Page 45 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

P oppy’s smart. I knew when I transferred the money to her account, it wouldn’t take long for her to figure it out. I also expected the questions, even if I hoped she wouldn’t ask.

Heavy remorse escapes from my lungs, long and slow, as I tumble through all the ways to tell her, hoping to find the easiest, least hurtful option. But the truth is, there is no painless way to tell her.

“Renee— Phoebe ,” I correct, “took it.” I take my eyes off the road, glancing toward Poppy. Her eyes are wide with shock. “Why was she on your account?”

“It’s an account Nana helped us start when we were younger.

” A thud sounds when her head falls against the glass.

“She hasn’t touched it in years. I guess that’s why they wouldn’t listen when I told them it was an unauthorized transaction.

Do you think she’s why Nana took out a mortgage on the apartment? ”

“No.” My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and she notices.

“What do you know, Jagger?”

One hand releases the steering wheel, and I prop my elbow on the door panel.

My cheek leans into my closed fist as I watch the road in front of us.

I wanted this night to be special, and this shit is doing nothing but killing the mood from moments ago.

“I asked a favor from someone the night you told me about all of this.” I couldn’t ask my brother without facing an interrogation, and Will had already refused to give me anything when I asked.

So I went to the one other person I knew could dig up info on anyone, thanks to his money, connections, and extreme paranoia.

It took Maddox a day to give me everything I needed.

Unfortunately, I had to leave town the morning after, so I couldn’t do anything with it until I got back.

“Your Nana borrowed the money for your dad.”

“M-my dad? Why would she do that? I don’t…I…What?”

“He owed the wrong people a lot of money, Halfpint. Those people went to your Nana looking for him. I’m willing to bet they threatened you and Phoebe, so your Nana got them the money.”

She blinks once. Twice. Like her brain is buffering. “Oh my God,” she gasps, staring at me with wide eyes. “Why would my dad owe anyone? H-he was a partner in a law firm.”

I already knew that. When I realized the man who dropped his daughters off with his parents, visits few and far between throughout the years, and even less financial support was a damn lawyer, I wanted to kill him.

For Phoebe, who sought validation in any way she could.

And for Poppy, who was killing herself to protect what little she had left of her childhood.

The man has more addictions than me. In a way, I understand.

Grief does some fucked up shit to your head, even years after the fact.

But he abandoned his children—children he chose to have.

It’s something Phoebe and I bonded over.

A fucked up trauma bond because while my dad stayed, he abandoned me in all the ways that matter.

I know Poppy and I share the same bond, but I’ve been trying not to focus on that with her. I haven’t focused on my life, my past, at all because when I’m with her, my shit fades away.

“Poppy, your dad…” I scratch the side of my face, wondering how she’ll handle the information. “He isn’t with his firm anymore. They removed him a couple of years ago.”

“They can do that?”

“When he gets arrested for possession and solicitation, they can.”

“What the hell?” she hisses, her head falling once again.

“I’m sorry, Halfpint. About all of it.”

Silence follows for several seconds, and it’s not comfortable.

It’s thick and suffocating with anger, tension, and grief.

But then it evaporates as if it were never there.

“Okay. So, Dad has fucked up his life. That’s his business, not mine.

And Phoebe needed the money for something.

I don’t know what, and I wish she had come to me instead of stealing it, but it’s done now.

No point in dwelling on any of it.” Her head bobs once, and it seems she’s moved on.

I pull into the parking lot, park the car at the restaurant, and turn to face her. Determination and resolve tilt her brows. Acceptance dances in her eyes.

And I am dumbstruck, because who the hell just processes, accepts, and moves on that fucking fast?

My mom has been gone for thirteen years, it’s been over a decade since my dad married Krista, years since her abuse of me ended, sans one night almost two years ago when I thought she was someone else, and I haven’t processed, accepted, or moved on from anything.

“Are you sure you’re okay? It’s okay if you’re not. I wouldn’t be.”

“Nope. I’m fine. Really. I came to terms with my dad’s abandonment years ago.

Phoebe stealing from me hurts, but I’m not surprised.

She would never ask me for it. All these years, and she’s never taken from that account since she stopped using it.

I’m sure she was just desperate, but I suppose I need to get a private account, huh?

I hope she doesn’t take what you’ve put in there. ”

I stare at her like she has three heads, wondering how she just did that. How did she compartmentalize so quickly? This girl who can’t get past how anything between us would affect our sisters just brushed all the shit about her family off like it was nothing.

Because this was done to her. It’s about her feelings. Anything between us is about others and their feelings.

My gaze softens, and I lean over the console, taking her face in my hand, pressing my amazement against her lips, because that’s the only way to explain her.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” she asks, smiling widely.

“That was for you and because of you.” I brush my thumb over her lips and sigh.

Her brows pitch, eyes swirling as something rolls through them. “Wait? Is that why my apartment was broken into? Does he owe people money again?”

For a breath, I consider lying, but only a breath. “Yes, he owes people money again. A lot of it. More than last time. But I don’t know if they’re who broke into the apartment. They were…thorough.”

“Meaning?”

“You already know the answer. No prints, they wore hoods, and somehow knew the code to get in, not only to the building but the apartment. Speaking of, did you have all that changed?”

“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “What could they have even been after?” But she’s not asking me. “I’m telling you, lately, I cannot catch a break.” She shrugs. “Now, what about the loan?”

“God, woman. Can’t you just let something good happen?” I chuckle.

“Yes. I absolutely can. But I still want an answer.”

“So, because technically you were defaulted, I was able to buy the loan.” It seems all the fucking psychotic, obsessive, possessive shit my brother did is one hundred percent genetic, right down to buying their place of residence behind their backs. “The bank won’t harass you anymore.”

“But they said they were extending the terms for a year.”

My head does a little see-saw. “I told them to say that, but the truth is, there are no terms.” She starts to ask more questions, so I hold my hand up to stop her.

“I wasn’t sure how you would handle the news.

Obviously, I wasn’t concerned enough not to do it.

It seems this…” I chew my cheek as I try to work out what I want to say before giving up.

“Whatever the hell it is that makes a man want to swoop in and fix everything—”

“A savior complex,” she cuts me off with a grin.

“No.” I absolutely reject that theory because I’m nobody’s hero.

Nobody’s savior. And I will never be. Half the time, I’m the one who needs saving, even if I won’t let it happen.

“I told you I’m not a hero. It’s an obsessive need not to see you suffer.

Anyway, in case you threw a fit like some women do and insisted on paying it, I told them to set the terms for a year.

But if you can’t pay, no one will be pounding on the door to evict you.

If you never give me back a dime, I won’t miss it. ”

“So, you own my apartment now?”

“Yes.” No point in beating around the bush, right?

“And I’ll be paying you back?”

“Or you won’t. That’s up to you. I won’t argue with what you decide.”

“What if I want to sell it? How would that work?”

“How would you want it to work?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to sell, but half of it is Phoebe’s, according to Nana’s will. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“I don’t have the answer to that, so why don’t we shelf it for now? You have plenty of time to figure it out, but this restaurant closes in an hour.”

When she looks around, finally realizing where we are, her head falls back with a bark of laughter. “How did you know?”

I return her grin. “You work at a Michelin Star restaurant, but the night I was there, I caught you standing behind the bar, pretending you weren’t devouring a burger and fries from a bag.”

“Maybe they don’t allow the staff to eat.”

“I checked.”

“Of course you did.”

“Okay. Enough talking. Let’s get some greasy, heart attack-inducing food before they close.”

***

“Oh, my God, Jagger,” she gasps when we walk into my apartment. “When did you do all of this?”

I grip her hips, nuzzling my face into her neck.

“After I dropped you off,” I murmur, running my lips over her neck as she coos over the LED candles and flower petals strewn everywhere.

Any idea how hard it is to find Poppies in New York in December?

I’ll tell you. It’s impossible. So I had to settle for fake ones.

Side note: I’ve noticed the further and faster you fall, the faster you lose your balls and start doing sappy ass bullshit in hopes it convinces the girl to stick around.

I feel like this is shit I should’ve outgrown in high school. Then again, dating wasn’t exactly my thing back then. Or even until two weeks ago.