Page 27 of Arranged Addiction

That calms me down.

He could’ve gone upstairs to his bed. Instead, he stayed with me when he didn’t have to.

I don’t wake up again until there’s light burning in through the windows.

The smell gets me first. It’s warm coffee and a bit of sweetness. I remember that smell from the first time I stayed over Declan’s place. Whatever he brews fills the whole apartment with the most incredible scent. I stare at the ceiling, breathing it in, still groggy. I smile for a second.

Until I remember why I’m here.

Natalie’s dead.

“Are you waking up? I hear you stirring.”

That voice. I frown to myself in confusion and lift my head up.

Aunt Sheila is sitting at the kitchen table.

Which makes no sense. Why would she be in Declan’s apartment? I think I’m still dreaming for a minute, but Sheila is still there and watching me. Finally, I push myself to a sitting position.

“What’s going on?”

“I was waiting for you.” Sheila stretches. She’s got a coffee at her elbow. “Hungry? Want something to drink?”

“Did Declan call you here?”

She nods and flips her glasses down from her hair. There’s a big album in front of her. It looks like the old photo book from the den back home, but why would she bring that?

“I was going to rush over last night, but he made me stay home until this morning. He said you needed some time to rest.”

“He called you? How did he have your number?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that right now.” She gets up with a sigh. “Let me make you some espresso. You need to wake up a little bit.”

“Where’s Declan right now?”

“Out dealing with the police. He told me to make sure you understood that his family would handle everything. You’ll be fine.”

Last night comes slamming back. The blood on the floor. Natalie’s body on the bed. The knife in her chest.

“She’s dead,” I whisper, tears starting again. I swallow them back, but it’s like trying to stop a flood with a single pebble. “I don’t understand why.”

“I know, Casey, I know.” She comes to me then and wraps me in a hug. Sheila has never been very warm. I don’t think she ever wanted kids, but she took me in anyway when my parents died. We’re close, and she’s as much a mother to me as my actual mother was, but she’s just not very emotionally open. She’s been a great guardian and she’s always given me whatever I could ask for, but it’s unusual to get a hug from her.

I hold that embrace for as long as I can until she finally lets me go.

“I don’t even know what to do,” I confess and sit down at the table.

Sheila brews the espresso. I didn’t know she could do that. When it’s finished, she brings it over. “Drink,” she orders. “You need to wake up a little bit. We have some things to talk about.”

I stare at her and terror grabs me. “Am I in trouble? Declan said I wouldn’t be, but?—”

“No, it’s not about Natalie. It’s about your parents.”

That makes zero sense. I sip the coffee and it’s surprisingly good. Sheila has always been a Folgers kind of lady, and it’s strange to find out she knows how to use an espresso machine.

“What do my parents have to do with any of this?” I finally ask.

“You have to understand. Your parents had secrets. They told me things. They gave me things, made me promise—” She flips open the photo book. I’ve looked through it a dozen times before. They’re mostly images of my parents from when they were younger up through their wedding. The plastic covering is sticky in places and yellowing all over, but Sheila finds one particular image and points it out.