I step forward, tracing my fingers over Gus’s new workstation.
“Which means, he’s gotta be here every day. Can’t miss a single shift.”
The tears come fast and hard, and this time I don’t even try to stop them. I throw my arms around Mike, gripping him tight as I press my face into his chest, because I know exactly who made this happen.
Mike rubs a hand over my back. “Yeah, Eddie figured you’d like that.”
Of course he did.
The same man who told me Gus couldn’t be here… made sure he’d always be safe.
I pull back, laughing through my tears. “I do.”
“Sounds like you’ve got some big decisions to make, kid.”
“Right now,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper, “I don’t feel like I have any choices at all.”
Chapter 30
Fix It
Eddie
I’ve been inside this place for all of thirty seconds, and I’m about to crawl out of my skin. It smells like bleach and bad decisions. Too bright. Too quiet. Too fucking cold.
Everything in me wants to turn around and walk the hell out, but I won’t, especially not after standing in line for twenty minutes to get through security. Besides, I’m here for a damn good reason, and I’m not leaving until it’s handled.
I shift in the plastic chair, but there’s no way in hell I’m getting comfortable. I guess that’s the point. I lean forward and brace my forearms on the table as my fingers drum out a rapid, uneven beat.
Now, I wait.
Turns out, I don’t have to wait long. A buzz cuts through the silence and my gaze snaps to the door as Drake steps into the visitation room.
His eyes narrow, gaze flicking between the detention officer and me. “Who the hell are you?”
A slow, cold calm settles over me as my hands still.
Showtime, motherfucker.
“Someone who cares a hell of a lot more about your wife than you do.”
Drake’s body tenses, and for half a second I brace, ready for him to lunge across the table. But he doesn’t. He clicks his tongue against his teeth as he drops into the chair across from me with an easy, unhurried grace, like he’s got all the time in the world. “You want to rethink that sentence, friend?”
I know exactly what he’s doing. Trying to play the alpha. Show me he’s the one running the room.
Newsflash, asshole. You’re not in control. Not anymore.
“First,” I state, my voice even despite the rage boiling just beneath my skin. “I’m not your fucking friend.”
A muscle jumps in Drake’s jaw. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m here about Kiki. You remember her, right? Yourwife.”
He shrugs and averts his gaze. “What about her?”
Jesus. What the hell did she ever see in this guy? Kiki is the softest, sweetest, most nurturing woman I’ve ever met, and this is who she picked?
Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.
