“You heard me.” He flashed me that infuriatingly beautiful smile of his. “You’re all independent, I-can-do-bad-all-by-myself. You’ll scratch the shit out of someone who gets too close. But when you’re comfortable…” His hand came up to the back of my neck and squeezed slightly. “You curl right up.”
I squeezed my thighs together and swallowed the moan threatening to come out. “I don’t curl up.”
“Whatchu doing right now, mama?”
I didn’t answer and tried to squirm out of his grip. He kept his hold on me, and I inhaled, taking in his clean scent. I wanted to tell him “kitten” was the dumbest nickname I’d ever heard and if he called me that in front of the others I’d put a bullet in his kneecap. No one had ever given me a nickname before, not even my parents. This one was just mine.
“Don’t call me that,” I grumbled.
“Okay, Kitten,” he said and kissed the top of my head.
I closed my eyes, not bothering to hide the smile. Bear. Itreally did suit him. And I’d never tell him how much I liked that he saw me as something soft enough to name.
Bear
Where you at?
Why you acting like you don’t already know?
Bear
Because normal people ask.
We’re not normal. What’s up?
Bear
I found something on Sterling.
I stared at the phone for a second. I’d been holed up in my father’s office for hours, following breadcrumbs, anything that might explain where the hell the money went. I found two offshore accounts that I didn’t know about, but those were tapped dry too.
Sterling was the most meticulous, type A motherfucker to ever exist, but somehow left a world of mess for me to clean up.
Three post-its were stuck to the edge of his monitor. A list of passwords to his accounts, encrypted files—all some mix of my name and my mother’s, scrambled with birthdays and special symbols. Was that supposed to be some kind of sentimental message from the grave?
“Yeah, okay,” I muttered, closing the laptop.
The rational explanation was that it was just the easiest thing for him to remember.
I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my eyes. I still hadn’t told Kenya the truth about the accounts being dry. And I wasn’tsure I ever would. She was so busy trying to win an award for the perfect grieving wife, she’d probably have an aneurysm.
…okay?
Bear
Meet me at our spot in twenty?
Why can’t you just tell me now?
Bear
see you in eighteen minutes.
I grabbed my things and made my way out, hoping I wouldn’t run into my mother. In her world, I’d made sure nothing had changed. I’d put some money into the account she shared with my father that matched her monthly spending habits, and paid up the bills for the next six months. The house had been paid off years ago, but there were so many little things like utilities, monthly subscriptions, and health insurance.
“You’re leaving?” Kenya’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
She was coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. The house smelled of some kind of stew, which was surprising. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her make anything from scratch.
