She hates me. She has for a long time.
And Nate despised her.
I almost can’t believe Cole even went with her. He hardly knows Cece. But he couldn’t be alone, and I couldn’t be there.
I lean my head back against my seat.Shit.I need to text Jensenand tell him what happened, let him know I’ll be here for the rest of the week.
I pull up my messages.
Hey man, I’ll be in Chicago in a few minutes. Got some shit to tell you. You free tonight? I could pick dinner up and bring it over.
My thumb hovers over an unread text from my mom. I’m not ready to deal with her. I stare at it for a beat before opening it.
Mom
Did you hear about Nate? I know you two were close.
I scoff under my breath. Great. She’s gonna play theconcernedcard. Like she ever gave a shit about Nate. She feels about him the way my aunt feels about me. But she’ll pretend to care. Anything that makes her look good.
I get along with my mom just fine. Mostly because I avoid her at all costs. I attend Mass with her a few times a year, and only because my father doesn’t.
She loves when I come. Loves parading me around all her fake fucking friends.
Her and my aunt? Two peas in a pod. Selfish. Greedy. And married to assholes for status.
At least my aunt wasn’t always that way.
Nate didn’t grow up wealthy like I did. His dad was a cop, and they were one of the most normal families I knew. They seemed happy. Then my uncle died when Nate was fifteen. Heart attack.
My mom swooped in, set my aunt up with one of my dad’s scumbag buddies who’d just moved to Chicago. She changed her entire identity within weeks—went from a caring mother to one who cared more about fitting in at her country club. Ladies’ lunches. Dinner parties. Nate barely saw her after that, and he never got over it. I can’t say I blame him.
My phone dings.
Jensen
Sure thing, brother. Wide open. Everything okay?
I don’t want to get into it now, especially since I don’t know what the next week looks like yet with the funeral, Cole, and everything else.
I’ll text you when I know what time. See you tonight.
The plane starts its descent, and I exhale, sinking deeper into my seat. My face feels stuck in a permanent scowl, and I’m so fucking tired. Pressing my fingers to my forehead, I will myself to relax.Christ. Cole. Cece. My mom. Jordan. It’s too much all at once.
I try not to think about that last one, but she’s the only one not causing me grief or panic right now. So I let myself think about her. About Jordan.Babe.
I close my eyes and let my mind drift back to her hands in my hair, pushing all the hard shit aside. My head on her chest. The faint smell of her Prada perfume she’s worn for over a decade. A corner of my mouth lifts when I picture that tank top, the strap slipping down her shoulder, my mind wandering lower.
And my stomach does a fucking flip.
The drivingservice drops me in front of my condo, a downtown Chicago high-rise. I take the elevator down to the parking garage where my Porsche awaits in the designated parking spot I paid a ridiculous amount of money for. Front-row and extra-wide spaces don’t come for free.
I toss my backpack onto the passenger seat and text Cole.
On my way, buddy. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
I type Cece’s address into Google Maps and start the car as Cole’s text comes through.
Cole
