“I’ll still be there in five,” I promise. “Let’s keep talking,”
As the memory dissipates, I redial for the twentieth time, cuss at that godforsaken ringing, and pull into Tessa’s parking lot. I’m out and inside before I can even register the journey, waving to Harold and breezing past my guy stationed in the lobby without a word. The elevator takes fucking forever, but the doors finally open on a ding, and I storm to her apartment with my heart in my throat. My security men seem utterly perplexed, but I don’t take time to explain myself or even knock. I use the key I made to let myself in, hoping to hell that she’s asleep.
But the heaving I hear when I enter is not a sleeping noise. With my Karambit knife in hand, I skulk through her dark apartment toward a faint light streaming from what looks to be a bathroom.
Another retch emerges before I make it to the threshold.
“Fuck, baby,” I breathe, in both relief and sympathy when I find her on the floor, hugging the toilet.
She’s got blackout drapes pulled on every window, but the soft golden hue of the bathroom night-light glints in her eyes when she peers over her shoulder at me, wearing nothing but a cropped tank and boy-short panties.
Ravishing but wrecked.
Her cheeks are flushed, her forehead pinched. “How did you get in here? Oh, forget it. Harold probably let you in. Or you have a key.Landlord.”
I put my knife away and stoop behind her just in time to gather her wild silver strands as she vomits again. “I’ve got you, Tess.” Lifting her hair up a bit, I rub her back until she’s done. “Is this normal for your migraines?”
She wiggles out of my hold, reaches for a hand towel, and wipes her mouth before attempting to stand up. I shut the lid and flush the toilet. When my arm curls around her waist for added balance, she begrudgingly accepts the help, leans against her sink, swishes some mouthwash, and pushes past me.
“Why are you here?” she asks, padding into her bedroom and flopping onto the bed.
There’s something more than pain threading her voice. Brokenness.
“I’m here for several reasons. One: because when I called and you didn’t pick up and I realized you weren’t at work, I felt like someone was ripping my insides out and setting them on fire.” I kick off my shoes. “Two: because the better scenario than the horrors I imagined for why you weren’t responding was that you were sick, and there was no place else to be if that were the case.” I lie down beside her, brush her hair off her face, and blow on her hot neck. “And three: because now that I’m here, it’s clear you’re angry with me, so when you’re feeling better, we’re going to talk about it.”
She huffs and pulls a pillow over her eyes. “My head hurts too bad for you to do that.”
“Sorry, baby girl. Your skin is so hot; I thought—”
“No, I like that.” She angles her chin, a subtle request for me to cool her off some more, but even as I comply, she seethes. “You can’t come in here—breakin here—and say things like … I’m sorry I didn’t answer, but I … didn’t want to talk to you.”
I kiss her cheek, get off the bed, and head back to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and grab some other things for her. When I return to her, I prop myself against the headboard, remove the pillow, and urge her to sit up to drink some water.
“I found your medicine. When was the last time you took it?”
“This morning,” she mutters, reaching for it.
I read the label to be certain she can take it again, pour the pill into her palm, and hand her the water to swallow it.
“And it didn’t work?” I ask as I take the glass and set it on her night table.
“It did,” she mumbles, lying back down. “But I … I got really upset, and it came back with a vengeance.”
Towing her against my chest, I place the cool cloth on her eyes and lightly scratch her arm. “Get some rest. Then you can tell me why you’re mad.”
She resists for a beat, but eventually, she melts into me and falls asleep. I’m guessing she knows I paid Hunter a visit and isn’t happy. I’ll shoulder her wrath for that. I never planned on hiding it. I would prefer not to tell her what he did, mainly because I don’t want her to feel bad or foolish about being cheated on. I know my mom felt embarrassed that my dad always had a side piece.
But the biggest question is, how does Tessa know I was at Hunter’s? Violet’s neighborhood is ten minutes from his. I doubt Tessa was going to visit Eden, but even if she was, Eden doesn’t live over that way either. So, accidentally spotting me leaving Hunter’s while she was en route to see one of her sisters’ homes doesn’t align. Did Hunter alert her? And if he did, why the hell would she believe him without checking in with me?
We’re going to need to fix her lack of trust, and I might need to put a cloning app on her phone.
TESSA
Art was everywhere that day. In the colored lights and the intricate murals and even the elaborate gingerbread houses. We didn’t go into the city much, certainly not at night. But I had seen pictures of the holiday festivities at school and begged my parents to take us. My mother wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but my father seemed excited.
And it was more. More than the giant Christmas trees or ice skating. More than hot chocolate and carolers. It was trolley rides and parades and jazz music in the streets. The fusion of cultures bellowed from cast-iron balconies.
There’s an exuberance to New Orleans that acts as a siren song. The simplest of experiences are heightened because something about the atmosphere morphs history and liberation into a celebration of deliverance. I was only thirteen, but I felt that emancipation deep in my bones. And I wanted more.
