Page 107 of Rebellious

“The edible kind.”

“We got two different definitions of edible,” he grumbled.

“I’ve scaled back on the health food. I stopped at an Italian restaurant to buy food for us. I have stracetta for me and braciola with rigatoni for you. Can I come in?” she asked again.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, stepping aside and allowing her to enter before closing and locking the door. “You can eat, but I plan to drink.”

Taking careful steps so he wouldn’t lose his balance, he led her to the sofa in the den, snatched his bottle, and dropped into the recliner.

Setting the basket on the coffee table, Kendall sat down and bowed her head, not making a move to dig out her food or her wine.

Mortician knew that look on her, but, fuck, he wasn’t sober enough to help her. Probably motherfucking Johnnie again.

Drawing in a calming breath, he set his bottle next to her basket and dug out his cigarettes.

“What up, Red?” he asked her after a few puffs to ease his agitation. “Why you look like you lost your best friend?”

“Roxy told me about Bailey,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m so sorry and I’m so ashamed that Johnnie played a part in her condition. I am sorry that he could hurt you so terribly.”

“It isn’t your shame to bear,” he muttered. “And the motherfucker that should be ashamed won’t be. He won’t give a fuck.”

Kendall snatched his vodka and swigged. “Smooth,” she said, tossing more back. She finished the bottle before she continued, suddenly as fucked up as him. Thousand-dollar vodka tended to be strong. Years ago, Kendall liked hard liquor. After her suicide attempt, she stuck to wine. Until recently. She hiccupped. “It is my shame to bear, by the way,” she slurred, rubbing her bleary eyes. “If that motherfucker has debt or legal obligations, I share responsibility for that.”

Mortician ignored her reasoning and studied her flushed cheeks and watery eyes, part emotion and part alcohol. He cocked his head to the side. “When you last ate, Red?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, starting to sob so pitifully.

Unable to stand her pain, Mort managed to get to his feet and stumble to her, almost missing the fucking seat. She roared with laughter—he did as well. But then the moment passed and she started to cry again. Mort almost broke down, too. He loved Bailey so fucking much. She hadn’t cared. She’d just pushed him away and shut him out. For what?

Because she believed Johnnie’s lies? Because she lost faith in Mortician? A combination? How could his wife have fallen so far?

Elbows on knees, he covered his face, for once ignoring Kendall’s misery, too absorbed in his own pain. Until the sound of her despair finally broke through his cloud. He put an arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer, urging her head onto his shoulder and kissing her temple.

“Recently, I left my kids because I intended to file for divorce. I was buying a house in Idaho and everything.”

“You leaving?”

“No! I was, but I can’t. Not right now. But how can I stay? After what Johnnie’s done to you and Bailey? To me? After his years of obsession with Meggie? I’m so tired. And I left Mattie after all she’s been through. Maybe, Rory’s right. Maybe, I am a bad mother.”

Leaning back on the sofa and bringing her with him, he tightened his hold on her, wanting another drink. “Rory a motherfucker for even saying that to you,” he snapped.

“That’s my baby.”

“And your baby firmly on Johnnie side.”

“He’s a child!”

“Your fucking point? So’s Johnnie. They evenly matched.”

“You want to kill Rory?”

Mortician released her, somehow managing to stand again, squinting at the distance between him and his recliner. He shoved his fingers through his hair, then sat down once more. He couldn’t make it to his chair. Motherfucker was too far away. “Did Rory open his fucking mouth to my wife?”

Kendall’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t kill Johnnie.”

“You can’t be defending that motherfucker to me,” he snarled.

“I’m not,” she said, sniffling. “I swear. But…he never gave up on me.”