“Hey,” My uncle looks like he’s just come up with a way to solve a global crisis. “Maybe you should try to talk some sense into Vicky.” My uncle looks like he just solved world peace.
Shaking my head once again, I answer, “No, she wouldn’t listen to me.” Why would she? She never has before. Ever.
“It’s worth a try.” Uncle Chuck stands, taking our plates with him. “Give her a call. We’ve tried everything, and she won’t listen to reason.” His eyes get sort of sad. “Please?”
“Oh boy. You’re spreading it on pretty thick, Uncle Chuck.”
Laughing softly, he asks, “Is it working?”
“I’ll call her on my way home.”
“Good. Let me know how it goes.”
* * *
I’ll tellyou how it went. Badly. Vicky practically hung up on me when I told her she needed to get over it and move on.
What?
She does.
In my defense, I tried another tack. Before I said that, I approached it rationally, almost tentatively, repeating the fact that it happened years before she met Anthony. I knew she’d blow me off. I was correct. She was, as expected, snippy. I had nothing to lose. I went for it.
After that, my aunt got on the line. “Thanks for trying, honey.”
“You’re welcome.” Never mind I just made that chasm between my cousin and me even wider. It’s gotta get worse before it gets better. Am I right?
When I make it home, I run upstairs to write Alec a very short letter, let’s just call it a note, explaining the situation between Vicky and his brother. Part of me feels like I’m gossiping about the pair, but this is sort of serious. Maybe he’ll be able to give Anthony some advice that will help.
ChapterNineteen
Alec
“Tellme what happened from the beginning.”
I’ve been sitting in the station for eight hours. I’ve spoken to six different MPs, including this guy. They’ve made it clear it’s merely for the paperwork, but it’s still nerve-racking. They’ve asked if I want an attorney present, but I refused. They’ll see—from the surveillance footage, and the statements from the clerk and the man who got out of his car—that everything I did was by the book.
Textbook.
Because I’m a goddamn good MP. Better than good.
Still, I had to turn over my service weapon and was told by my captain at the hospital that I’ll be on administrative leave until it’s all sorted out.
That’s okay because my head won’t be in the game. It’ll be on Ben. I spent the night in an uncomfortable chair in the surgery waiting area with Becky, Ben’s wife, our captain, and several of our fellow MPs.
He was in surgery for fucking hours. When the doctor came out, her face was grim. I thought the worst, that he didn’t make it. Luckily, the reason she looked like that was because, while Ben is alive, he isn’t out of danger. Not by a long shot.
The docs exact words were “Ben is fighting for his life.”
While those words upset Becky, it reassured me some. Ben Mathews is the toughest motherfucker I’ve ever met. If all he has to do is fight, he’ll win. I’m sure of it. I told Becky that too. She needed to hear it.
I was right about the bullet; it went straight through Ben. Unfortunately, it hit a lot of important shit on its way through his body. His spine, for one. Just add walking again to the list of shit Ben’s going to have to conquer.
“Go home, Alec.” Those words are spoken by one of the MPs who was first on the scene. “You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks.” I feel like shit. I haven’t slept in… a couple of days or something like that. Hell, I’m too tired to figure out when I slept last.
“You need a lift?”
