“You think I haven’t tried to throw my relationship in the trash a million times over the years? Like I haven’t tried to save Jay from a life sentence of being attached tome? What the hell did he do in his last life to end up with this nasty slice of karma?” She pauses, grunting, so I see her in my mind, sitting back at her desk and plopping her feet on top. “These are theintrusive thoughts children of trauma are typically saddled with, just so you know. This is how we build walls and protect our fragile hearts, because we’ve already hurt so damn much for way too long. We can’t carry any more of that shit, so instead of enjoying the good stuff, what do we do? We sabotage it. At least then we get a modicum of control over the eventual, inevitable crash.”
“Did you get a psych degree since we last hung out?” I bring my aching, swollen eyes up and search the rear-view mirror—again. But when the only car in sight is a beat-up Hyundai from the early two-thousands, I release a noisy exhale and pull the SUV to a stop at the curb. Slipping it into park, I drop my head back with a loudthunk, close my eyes, and brush loose tendrils of hair off my face. “All of that…” Breathe in. Breathe out. “That stuff… sounded very intelligent.”
She coughs out a laugh, shaking her head from side to side. “I have my moments. You calm now? Stopped being a menace on the streets?”
“I pulled over to the side. I’m gonna sit in the air conditioning for a second and talk to you.”
“And then you’ll call your husband and tell him you’ve changed your mind?”
“Yeah.” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and bite just hard enough to remind myself of the vial in my pocket.Useless. “I suppose it’s possible I was a little hasty in my sacrificial sword slumping.”
“Ya think?” Phones trill around her. Computers ding. Men chatter. She might’ve sent me texts not so long ago that included proof of a dead man, but the woman herself, the ballerina, sits comfortably in her office over in…some town really faraway. “Archer’s gonna bewaymorepissed about your habit of running than he will be about the killing pedophiles thing. He’s probably already planning to spank your ass and teach you a lesson for walking out on him.”
“You’re projecting.” I massage the bridge of my nose. “Your propensity for sexual punishment has nothing to do with me, Solomon. Whatever happens in your bedroom is between you and Jay.”
She snorts.
“Besides, it’s infusion night, and I wasn’t even smart enough to grab my meds before I walked out on my marriage. In addition to having a martyred idiot for a wife, Archer also has the misfortune of not being able to spank me when he’s horny or mad, since I have that dumb bleeding disorder.”
She snickers. “Poor guy. Life really sucks for him.”
“I know.” I drop my hand and roll my head from left to right. Stretching my neck and swallowing a groan as it works along my throat. She’s joking—poor Arch—but I’m not. Martyr or not, I’ve known all along that our relationship depends on Archer’s ability to look past my flaws and love me anyway.
Even if he never admits it,Iknow the truth.
“This might be the worst Tuesday I’ve experienced in a while. Just… ya know…” I sigh. “Putting it out there.”
“Your marriage is over,” she teases. “But Dragovic is currently swimming in his own blood. The cops will discover him at some point between now and never. No one will trace him back to us, and best of all, he was a fifty-four-year-old degenerate piece of shit who purchased two of those girls.Two. Feels like a Tuesday worth celebrating to me. I’ve got men tracking Giambattista right now. And I’m following PoulAbate,too. He’s still in Copeland City, so when the time is right, he’s yours.”
“Yeah. I…” I shake my head and glance up, my pulse spiking as a car turns into the street behind me. It’s a silver hatchback with peeling racing stripes on the side, a massive MAZDA sticker on the top of the windshield… and worst of all,noArcher in the driver’s seat.
“Mayet? You having second thoughts about Abate?”
“No.” I bring my focus back down, my fast pulse replaced by the sluggish drag of a heart breaking. Splintering. Aching. “I’ve got it. When it’s time, I’ll take care of Poul and cross him off our list.”
“Things are not as bad as they seem, ya know?” She softens her tone, uncharacteristically sensitive when she so often prefers to be the boldest and harshest in any social gathering. “You had a fight, but like you said, it’s a fight you’ve had before. Give him a minute to calm down and miss you. Send him a picture of your cooch and an invitation to come get it. The next time I call, everything will be back to normal, and life will go on. If we’re beingreallyhonest, Archer is likely to eliminate Poulwithyou, and that’s assuming he doesn’t do itforyou when you’re not looking. Detective Malone’s only hang-up has always been, and will always be, about ensuring your safety. This argument isn’t about moral superiority, andwe don’t kill people, Minka. His rage is a byproduct of his fear of losing you.”
“Feelings he made abundantly clear from the moment we married,” I rasp. “Yet, I still do the thing that hurts him the most. Makes me a shitty person.”
“The little girls we helped this week would beg to differ, Chief. The things you do—the thingsIdo—are in the pursuit ofjustice. Makes you the very opposite of shitty. But,” she quips, her tone lifting. Brightening. “You’re not done feeling sorry for yourself yet, so I’ll let you ride your pity train a little while longer. Later, after Detective Malone has fucked your brains out and you’ve had a chance to pull yourself together again, maybe you can send me a text, like an eggplant emoji or something, to let me know everything’s back to normal again.”
I scoff and snatch up my phone from the passenger seat, unlocking the screen and navigating to my text inbox.
Leaving the way I did was never intended to be a manipulation. I never meant to turn it into a ‘follow me, Archer. Beg me to come home’ thing. But the fact that hehasn’tfollowed, hehasn’tbegged… stings a little.
“Do you ever wonder if the day will come?”
“The day?” Confused, Soph pauses for a beat. “What day?”
“When Jay confirms all the nasty things you think about yourself. When he finally stands up and says he wants off this crazy ride because the woman he loves is too much work. Too much noise. Too much worry.” Frustrated, I lock my phone again and wedge it beneath my thigh. “If we’resoalike, then I know you wonder why he sticks around for this mess. You lie awake at night, worrying that tomorrow may be the day he decides he’s had enough of the bullshit.”
“I used to.” She hums in the back of her throat, audibly clicking her tongue; the only hint she allows to show her pain. Her discomfort. “I used to think it a lot, and when I was feeling especially crappy, I’d pick a fight and hope he’d finally take a hint and toss me away. Having that closure, the definitive ‘it’s over’ somehow seemed better than circling the drain and obsessing over the ‘will he, won’t he?’ mess.” She shrugs, therustle of her clothes telegraphing her movements. “I haven’t thought like that in a while, though. Guess I decided I was good enough. Now, throwing me away is no longer an option.”
“Maybe I’ll settle in and accept the same for me and Archer someday. Eventually.” My SUV’s engine rumbles and warms, the putrid heat from the tar making it work harder for every minute I sit here with the air conditioning on.
Has it only been five minutes since I slung my stupid ass into this vehicle? Ten?
Feels like a lifetime already.
