Leaving his place, I miss him already. Or maybe it’s the comfort I find only in his arms. In two short weeks, we’ve settled into this easy place, this happy medium between not asking too many questions and not giving too many answers.
I need to know the truth about that night, and I know the truth is coming.
But if it changes everything, if it steals him away from me again, I don’t know that I want it anymore. Despite everything that’s happened in the last two weeks, I haven’t felt this kind of contentedness in years.
And I’m holding onto it with every fighting breath I have.
Thirty-Three
Royal
* * *
The trim on the Challenger is gone, and I’m all masked up, sanding the faded paint off my Challenger. Music blares from the shop speakers. For once, I get to control the radio. That’s the beauty of having the place to yourself on a closed Sunday morning.
Four quarts of OEM royal blue are shaken up and ready to go. I’ll sand this thing down, apply filler as needed, prime, and paint. It’s going to take a couple of days, but I’ll be working all day tomorrow, so it won’t matter.
By the time this thing leaves the shop, she’ll look brand fucking new. She’ll finally have some look-at-me shine to go with that hear-me-roar growl she’s got under the hood.
Crouching down and checking a rusted spot behind the rear left tire well, the music comes to a dead halt.
I yank off my mask, rise to my feet, and scan the place. The glass windows toward the lobby shake, telling me someone’s opening doors.
I’m not alone.
I call out a couple of times. No answer.
Rod said I could have the place to myself today.
The door between the shop and the lobby swings open, and from the dark struts Pandora Patterson. Her plump lips are twisted into a devilish smirk, and she’s wearing a mini skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Pandora’s top hangs low, her cleavage on full display.
“Hey, Royal.” Her eyes flash, gliding to my lifted car. She knows damn well I’m marooned here. “Daddy said you were borrowing the shop today. Thought I’d come by and see if you needed a hand.”
Her fingers tug at her blouse, pulling the sheer fabric aside as she leans over.
“Whatcha working on?” She snaps her gum.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Pandora pouts, her brows meeting. “That’s not a very nice thing to say, Royal. Not when I practically own this place.”
“Rod owns it, not you.”
She bats her hand. “Same diff.”
I re-mask and crouch down, giving my undivided attention to my more-deserving Challenger.
“Saw that rich bitch leaving your place this morning.” Pandora’s heeled feet come into view in my periphery. “She was dressed to the nines.”
I ignore her.
“You know, I thought she looked familiar when I saw her the other day.” There’s a vindictive chuckle in her words. “And then I figured it out. She’s engaged to that coma guy.”
“Not anymore.”
Pandora bends at the knees, coming down to my level. Her hand on my shoulder makes me cringe.
“I don’t know that rich bitch that well,” she says. “But I’m guessing she doesn’t deserve some scumbag loser like you, Royal. And I’m sure you agree that your ugly past is going to do her no favors. No favors at all.”
My fists clench. “Leave, Pandora.”
“Her future’s going to be a whole lot brighter without someone like you in it.” She moves toward the lobby, the toes of her Lucite heels dragging on the concrete. “But I think you already knew that.”
Thirty-Four
Demi
* * *
My family home has a sickening silence in the air. It’s not warm and bustling. The smell of my mother’s Sunday dinner doesn’t greet me. There’s no garbled blare of the TV fading in and out from the family room.
But I know they’re here.
Their cars were in the garage, and Derek’s shiny loafers were parked by the front door.
“Hello?” I call out.
The thumping of feet coming down the stairs precedes a solemn-faced Delilah.
“Hey,” she says, unsmiling. She must know the fate I’m about to face. “They’re in the kitchen. Waiting for you.”
“Have you told them anything?” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure what you were going to tell them, so I didn’t say anything.”
“Were they freaking out?”
Delilah tromps down the rest of the stairs and slips her arm around my shoulder before resting her chin against it.
“Yeah,” she says. “But don’t worry. I’ve got your back. We’ve got this.”
She gives my arm a squeeze and escorts me into the kitchen, where Mom, Dad, and Derek sit with despondent faces and folded hands. They look like a three-person judge and jury, and this entire setup reminds me of those ridiculous family meetings we used to have every Monday night growing up.
Great. I haven’t had a chance to plead my case, and already they’re looking at me like I’m guilty.
“Before you say anything.” I take a seat across from Derek. If I’m going to be staring straight ahead at anyone, I choose him. “You should know that Brooks isn’t who you think he is.”
Dad clears his throat, adjusting his posture and narrowing his stare.
“I just want to know what the hell is going on,” he says.
Mom clamps her hand loosely across her lips, her eyes glassy. I know that look. She’s so choked up she can’t bring herself to utter a single word.
“You should’ve seen Brooks this morning,” Dad says. “He lost it. Never seen a man in worse shape than that.”
Mom clutches at her heart, eyes averted.
Brooks is a manipulator. Those were faux tears. He sucked them all into his maelstrom with a convincing show of shallow emotions.
“He’s playing the victim,” I say. My lips part as I attempt to elaborate, but my words are cut short by the wooden smack of my father’s balled fist against the table.
I jump.
Delilah reaches for my hand, giving it a quick squeeze.
“Demetria, you’re a grown woman. You need to accept responsibility for your actions. Coming in here, immediately placing all the blame on Brooks, is grossly immature and irresponsible of you.” My father’s face is the same color of Brooks’s Porsche. He sucks in air, holding his breath between words. Something he only does when he’s stark raving mad. “Now tell me, why the hell would you break up with your fiancé after he’s just been in a car accident? Do you have any idea how that looks? How that makes us look to the community? The entire town is going to be talking about this by Monday.”
“Dad.” I love that Delilah has the courage to interrupt one of his rant sessions, because I sure as hell don’t. “You need to hear her out.”
Derek sits across from me, shoulders slanted, seething, shooting silent daggers my way.
“Okay, Demi. Tell us. What’s going on? What did Brooks do to deserve this?” Derek asks. For a second, I feel betrayed. I thought he was on my side.