The warehouse looked abandoned—a dark hulk shadowed by the dim light from a lone streetlight halfway down the block. The closer ones had been shot out. Jagged edges of broken glass jutted from holes that had once been windows at the top of the building. A tattered chain-link fence circled the property—a porous defense riddled by neglect. Whole sections sagged, holes gaped, two strands of barbed wire curled back where they had been cut. A cool breeze skittered an unseen can in the darkness.
“All we’re missing is a black cat to run across our path,” I whispered to myself as I staggered when my ankle turned on a buckle in the asphalt. “Shit.” I gritted my teeth and tried to make myself small. The last thing I wanted to do was alert the folks inside to our presence. “Not until everyone was in place,” Romeo had said before he’d disappeared in the darkness.
Taking shallow breaths, I tried to ignore the stench of garbage left too long in the sun. Downwind of the putrid smell, my eyes teared, my stomach turned. Of course, the fact that I was like a racehorse in the starting gate anticipating the gun, could have something to do with my anxiety.
Lacing my fingers through the fence, I knelt, one knee on the ground, the other bent and ready to spring. My nerves were caught between hoping for the best and fearing the worst. Goose bumps competed with a sheen of cold sweat. My heartbeat kept a steady rhythm in my ears as I fought the urge to do something. Surprise was on our side. We needed to wait—get everyone in place. I knew it, but I wanted to ignore it just the same.
Like a wraith, Romeo materialized at my shoulder. “Backup got here pretty quick. I’ve got a couple of teams at each door ready to move in on my mark.”
“Okay, let’s go.” I started to rise, but Romeo grabbed my arm pulling me back down.
“You’re staying right here.” Romeo lowered his voice to a growl. “No way in Hell am I letting you traipse into harm’s way.”
“Traipse?” My voice matched his—I knew he couldn’t see my slitty eyes.
He blew out a breath. “Lucky, you stay right here. I mean it. You’ll be nothing but in the way. And if you got hurt? I could kiss my ass good-bye.”
I wanted to point out that it wouldn’t do my ass much good either, but that wouldn’t help—it really was Brandy’s and Cole’s asses on the line here. And, if I argued the more likely he would be to assign me a keeper. “Fine. Just get them out of there in one piece, okay.”
I must’ve sounded sincere because he bought it. “That’s my job.”
“You better get going, then.”
“Patience. We get one shot at this, Lucky. We need to make it count.”
“Your guys know we have a couple of innocents in there?”
“If there is an illegal game going on and Cole and Brandy are playing guppy, swimming with the big fish, they’re gonna get caught in the same net as the sharks.” Romeo sounded like the cop he was. Impressive, considering one of the little fish was his girlfriend.
I reached through the darkness and fisted a hand in the front of his shirt, pulling his face close to mine. “If anybody’s going to kill them, it’s going to be me. Got it?”
“You’ll get your chance.” In the half-light I could see he was as scared as I was. As a detective I guessed it was his job not to show it. “Stay here. For once, do as you’re told.”
I waited until he disappeared into the darkness, then, crouching down, I followed him. Pulling aside a section of fence, I stepped, trying to be quiet. On the other side, I stayed close enough behind that I could hear him whisper instructions into the radio mike affixed to his shoulder, although I couldn’t make out the words. Clicks were the only response. Hiding in the darkness I watched as he eased up three steps to the door on the east side of the building. Taking a deep breath, Romeo closed his hand around the doorknob. His back to the door, his gun held chest high at the ready, he thumbed off the safety. He gave the knob a turn. The door clicked open and he pushed it in a few inches. For a moment he waited, listening.
Voices rode the air—diffuse, distant, but not too far. Light filtered into the darkness from our left.
Pressing his lips to the mike, Romeo whispered something I couldn’t hear then he motioned with his head to someone out of my line of sight toward the glow and the voices.
I slithered through the doorway behind him then ducked into a shadow. First, I eased one foot out of a shoe, then the other and kicked the pair to the side. Nothing to make noise. The bare concrete was cold and damp, a discomfort I welcomed as we moved farther into the building. The walls creaked as the wind moved outside. I thought I heard scurrying sounds in the darkness, but I might have been imagining that part.
“Let the deaf kid play. Hell, he knows his way around and he’s got green we can take.” That voice I knew—River Watalsky. I’d been right about his plans, a small comfort. Which side was he playing?
Time would provide the answer, but for now, at least Cole was alive and kicking.
Some grumbling met his announcement, then the sound of a chair scraping back. The kid was in the game.
Crouched, I followed Romeo as he worked his way closer, one careful step at a time. Romeo’s coattails scrunched in my fist tethered us together.
“What about the girl?” Another voice, unfamiliar with a hard edge. “She’s got a body on her.”
Brandy! So both of them were okay…for the moment.
“Throw her into the pot.” Watalsky again. “We’ll play for her.”
“But the kid’s on the button. He has an advantage.”
“Who the fuck cares? He’s just a kid and he can’t understand a word we say.” Watalsky knew that wasn’t true.
The voices fell quiet. Silence for a moment as cards were dealt. Chips clattered as players made their bets. I moved in next to Romeo. To his credit, he didn’t act too alarmed—in fact, he looked like he’d been expecting me. The kid had played me all along. I liked it. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. Taking our position just outside the perimeter of light cast by a lone bulb hanging from the rafters, Romeo and I turned away from the game as we sat, our backs against a large pile of wooden pallets.
Romeo again clicked his mike and waited for the sets of two answering clicks. Four sets for four pairs of officers in place, they came quickly. Everyone was ready.
His mouth set in a grim line, he slid the bolt back on his gun, chambering a round. Then he raised a questioning eyebrow at me. He mouthed the words, “Stay here. I mean it.”
I nodded. It’s not like I was armed or anything. And, if we didn’t get the show on the road, the pounding of my heart would give us away any minute.
Romeo pushed himself to his feet. Holding his gun in both hands, he brought it to level in front of him, the pile of pallets providing a shield of sorts. Aiming at the group of players, he shouted, “Metro Police Department. Don’t move. Hands in the air.”
Still hiding behind the pallets, I don’t know exactly what happened next. All I do know is that chairs scraped back. Shouts. Then bullets started flying.
On my hands and knees, I peeked around. Pandemonium. Romeo, his gun in front of him, launched himself into the fray. Other officers darted, hiding themselves, then risking a shot.
The players overturned the poker table, using it as a shield. Backs to it they popped magazines from their pistols, rammed new ones in, then turned to fire at the officers again.
Crawling forward, I moved toward the center of the room, keeping Romeo in front of me. Desperate for a glimpse of Cole and Brandy, I stuck my head farther out and scanned the room, my heart in my throat.
A bullet whizzed by, embedding itself in the wooden pillar next to my left ear. “Shit.” Why is it that every time I feel like shooting someone, my gun is not in my hand? Probably a stroke of luck, but it didn’t feel like it right at the moment.
One of the players took a step toward me, then whirled and squeezed off a round. Another pop. The shooter let out a yelp and clutched his leg. His gun clattered, then skidded in my direction. Just as I reached for it, a foot kicked it out of the way.
“Don’t you dare,” Romeo growled. “Get the hell away from here. You don’t need that kind of trouble.”
Not the thing to say to me as another bullet hit too close and I saw red. I dove for the pistol. A Berretta 9mm, it felt good in my hand.
I inched around and got a good look. Most of the players had surrendered their weapons and now knelt, hands clasped behind their heads. Only one fool had any fight left. The cops had him pinned down behind the poker table. As I stepped into sight, the player behind the table turned on Romeo and me, catching the young detective with nowhere to hide. He ducked. I aimed. A pop. The gun jerked in my hand.
A grunt. The shooter fell back, blood on his shoulder. His shooting arm dropped.
His buddy, the guy who had been hit in the leg, raised his hands, but stayed where he sat. “Don’t shoot, man. I got no gun.”
Romeo stepped to him and pushed him face-first on the ground. “Hands behind your back. I got a feeling you know the drill.”
As he cuffed him, Romeo gave me a half grin and a shake of the head. He didn’t have to say anything.
As the dust settled, I caught sight of Watalsky on his chest, lying flat on the ground. My heart leaped. I rushed to his side. Kneeling down, my eyes scanned the room as I asked, “Are you hit?”
“Hell, no.” As he pushed himself up, another set of arms and feet stuck out from under him. He’d been lying on someone. “Darn near took one in the ass trying to get this guy to the ground.” Watalsky rolled off the body underneath.
Cole!
Fury reddened the young man’s face as he pushed at Watalsky, who was twice his size and probably three times his weight. I reached down and grabbed Cole, bringing him to his feet with one jerk. “Brandy? Where is she?”
Panic on his face, Cole scanned the room. My eyes followed his.
Behind me Watalsky asked Romeo, “How many do you have?”
Romeo paused as he got a good picture of his officers and their captives. “Six.”
“There’s one more.”
“I didn’t kill her.” The voice was low, angry, but it held a plea.
All heads turned toward the sound as a figure stepped out into the light. I stepped back into the shadows.
Kevin Slurry. The Hawk. The former owner of the Web site that seemed to be at the center of things, Aces Over Eights, a dead man’s hand. That went from being merely creepy to totally terrifying.
He held Brandy, her back to his chest, like a human shield, the muzzle of his gun pressed to her temple.
Romeo made a move toward him. Slurry re-aimed his gun at the detective’s chest. “Don’t be a hero.”
Romeo froze. He raised his hands, his gun pointing at the ceiling.
“I want all of you to put your guns on the ground, then kick them over to me.”
Unsure, the officers glanced at Romeo. He slowly knelt and did as Slurry asked. The other officers followed. In the shadows, I stepped farther back, hiding myself in the darkness and hoping that the bright light over Slurry made it hard for him to see.
“I didn’t kill Sylvie Dane.” Slurry’s voice shook. Under the harsh light of the exposed bulbs, it was easy to see he was nervous. Perspiration trickled down the side of his face. Raising his shoulder, he wiped it away, but the panic in his eyes remained as they darted around the room.
“This is no way to get us to believe you,” Romeo said. “Put your gun down. Let the girl go. Then we’ll talk.”
“They’re going to kill me, Slurry said as he once again pressed his gun to Brandy’s temple. “She’s my ticket outta here.”
“Who’s going to kill you?” Romeo asked.
“The same ones who killed Sylvie.” Slurry was starting to lose it now. I could see the wildness in his eyes as he gripped Brandy to him with an arm across her throat.
“Who are they?” the young detective pushed.
“Hell, if I knew that do you think I’d be here? I’m looking for answers the same as you.” Slurry motioned with his gun for the officers in front of him to move to the side. With a nod from Romeo, they did as he requested. “I was helping her.”
“With what?” Romeo asked.
I kept my eyes glued to Brandy. She didn’t struggle. Finally, her eyes locked with mine. Big and bright, they mirrored her fear and something else…resolve. I gave her a questioning look and pointed to the ground. She gave me a half smile.
We’d get one shot at this. I didn’t smile—lately puns had been losing their luster. Half hidden from view behind Romeo, I pulled back the slide on my gun, then curled both hands around the grip, one finger resting lightly on the trigger.
As Romeo kept Slurry’s attention, I gave a quick nod to Brandy.
I raised my gun. She sagged in his arms, fighting against his hold. Caught by surprise, Slurry’s grip loosened. Brandy shrugged him off and dropped to the ground.
To me, everything happened in slow motion. I stroked the trigger and the gun jerked in my hand. Kevin staggered back. A red stain ballooned on his chest.
Romeo pivoted, looking at me, his eyes as big as saucers.
For a moment time stopped.
***
“I’ve never shot a man before,” I said, apropos of nothing, really. Huddled in a blanket, sitting on the fender of an ambulance, I tried to control my shaking. Cops and paramedics rushed in and out of the light cast by the headlights of the vehicles clustered around the ambulances. They’d circled Brandy and Cole before I’d had a chance to shoot them myself. The Flight for Life helicopter carrying Slurry lifted off. Quickly, its landing light dimmed as the night swallowed it. A couple of the other players, including the one I had winged, were being treated, then transported to UMC at more sedate pace, their injuries deemed non–life threatening.
Holding a cup of coffee by the rim, Romeo handed it to me. Cupping my hands around the Styrofoam, I sought comfort from the warmth steaming from the liquid. I tried to raise the cup to my lips, but my hands shook so badly I was worried about scalding myself. Of course, then I might be able to sue for a huge sum, like that lady who sued McDonald’s, and retire to some obscure island in the South Pacific. But, with my luck, I’d probably just get a burn, a scar, and bad publicity so I contented myself with absorbing the warmth rather than ingesting it.
If Romeo noticed my struggle, he kept it to himself. “The first time is the hardest, but it never gets easier. That guy had it coming for sure, but he’s someone’s child or brother, or something.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, please stop. You suck at it.”
“So, I’ve been told.” He scooted me over then squeezed one cheek onto my fender, propping himself there. “I’m just saying we all feel the same way. But, look at it this way, if you hadn’t shot that guy in the leg, I might not be sitting here.”
“Working so hard to improve my mood.”
Romeo nudged me with his shoulder and grinned. “You did the right thing. Even though you shot him before he could tell us what he was helping Sylvie Dane with.”
“As you said, I had one shot at saving Brandy, so I took it.”
“And a good thing you did, too.”
“Do you think he’s going to make it?” My voice came out all hushed.
“Slurry? I don’t know.” Romeo snaked an arm around my shoulders, pulling me tight. Somehow he must’ve sensed that offering platitudes would just ring hollow, so he stayed quiet.
I’d finally managed to negotiate a sip or two of coffee without scalding myself or decorating my front, when Watalsky appeared, trailed by two officers. “Detective, you gotta tell your goons I’m one of the good guys.”
“Really?” Romeo let go of my shoulders, but he didn’t move from his perch. “Convince me.”
“Me and Jerry over at the Babylon have been trying to get a bead on the cheating that was going on the other night. Those two, Slurry and Sylvie Dane had to be in cahoots, I just can’t figure out why.”
I pulled the blanket tighter around me—for some reason I couldn’t get warm. “Did Jerry know you were here?”
Watalsky looked at the ground as he scuffed his toes in the gravel. “Not really.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“We’re going to take the lot of you to the station. You’ll be there until we get the truth out of you.” Romeo motioned to the officers, who had each taken one of Watalsky’s arms, bracketing him. They didn’t need him to spell it out. Without a word, they led Watalsky away.
“You’re in for a long night.”
Romeo looked resigned. “Yeah, well, you know how it is.” With the excitement over, the adrenaline waning, the kid looked like he could use a month of good shut-eye. His hair slicked to his head, his face haggard, a stubble scratching his cheeks, a decade had been added to his appearance since the last time I’d seen him—and he hadn’t looked so hot then. The clothes were different. A new suit, but the same wilted white shirt, noosed by a tie loosely knotted and covered by his same tan overcoat—he looked like Clark Kent in need of a phone booth. With a casual glance, he assessed the area. “Things are under control here.”
“Saying those kinds of things does nothing but tempt fate,” I groused, thinking my emotions were far from under control—they still spiked and dove, twisted and flipped, a dizzying roller-coaster ride.
As Romeo started to say something, Brandy appeared out of the darkness and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. Romeo grabbed her with both arms and held tight. Cole, hanging back in the shadows, didn’t look too pleased. Finally, out of patience, he strode into the light and tapped Brandy on the back. When she turned, he signed something to her.
“Right.” Her brows crinkled in worry as she glanced between Romeo and me. “Is the other girl okay?”
“What other girl?” we said in unison.
“The girl with the necklace.”
I dropped my coffee as I leaped to my feet. “She was here? Where?”
“She was in the game. She used the necklace to buy in.”
“Really?” Romeo was openly skeptical. “Why would anyone bring a red-hot piece of ice like that here?”
Cole rolled his eyes, his fingers flying.
“Where better?” Brandy interpreted. “Here nobody cares who you are, or where you got it. No records and it disappears into a melting pot at some local chop shop.”
“Can’t argue with the logic,” I said to Romeo.
Romeo turned to Cole. “You wouldn’t have any idea where she went, would you?”
“When the shooting started, she rabbited.” Brandy appeared to be picking up some interesting lingo hanging with the poker crowd. “God knows where.”
“And the necklace?” I asked out of curiosity.
Cole reached into his pocket. Then he grabbed Romeo’s hand, turned it palm up, and dropped Sylvie Dane’s pocket watch into his open hand.
***
“Well, we have the watch,” I said to my audience clustered in my office as I held it by the chain and watched as it twirled, fracturing the light like a disco ball. Romeo had dusted it in vain—any meaningful prints had long been obscured. “A pretty bauble. But no girl.”
Miss P and the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock sat molded together, Jeremy underneath, like a human stacking game. Entwined, they looked tired, but happy.
“Fuckin’ A!” Newton, never one to be ignored, trotted out the epithet with abandon. “Asshole! Asshole! Asshole!” He ducked and shimmied from one side of his cage to the other.
“What’s with the bird?” Miss P asked.
“A shiny bauble and an audience—bird heaven.”
“Gimme, gimme, gimme.” Newton’s vocabulary was clearly growing. The worst part of it was his word choices seemed to be appropriate, well, if four-letter words were ever appropriate.
Dropping the watch on the corner of Miss P’s desk, I reached for the cover to the birdcage. “Time for you to go to sleep, kiddo.”
“Bitch,” Newton murmured, making everyone laugh as I wrapped him in darkness.
“Where are the kids?” Jeremy asked, as he snaked out a hand to grab Sylvie’s watch. He turned it over in his hand then popped the cover. “Sweet.”
“Brandy and Cole went to the station with Romeo,” I explained as I plopped into my desk chair, kicked off my shoes, then put my feet on my desk. “He’s got Watalsky on the hot seat and wanted to use the kids’ stories to keep him honest.”
“Gotcha.” Jeremy grinned as Miss P nuzzled his ear. “Honey, that’s really distracting.”
“Go get a room, you two. I hear we have a few that are pretty nice.” I watched wishing for an ear of my own to nibble…perhaps one with a French flair. “As I was saying, Romeo is going to get everyone’s story straight, then he’s going to bust Dane’s ass with it.”
“Assuming that happens, what’s going to happen to Dane?” Jeremy asked. I wasn’t sure whether anger pinched his face or another emotion.
“Once Metro finds him…if they find him…he’ll be escorted through the criminal justice system, to much media fanfare, unless we can conjure up a killer.” Wiggling my toes, I pretended to be interested in them for a moment while the room fell silent, each of us lost in our own memories, our fears. “I hear a grand jury will be convened on Monday. It’s my guess they have enough evidence, albeit circumstantial, to indict.”
“I’m chasing some interesting money trails for your dead Poker Room manager, Johnstone.” Jeremy shook his head as he ducked away from Miss P. “It’s pretty convoluted, highly sophisticated. But it’s looking like he had his hand in a pretty large cookie jar.”
“Any offshore connections?” I asked. Sometimes a shot in the dark actually hits something.
“Why would you think that?” Jeremy’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued.
“Kevin Slurry seems to be at the vortex of this hurricane. And he owned an offshore poker site. Money flows through there like shit though a goose, but comes out clean as a whistle on the other side.”
“Really?” He boosted Miss P off his lap. He set the watch back on my desk. “You might want to check the inside of the cover there.” He pointed to a section of the metal that was less shiny than the rest. “It looks like something’s been removed. Some initials or something, I can’t tell without a magnifying glass.” As I bent to look where he pointed, he grabbed his cell and started dialing, then disappeared through the office door.
Miss P brushed down her skirt, then pulled her shoulders back, stretching. Taking a deep breath, she leveled her gaze at me. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?”
“Any info on that sign in front of the dealership?”
“Maintenance is looking for the work order, but you know how they are.”
“Organization is not their strength.”
Jeremy had finished his call and poked his head back in the office. “I’ve got some preliminary news on Sylvie Dane’s phone. It was a burn phone, untraceable to any source, not that I expected to find any. And she didn’t make any outgoing calls, except to one number.”
“What was the number? Could you trace it?”
Jeremy nodded. “Don’t get all excited. The number is registered to a local charity that hands out phones to homeless kids.”
“Homeless?” That was a turn in the road I didn’t see coming.
“Don’t ask,” Jeremy shut my questions down. “I haven’t tied any of this together—still working on it.”
“Gotcha. Maybe you’ll know more when I meet you for breakfast tomorrow. Jamm’s, right?”
“Eight o‘clock.”
I turned my attention to Miss P. “Take your Aussie boy home. We’ve done enough for today.”
She didn’t argue. Miss P hooked her arm through her honey’s and they fell into easy conversation. She grabbed her purse off Brandy’s desk as she went by, then both of them stepped through the hole in the wall, my future office door. Quiet descended as their voices retreated down the hallway.
Alone with myself, I picked up the watch and held it to the light. The stones shattered the weak light into colorful sparkles. Flipping open the cover, I held it so it caught what light there was. On my second pass, I noticed a scuffed patch of metal on the inside as if something had been removed. The initials Jerry had mentioned. Why remove them? Whatever the reason, the deed had been done fairly recently from the looks of it.
I had no idea what it meant or if it was relevant at all. Like a blanket thrown over a smoldering fire, the quiet semidarkness pressed around me as I contemplated all the pieces to the puzzle. Despite my best efforts, my brain flipped to shutdown mode. Too little sleep, too many murders, too many elusive connections… and too little life. Not to mention I’d shot someone today. Okay, two someones.
Caught in the daily current of chaos, it was easy to avoid myself. Perhaps that’s why I sought the craziness—no time for introspection. But, according to the experts, sanity is based on a balance between life at full tilt and reflective time. God knew I had a tentative hold on reality as it was, so I relinquished myself to the silence and let my world turn inward. And, like horses galloping to the barn, when I let my thoughts run unbridled, they ran straight to my most personal problem—Teddie.
Someday I’d have to face him, I knew that. But, with multiple time zones between us, I’d been avoiding the inevitable. The searing heat of his betrayal still burned at the touch of a memory. Yes, Miss P was right, Teddie used to love me; he probably still did. He just loved himself more. And, if the best I could do was a distant second, I wasn’t entering the race, thank you very much.
In need of moral courage, I wandered into the kitchenette—Miss P kept an emergency ration of medicinal Wild Turkey 101 in the top cabinet, way in the back. Dropping one cube of ice in the double old-fashioned glass, I filled it with the golden elixir—nothing like Kentucky mash to dull the pain.
Dousing the lights, leaving the light filtering in from the lobby below as the only illumination, I sagged into Miss P’s chair. Pulling out the bottom drawer with the toe of my left foot, I rested both feet on it and tilted myself back. History had taught me, the first sip of whiskey is always the worst, leaving a trail of fire all the way down until it explodes in a ball of warmth. As I braced for the pain then relished the comfort, an inner voice sounded a warning that went unheeded.
I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel.
So, I did what any sane person would do: I hit the replay button on the message machine, then leaned back, bracing for the hit.
Like a sucker punch, Teddie’s voice hit me hard, leaving me gasping for air.
“Lucky,” he began. “I’ve been practicing this over and over, rewriting it in my head, trying to find the words. Finally, I realized, words are inadequate. Anything I say will fall so far short of what I feel. But, words are all I have.”
He paused. I could hear music in the background. I had no idea where he was, but he lived life to an accompanying soundtrack, subtle background music to set the mood. Perhaps that assessment was a bit unfair, but I wasn’t in a magnanimous mood. Sue me.
“When I left, I thought I was doing us both a favor.” He sounded like a lawyer for the accused pleading his case in summation.
My heart fell. Great. So, this was my fault. Somehow I’d had a feeling he’d lay the blame—no, not the blame…the justification…at my feet.
“No,” his voice interrupted my pity party. “Lucky, don’t go there. You know it’s not what I meant. This one is all on me.”
Apparently I was as easy to read as a billboard—even from half a world away. That gave him quite an advantage. But, he wasn’t the only clairvoyant…I had seen the end from the beginning. I’d warned him about spiking the cauldron of friendship with 200-proof love—a potent punch that would leave us with nothing but a headache…and a heartache.
“But,” Teddie continued, “I convinced myself that cutting you loose would be the best thing. Then I could let go of the guilt. It didn’t work out the way I’d planned.”
The games we play. The lengths we’ll go to justify really bad behavior.
“I told you so!” I threw the verbal dart into the darkness, but this was a one-sided conversation—he didn’t hear it. Of course, if I had the nerve to pick up the phone, which I didn’t, I could tell him myself. I just didn’t see the point—we’d worn a path through this ground before.
“You always told me, like the young woman who tried to leave Shangri-la, you’d die before you hit the city limits of Las Vegas. Point taken—your life is there. You were always honest about that. And you were honest about wanting a man to come home to every night.”
Yes, I’d wanted all of that. And, while we were dreaming, some of his mother’s coconut oatmeal raisin cookies wouldn’t be bad either.
For a moment I had had that—life with Teddie, even the cookies. Life had been perfect. In retrospect, a lie, but a perfect lie. Tired of fighting the memories, I relinquished myself to them: I could feel his arms around me, and remembered lying awake in the dark listening to him breathe, comforted and content—a Norman Rockwell picture of the past.
“I thought I could be that man, writing my music. But I forgot what it was like to be in front of a crowd, feeding off their energy. Man, it’s electric, intoxicating.” He sighed. “And I chose.”
Open and raw, I was no match to fight off those memories either. The pain flared as his words, his callousness, assaulted me once again. He’d come home unexpectedly—one last fuck before saying good-bye. Pig.
“They say you never really appreciate what you have until you’ve lost it.”
Christ, the guy should be with Miss P—they could share a lifetime trading platitudes.
“I know that’s one of those corny things you hate.” He chuckled, presumably at a memory. “What is it you say? Platitudes are lies the world wants you to believe? I think that’s it.”
I took another long drink, then closed my eyes and rested my head on the back of the chair. The guy got me. I used to love that about him, now I resented it. This would be so much easier if I could work myself up to hating him, but I couldn’t.
“Anyway, I have no idea whether you will ever hear these words, but I had to say them.”
He sounded so sad, and sincere. Fuck.
“For a smart guy, I can be incredibly stupid.” He took a deep breath.
I could picture him running his hand through his hair making it stick out in all different directions, his blue eyes dark with emotion, wearing his Harvard sweatshirt with the collar cut out—the one I used to sleep in when he wasn’t home. Home. Something twisted in my gut.
“And here’s the kicker.” His voice caught. “I thought performing was my calling, food for my soul—all that I would need. I was wrong.”
A tear trickled down my cheek. I didn’t wipe it away.
“I knew it the minute I left. I’ve spent the last couple of months trying to run from the truth, but I can’t. Lucky, you are my tether. Without you I am adrift, at the mercy of the tides of life, lost. You are the words to my melody. You give me meaning.”
I took a ragged breath and drained the last of my drink in one gulp, then slammed the glass on the desk.
“I love you,” Teddie said. He’d always said it so easily while I had stumbled over the words. “I need you more than you can imagine. And I am so very sorry I hurt you. I pray that someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Forgiveness. There was that word again.
“You know my parents; stupidity runs in the family. Let me back in, Lucky. Please. I won’t hurt you. Not this time. That I promise.”
He’d promised that the first time.
The line went dead. The machine beeped. The message was complete.
Men. Can’t live with them, can’t shoot them with a gun. Well, today had proven that sometimes you can, but that wasn’t in the cards for Teddie. What had the Big Boss said? The man worth having would never make you cry?
As emotion overwhelmed me, I buried my face in my hands, fighting it. But I didn’t have any fight left. Relinquishing myself to the tears, I cried. For me. For Teddie. For what we’d had, for what we had lost, and for what we would never have again.