Page 35 of At The End Of The Day

“Oh, shit, honey. You really got a sticky situation on your hands, don’t you?”

“Totally worth it. But, now you see why I kinda went off grid for a bit. I swear, I didn’t mean to worry you. I honestly just lost track of time.”

“So, what the hell do we tell the media?”

He snorted and shrugged an arm out, that palm slapping to his thigh. “At this point, I really don’t care.”

“You’re willing to risk your entire career over this woman?” Roman asked, astounded.

“Absolutely, yes. She’s worth it.”

Surprised, I blinked rapidly, my sight bouncing between him and Vincent. He had to be at least a little impressed by that.

One uncle made an exasperated sound but the other cut him off. “Look, listen. It’s fine. This won’t ruin anything, and if it does, who cares? We had a good run. At the end of the day, all that matters is our son’s happiness, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Please,” the other stressed. “Just keep in touch this time. I rather enjoy my husband being alive, without an ulcer.”

His head bobbing, he faked a chuckle. “Yeah, sure. It won’t be often until we figure something out, but I’ll touch base in about a week.”

“All right, son. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Y’all take care.”

“You, too. We love you.”

“Love you, too.” He hung up, grinning stupidly. Once more forgetting about us, he stiffened and clammed up when he met our peers. “What?”

Neither of us responded, but I’m sure he could see our disapproval. I couldn’t believe we were purposely putting our necks on the line to help Violetta run off with a fucking addict.

“You know what, before you start on me, Jackyl is the one who tracked me down after my surgery. He literally approached me one day, outside of physical therapy, and ‘gifted,’” he snarled, hooking his fingers in the air, the phone tucked to his palm. “Some oxys because, and I quote, ‘The best way for Tiny to get over me is to not worry, so here’s a gift to relieve the pain.’”

We exchanged glimpses, my attitude fading but Vincent’s growing angrier. The tension getting too thick, I coughed and thumbed my nose, deciding to change the subject. “You won a Grammy, huh?”

A brow arched, his weight shifting to his good leg. “Nominated five times, won twice.”

“So,” Vincent hissed, lighting another cigarette. “What you’re saying is you lost three times.”

Rolling his eyes, he shoved the phone against his stomach. When he grabbed it out of reflex, he grumbled, “Un-fucking-believable,” and stomped out of the room.

I flinched at the resonating boom ringing in the air. Frowning, I took the phone from his hand and set it on the desk, getting two cigarettes and lighting them. Offering him the new one, I took the old and smashed it in the ashtray.

“If it makes you feel any better, I believe him.”

He groaned and spun around, going to the window to look outside. “Yeah, me, too.”

“Then what’s with the animosity?”

“It’s my sister, Dash!” he barked over his shoulder. “And… and this is all just a fucking nightmare, that’s what.”

I took a drag, slowly raking my sight along his wide figure. Opting for yet another subject change, I thumbed my nose and bowed my chin. “So, uh. Happy belated birthday, by the way.”

He tensed, twisting his waist to glare at me over his shoulder. “What?”

“Your birthday. It was last week. We all forgot.”

Recognition lit up his expression, his mouth opening on a silent oh.

“I know you were supposed to hit the road on a weekend trip on your bike.”