“You sure you don’t want wine?” I asked, sitting next to her. “Or tequila?”
She shook her head.
The quiet with Polly was almost as bad as the ever-worsening bruise covering almost half of her face.
Polly wasn’t quiet.
She was never quiet.
She might’ve lived her life gently, but she did it loud.
And he took that from her.
I clenched my fist.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Polly whispered.
I snapped my head to her. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m telling people. Namely the crew I’ll be assembling to make Craig a eunuch before we bury him in a shallow grave.”
I wondered whether we could track down Heath. I knew he’d be the first in line to deal the killing blow.
His and Polly’s relationship was complicated when I’d expected it to be simple. The girl lived for love. And even though I didn’t believe in that shit, the way Heath looked at her, it was love.
I was certain there would’ve been a rushed wedding after seeing that look. I was right about the wedding, wrong about the groom.
And Polly, the girl who usually told Lucy and me everything about her current beau, down to his preferred brand of toothpaste, refused to utter a word about Heath and the looks.
He’d disappeared before the wedding.
Who could blame him?
“No, you can’t,” Polly said, roughly setting her mug down so the steaming liquid sloshed onto the coffee table. She snatched my hands. “Please.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re going back to him.”
She sharpened her own gaze. “Of course not. He lost me the second his hand turned into a fist.” Her voice was strong, resolute.
So there was that.
“Well then, what’s with the insane demand to keep something that is A, hard to hide, and B, something that needs to be dealt with a secret?” I demanded.
She regarded me. “You know what everyone thinks of me. Polly the romantic idiot. Head in the clouds. Clueless. My family’s been in enough pain. I’m not causing them more. Not giving them another reason that they have to take care of me. They deserve to take care of themselves.”
My heart hurt with her words, and the way the hurt in her voice told me she believed them. “No, babe. That’s not what everyone thinks of you. You’re the woman with a big heart, a bigger smile and strength to not let the world turn her natural beauty into inevitable cynicism,” I said. “And your family will be in more pain if they know you went through this alone.”
She blinked away her tears. “But I’m not alone. I’ve got you. Don’t I?”
“Of course you’ve got me, idiot. You’ve got a lot more people though, babe. Trust me, this kind of stuff is easier to get through when you see how many people won’t leave your side,” I told her.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But this is the way I want to do it. And I’m asking you, as my friend, to respect that.”
I frowned. “You’re asking me to lie to everyone.”
“I came to you because I knew you’d understand,” she said. “Because you kept things from your family because you knew you had to. Because no matter what other people would’ve told you, you had to do it alone.”
I chewed my lip. “And that was a mistake.”
“Maybe,” she said again. “But this is my mistake to make.”
“Fuck,” I hissed.
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
I glared at her. “Of course it is. But I’m not happy about it.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’m guessing we’re hiding you out here for the foreseeable future?”
“Just until my eye heals enough to cover it with makeup.” She reached for her tea, cupping it rather than using the handle.
“Well, that’s normally a week, but we’re surrounded by alpha males who can sniff out hidden injuries from a mile away. They’re itching to pound on their chests and protect their women, so we’ll make it one for general outings but two if we have to visit your brother-in-law.”
“Perfect. I’ve just discovered Riverdale on Netflix, so silver lining!” she said, a little louder than the eerie whisper, sounding almost like her old self.
But I knew too well that she’d never be her old self.
I stood.
“Where are you going? We can start from episode one. I don’t mind rewatching,” she said.
“You’re moving back in here, I assume?” I asked.
Her face turned sad. “If that’s okay?”
“Of course that’s okay, you little nitwit,” I said playfully. “But you didn’t come here with any bags, so I’ll go get your stuff.” I walked to retrieve my purse, the new Chanel that contained my favorite lipstick and also my favorite Glock.
“Rosie, you can’t kill him!” Polly exclaimed, abandoning her tea again and adding to the lake on the coffee table.
I turned. “I know,” I sighed. “At least not yet.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Not ever.”
I rested my purse on my shoulder. “Seriously? The asshole hit you. You’re not going back to him, so what do you care?”
“I care because at one time, I loved him. A part of him, however small, however fleeting. I care because I’m married to him, despite him hitting me and definitely being an asshole. I care because no matter how shitty of a human being he is, he’s still a human being. It’s not up to me or you to decide the punishment for that. He’ll have his sins on his soul. I don’t want them on mine.”
Somehow, even with the evidence fresh and throbbing on her face, Polly was still determined to believe the world wasn’t about sin and punishment.
It was that determination that gave me pause.
“Please, for me,” she whispered. “I know you operate under different rules than I do. And I would never judge you for that. Everyone lives their own life, and I understand yours. I respect it. But I can’t live it. So please, Rosie.”
I stared at her. “Fine,” I grumbled. “I’ll just get your stuff and I won’t shoot him,” I promised.
She smiled, big and bright and somehow free of the demons that should’ve been lurking there. “Thank you.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, walking out the door.
I’d promised not to shoot him. That just meant I had to get creative.
Unsuspecting, I’d opened the door to one of the gentlest humans I knew with a tattoo of violence on her face.
It was only fair that Craig got the same.
Or a version.
As soon as he opened the door, his face met the brass knuckles Gage had given me for Christmas.
Despite being what most people would call petite, I could throw a punch. Craig obviously could too, but he sure as shit couldn’t take one.
The crunch of metal against bone was followed by a gurgled cry and Craig collapsing to the floor.
I stepped over his groaning body into his apartment, looked around.
“Nice place you got here,” I said, dangling my gun from the hand that didn’t have my brass knuckles on it.
He was still groaning.