Page 41

TWENTY-TWO
Patrick
Tess slips me Cari’skeys before she leaves. “She’s ready to go,” she says, pressing them into my hand. “I brought it over and parked it in her spot.”
“Thanks, Tess,” I say. “Don’t forget to give a bill this time.”
She turns my hand over in hers, studying its broken skin and swollen knuckles. “You know what you are, Cap’n?” she says, looking up at me.
I crack a smile. “After my week of behaving badly, I’m afraid to ask.”
“You’re a nice guy,” she says, the corner of her mouth ticking upward when I groan. “Okay… a good man—and if the thought of you naked didn’t make me want to soak my brain in bleach, I’d totally do you.”
“I got an idea…” Con saunters up, slinging an arm around Tess’s shoulders. “How about you do me and pretend I’m him.”
“I’d rather drink the bleach than do you,” Tess quips back. She shoots a quick glance up the stairs Cari climbed a few minutes ago. They said their goodbyes in private, crying and hugging in a corner of the bar before Cari fled. “Now,” she says, looking at Con. “Take me for pancakes or lose me forever.”
“You just want me for my booth at Benny’s,” he says, scooping Shadrach up in his arms.
“Duh.” Tess laughs, shaking her head. “It’s the only thing you’re good for.”
“Give me ten minutes, I’ll show you something else I’m good for.” Con wags his eyebrows at her, and she snorts as he leads her toward the door. “Oh—Cari must’ve dropped this.” He wiggles the fingers draped across Tess’s shoulder. Between them is a slip of paper.
The check.
I snap it from his fingers and nod. “Thanks, man.”
“You gonna be okay?” he says, concern clouding his face. “Want to come flirt with Nora? Maybe score some free pie?”
I consider it. It would be easier. Cleaner if I leave. Stay gone until she’s asleep. Stay gone until she leaves for good.
“No—we’ll be okay.” I walk them to the door and open it for them. “See you guys tomorrow.”
They wave at me, strolling slowly toward Tess’s place to drop off Shad before they head to Benny’s. I watch them disappear down the sidewalk, jealous of how easy things are between them. How simple and clean. Shutting the door, I lock it and set the security alarm. Turn off the lights and give the place one last once-over before I head upstairs.
At the top of the stairs, is the pizza box I dropped, its cardboard lid splattered with blood. The door still hanging open, the snapped chain dangling uselessly from its frame. The coffee table is destroyed, exploded into a pile of splintered wood. Looking at it, I get a flash. Me, lifting James by his throat. Flipping him over, slamming him onto the table while Cari choked and gasped for air behind me. Like it was happening all over again, my jaw fuses shut. My ears start to ring. My chest feels tight. Dragging my gaze up from the ruined table, I find Cari. The moment I see her, everything else fades.
“Hey,” I say, stepping past the mess I made. “Con found this.” I hold the check up, and she looks at it like she has no idea what it is. Her hand comes up slow, her wrist slack as she plucks it from my fingers. I have a bad feeling about giving it to her.
“Thanks,” she says, barely sparing me a glance. “What do you see when you look at it?” She keeps her gaze fixed and steady on the painting, hanging on the wall, a few feet away from us.
I can’t even force myself to look at it let alone dissect the feelings that looking at it invokes. “I think you need some sleep, Cari,” I say, ignoring the question completely.
“Are you a better person now that you got fucked by a boy scout?” she says, still staring at the painting. She turns her face and looks at me. “That’s what James said to me. Like I’m not capable of being something good on my own.” The corner of her mouth jerks upward, more grimace than smile. “Maybe he’s right.”
The ringing in my ear resurfaces. The tightness in my chest. It starts to pull me under, but I shake it, focusing on her to ground myself. “You’re the best person I know.” It’s true, but I know she doesn’t believe me.
Can’t.
She looks at me, laughter bubbling on her lips. “How can you say that after everything I’ve done?” She jabs her finger at the painting. “After what I made you do?”
“Fuck me,” I groan, running my hands through my hair, barely curbing the urge to pull it out. “You aren’t the lone gunman here, Cari—I’ve been with you, every goddamn step of the way, giving as good as I get. You didn’t make me do anything.” I can say it now because it’s the truth and it’s high fucking time I own my behavior instead of pushing it off on her. “I’m in that painting too. My choices. My mistakes.”
She shakes her head, instantly rejecting everything I just said. “Would you have—” Her neck flames red and her gaze shifts just over my shoulder. “Would any of it happened if I hadn’t pushed you into it?”
I drop my hands and look at her.
No. I never would’ve touched her if she hadn’t opened the door. Made me angry enough to forget who I am—who I pretend to be. That’s what she does to me. Makes me forget. Makes me want.