Page 3 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

More like demanded. I hadn’t been in any frame of mind to decline, politely or not. He’d made no snide comment about my snotty, tear-stained face, and he also didn’t attempt to invade my personal space with a socially appropriate hug. That had been as devastating as it was a relief.

I should be grateful to the people who are showing me courtesy, but I genuinely don’t know how to respond to their sudden change of heart towards me. I’m way too sober to ignore all the intrusive thoughts that are multiplying in my mind.

Another unexpected body shoves me to the side of the booth seat.

Neveah Slacum grins at me as she slides a tray of shots onto the center of the table. Her blonde hair is in its familiar Goldilocks state, and her brown eyes are hazy. “Bottoms up, ladies. Let’s send Granny off right.”

“My word,” I breathe, partly from gratitude, partly from shock. “I haven’t seen you in years. I thought you moved away, too?”

She offers me a sardonic smile. “I did. New York City chews up mountain maidens like us. When the money ran out and the gigs dried up, I had no choice but to come crawling home with my tail tucked between my legs.”

I offer her a tentative smile rather than picking apart the rumors Granny had told me about Neveah’s big move to The Big Apple. “ You’ll get back out there and take the world by storm. This is just a temporary setback, not a life sentence.”

Savina scoffs. “You’re an accountant, Delia. That has to be the most boring job on the planet. Why do you make it sound like you have all these big dreams? Still living vicariously through your books?”

A trickle of sweat slides down my temple.

Clearly, even Granny’s death has limits on how close it can bring past quasi-acquaintances together. Savina’s support has an expiration date labeled right now .

“No,” I insist. “I gave up fairy tales a long time ago. Being an accountant taught me that slow and steady wins the race. No more daydreams. Who has time for that?”

I laugh, but it sounds a touch hysterical even in my own ears. They can’t possibly know that I gave in to old habits during my little escape to the ladies’ room.

“I get it, babe. It’s a jungle out there. Gotta hustle.” Neveah frowns, tossing back one of the shots.

Hope plucks one of the shot glasses off the tray and lifts it to her nose to sniff. “Did Wallace send these over to us?”

“Wallace is generous, but even he has his limits. The bar is back to pay to play,” Neveah answers.

I’m surprised The Flame isn’t clearing out at breakneck speed.

Savina abruptly leans across the sticky, gouged oak wood of the tabletop. “And just how well do you know Wallace’s generosity?”

My gaze ping-pongs between them. There’s a distinct, simmering tension that I can’t explain. It’s not just because I’m in the throes of grief or because I haven’t been around in a decade. It feels like a line in the sand.

Neveah shrugs, breaking the silent standoff. “He offered to host Granny’s wake here, didn’t he? That’s awfully generous, considering he’s not a blood relative.”

That’s a piece of mountain culture that I’ve never understood, the idea that blood is thicker than water. I prefer the misattributed phrase the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb .

My mother, esteemed Granny’s daughter, abandoned me when I was still too young to understand that I’d been dumped for the first time.

I have no idea who my father is. Should I offer my biological parents my undying loyalty simply because of our shared genetics?

Hardly. Granny earned my devotion because she more than deserved it.

She didn’t have to take me in and raise me during the twilight of her life.

She could’ve been snowbirding to Florida and spreading STIs around retirement communities with other randy septuagenarians.

Now, I have no one.

I stuff down another sob then pick up one of the shots.

The cool glass just touches my lip when Hope asks, “Who bought these for us then?”

A sly smile brightens Neveah’s previously glum expression. “Duke.”

Hope replaces the untouched shot on the tray. Savina tips hers then Hope’s back in quick succession.

What a motherfucking asshole. His malfeasance borders on incomprehensible.

Just to make sure he gets the message that I’m closed for business to his shit for the rest of the night, I slowly pour my shot onto the tray, glancing around the bar to figure out where the Spawn of Satan is hiding.

He scoffs at the edge of the table, and I jump. He’s materialized like Beelzebub out of the ether.

“Aww, Cordelia. Is now a good time to tell you that Wallace gave me those for free? You’re not wasting my paycheck as much as you think.”

“What. In the. Fuck. Is wrong with you?” I enunciate, so that even his Neanderthal brain can understand the words coming out of my mouth. “Why can’t you just leave me alone, Duke? Everyone else does, even tonight.”

I don’t dare glance away from Duke’s scathing glare, but I notice the women exchanging nervous glances in my peripheral vision.

Duke slams his pint glass on the table, ignoring the beer sloshing over his hand. He leans forward until he’s in my face, despite the several feet of distance between our bodies. “You wanna know what’s wrong with me, Cordelia Diane? ”

“Duke,” Savina whispers. She places a hand on his corded forearm that’s trembling with rage. “Calm down.”

He rips his fiery gaze from me to her. The look in his eyes is positively demonic when he hisses, “Stay out of this, Savina. While you’re at it, get the fuck away from this table.”

I recoil from the violence in his tone. Duke might have done innumerable horrid things to me in the past, but he was always kind to everyone else. I don’t know what about my grandmother’s death has pushed him over the edge tonight.

He refocuses his laser-like gaze on me.

I brace for a monumental shift. The kind that will throw my world—everything I’ve ever known—off its axis.

“You,” he spits, his face red with rage. “ You are what is wrong with me.”

My heartbeat screeches to a halt.

“Is there a problem here?”

I forcibly rip my attention away from Duke to the man standing beside him.

Wallace frowns at everyone.

“I’m so sorry for the commotion, sir,” I mumble. “There’s no problem. Thank you for your generosity tonight.”

My words send Duke into a tailspin.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Cordie?” he shouts. “ Nothing is fine!”

All the breath leaves my lungs in an audible whoosh.

Only one person ever called me Cordie.

Duke’s landing punch after punch, and I can’t even dodge his blows.

“He’s clearly had too much to drink.” Savina sniffs then waves an elegant hand in the air. “Remove him, Wallace. We’ll see to Cordelia.”

Wallace looks none too pleased with her order. I’m shocked that she has the lady balls to issue it.

Duke is blessedly silent, but he looks seconds from launching himself across the table to rip my throat out.

“Cordelia,” Wallace murmurs. “You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you see yourself out the back? There’s a basket of food for you in the kitchen.”

I nod numbly, scrambling out of the booth on unsteady legs. I have no problem following his suggestion. Not when it might keep me alive a little longer so that I can mourn properly.

I don’t look back as I fight my way through the throngs one last time.

I push through the swinging door into the bar kitchen with every ounce of rage swimming through me. It bounces off the wall.

Furious tears race down my cheeks.

I hate him.

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

The gift basket on the kitchen counter is probably the most thoughtful thing anyone in this godforsaken town has ever done for me, but I bypass it and rummage around in the industrial-sized fridge instead.

“What are you planning to do with those, Delia?”

I jump and spin around, clutching the carton of eggs to my chest.

Neveah will have to pry them out of my cold, dead hands.

“I’m going to make the Devil regret the day he ever looked my way,” I bite out. “Are you going to try to stop me?”

Her answering grin resembles a nuclear meltdown in the making. She grabs a nearby can of whipped cream. “Not if you let me help.”