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“I’d really rather you didn’t.” I turned too quickly and grabbed the back of my chair when the effects of the alcohol I’d just pounded made me dizzy. Stumbling my way out of Cope’s parents’ yard would be the fucking cherry on the top of my ice cream sundae of a day.
“I’ve got this,” I heard one of the other guys I’d met through Cope, say. The first time I met Ritter “Rock” Johnson, I was convinced he was Dwayne’s twin although he swore there was no family connection.
“Let’s get you home, Stella.”
“Appreciate it, Rock.” I put one arm through his and waved with the other. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
“I’m sure Buck feels bad about having to leave like he did,” said Rock as we walked out.
“According to Cope, his father died.”
“I don’t know for sure, but I do know he’s been sick.”
It made me sad that Buck hadn’t talked to me about his dad. I mean, I get he wouldn’t want to at the wedding, but he could’ve told me on our way here. Or even when we talked last night. I guess we weren’t as good of friends as I thought we were.
“Hang on, and I’ll walk you up,” said Rock when he pulled up to my building.
I pointed to the three doormen, who looked like they were standing guard at the entrance. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Thanks, Rock.” I waved behind me.
By the time I got to the elevator, my shoes were off and tucked under my arm. I couldn’t wait to get the rest of this getup off and crawl into a nice, hot bath.
As if on cue, moments after I closed the apartment door behind me, my cell rang.
“Hey, Aunt Barb. I just walked in.” There were times I thought the woman must have my apartment surveilled, or at least bugged, given how she always seemed to know when I was here.
“How was the wedding?”
“It was fine.” My beloved aunt had always had an issue with my “inappropriate crush on a CIA handler,” whom she refused to refer to by name.
Barbara Hunter was my mother’s sister and the woman who’d raised me from the age of nine when my mom died from complications brought on by AIDS. Barb had been, and to a certain extent still was, one of the most revered female investigative reporters in the business.
The list of awards she’d earned over the years was lengthy, but the one she prized above all others was her Pulitzer for Public Service Reporting. She was given the gold medal for her early reporting on misconceptions about the causes of HIV and AIDS, as well as the predicted outcomes. Because of her exhaustive research, many of the stigmas associated with the virus were lessened.
My aunt had done that work while caring for my mother and me. After my mother’s death, Barb took on raising me full-time. She’d still worked as a reporter, but on less hard-hitting news stories and ones that didn’t require much travel.
“What progress have you made on what I’ve given you?”
I sighed. “Working on it.”
“Hmm.”
The three Manhattans I’d downed in rapid succession were now manifesting themselves in the form of a raging headache, not to mention a bit of nausea.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow. Right now, there’s a hot bath calling my name.”
“TJ, I’m—”
“Barb, I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.” I ended the call before she could say anything more and turned off my phone. She’d let me have it in the morning for hanging up on her, but I’d be better equipped to handle it then than I was now, when the last thing I wanted to do was talk about the litany of investigations she wanted me to follow up on. It was more than wanting me to take them on; she demanded I did.
I got it. I mean, I really did. Aunt Barb hadn’t been ready to quit when her last big story ended her career in scandal. Ever since, she’d been living her life vicariously through mine.
3
Buck
