Page 95 of Second Chance

38

Life is a Mystery, So is Death

[Denton]

Shit. How could she be on the back of that asshole’s bike only hours after what we’ve done? I have half a mind to turn around and follow them to her house, but the other half of me is too angry to deal with drama. I need to meet Dolores, and we need to get to the funeral home. I went to the Lodge to grab some clean clothes and something more presentable than jeans and a three-day-old T-shirt. I’d also ruined my last pair of clean underwear last night.

Last night. My dick jolts with the memory, but my heart weeps. I want Mati like I’ve never wanted her before, and I’m astounded at the strength it took to withhold ripping off her underwear and filling her. Pretend. The word whispers through my thoughts. We did pretend—for my sake. Mati gave me what I needed or as close to what we should do. Taking her during my numbness wasn’t how I wanted to remember the first time with her.

My shoulders sag under the weight of the day ahead. There are so many unanswered questions, so many unknowns, beyond the funeral, and I’m worried about my meeting in New York. I’ve wanted the shoot with Healthy Male forever. Second to the sexiest man alive on People, a cover photo on the famous male magazine would boost my career and my ego at forty-five. Of course, one thing they’ll want to discuss is the history of Chrome Teardrops and my exit from the band.

As I pull into the drive of Magnolia’s home, I decide I need to take one day at a time. Holding my phone in my hand as I walk over the gravel, I scan the pop-up messages. The first text is from Mati.

Denton?

I curse myself for even opening the messenger app and note the time. She sent the text before I saw her on that damn bike with that crusty excuse for a human being. My heart thuds as I think of my sister and how she’s found herself in a relationship similar to our mother’s. While there isn’t any evidence of physical abuse, the emotional tug-of-war with a man like him has left just as many scars. Dolores doesn’t see she deserves better than a biker who plays the field. I bite my own lip, thinking of Mati. She deserves more than a one-night stand and confusing sexual encounters like she’s had with me.

I’m a dick, I think to myself as I enter the farmhouse for what I’m hoping will soon be my last time. Just the thought of New York City, the Ritz Carlton, and sushi has my heart racing for the days to pass quickly. Then I look down at my phone again. My screen saver is a picture of Mati which I took when she wasn’t looking but gazing up at the stars the other night. So many unlimited possibilities; we joked as teenagers. Where did all the possibilities go?

“Mati,” I say into the phone the second after she exhales my name upon answering. “How could you be on his bike?”

“How could you leave me without explanation?” There’s more to her question than a simple disappearance this morning, but I can’t drag up those memories.

“I left a note.”

There’s a pause lasting a little too long before she speaks. “I didn’t see a note.”

“It was on the nightstand, by the lamp.” I left a note to avoid something like this very conversation.

“What did it say?” Her voice hesitates.

“It said, you should have read the note.” I snort. She chuckles.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters.

“So, tell me, what were you doing with Crusty Rusty?”

“I needed a ride home.”

I shake my head. She’s stating the obvious. However, if she’d only read my note, she’d know I was coming back for her. I’d never leave her hanging again.

“How are you doing today?” she asks, crashing into my conflicting thoughts. New York. Mati. California. Mati.

“I think I’m too focused on what needs to be done to know how I feel.”

“Last night, you said you felt numb,” Mati reminds me.

“Yeah, well, that was only a small portion of the night,” I tease, and Mati’s giggle proves she understands me. “I wish you’d read the note.”

“Why don’t you tell me what it said?” Her voice shifts, breathy and low. She has a sultry sound to her which I imagine she doesn’t recognize.

“I wrote how I enjoyed waking up next to you and I hope to do it again soon.”

“Before you leave,” she mutters.

“What?”

“Before you go. To New York.”