Page 28 of The Killer Card

“You’re starting.”

Fuck. “No, I’m not,” I lie, averting my gaze back to the sink, washing my hands as originally intended.

I can feel her roll her eyes. She tosses the towel on the counter, her boots clicking on the wood flooring as she walks behind me.

For a moment I imagine her stopping, turning back to me and saying something like, “It’s okay for you to look. I’ve missed you. I’m sorry about how things ended.”

Then I can say, “I’m sorry too. I regret how I spoke to you that morning. You’re a queen, a goddess. I fucking love you…”

But none of that happens of course. The only sound that follows her boots is the slide of the back door as it opens and the click as it closes. Dropping my head beneath the spray of the faucet, I let the cold water soak my hair and neck.

“Verga, verga, coño… no joda…”

“Wow.”

I look sideways through the spray, water sluicing over my eyes and nose to find Cristian watching me, sipping at his coffee with a pitying look.

“Just when I thought two you couldn’t get any more pathetic.” He begins to slow clap against his cup.

“Fuck off,” I grumble, turning off the water and shaking out my hair like a dog. I grab a dishcloth to dry my face, but keep my head bowed over the counter.

My back just doesn’t feel like straightening right now. If I do then I’ll be able to look out one of the many cabin windows and… Yeah, I’m just going to stay hunched over for now. Maybe forever.

“They’re gone by the way.”

My eyes pop open, glancing toward Cristian’s insanely bright sneakers. “Qué?”

“The girls left.” He takes a sip of coffee, nodding toward the door behind him. “Something about picking flowers and making bouquets? Rowan and Dad drove them to the flower farm.”

“Have something against flowers, Cristian?” I raise a brow, pushing away from the counter.

He shrugs. “They’re pointless?”

“Women tend to like receiving them.”

The kid rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

Chuckling, I scrub a hand down my cheek. “Sorry I’m so- Wait, did you say you two couldn’t get any more pathetic?”

Cristian sucks on his straw loudly. “Yep.”

When he doesn’t elaborate I groan, gesturing for him to say something, anything. He just smirks. “Marico, qué coño?!”

“She and I were stuck on a plane together for about three hours,.”

I blink. “And?”

He shrugs. “And I’m observant.”

“Verga,” I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Did she—”

“No.” Cristian tosses his now empty cup. “She didn’t say anything about you, for you, against you. She didn’t even mention your name. Which,” he turns back to me, taking a seat in a dining chair backwards. “I found rather weird since she mentioned just about everybody else. There was also her weird relief when I mentioned you wouldn’t be arriving until today.” Leaning his chin on his crossed hands he asks, “Care to explain, Tío?”

“To you?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Not particularly.”

“Okay,” he shrugs.

I blink. “Qué?”