned, looking down at my stomach. There wasn't anything unusual on the surface, but I had been tired lately, more tired than usual.

  I debated, briefly, shooting Six a text, but changed my mind at the last second, as I bundled up in a coat that hung by the door and walked to the local drugstore.

  I didn't even wait to walk home from the drugstore, electing to find out news that could change my entire life in the bathroom of a grimy fast food joint around the corner. I hovered over the seat as I peed on the stick, not wanting to risk putting my bare ass on the toilet seat—I had a thought that if I wasn't pregnant, that seat would surely get me there.

  And then I had another thought—Mira ten years earlier wouldn't give second thought to sitting on that seat.

  I nearly dropped the pee stick in the toilet, and a rush of sweat prickled my forehead as I saved it and put it on top of the metal trash bin secured to the stall's wall.

  I hadn't processed the fact that I could be pregnant until I stared at the stick, waiting for the lines to show up or not. It was as if someone else was possibly pregnant. Not me.

  Three minutes crawled by and when it was time to look at the stick, I did without any hesitation, snapping it up and holding it in front of my face.

  There was no doubt about it; I was one hundred percent pregnant.

  I dropped the stick to the floor and stared at my hand in horror, as if my hand had somehow caused this itself.

  Yanking on my pants and grabbing my purse, I was ready to get the fuck out of there.

  What would Six think? That was the question I asked myself repeatedly, over and over.

  He's going to leave you.

  He's going to resent you even more.

  Abort it.

  I hurried down the sidewalk as the voices berated my skull, without any real direction in mind. I was just walking fast, hoping the air would somehow clear my head and give me what I needed—which was the answer to how do I tell him?