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“And he took them for his own and sold them to a competitor.”
I sucked in a breath as I fisted my hand against her lower back. “Your brother’s best friend.”
“Yes. Supposedly.”
I nearly asked what he’d been to her. I could hear the current of more underneath the pain in her words. But she’d already given me so much, and I didn’t want to ask for things she clearly wasn’t ready to tell.
After a moment, I eased away from her and gathered the photo shreds off the island and the floor and dumped them in a paper towel.
“What are you doing?”
“Gonna take them out to the fire pit where they belong. Lu would approve,” I added almost as an afterthought.
Even with my limited knowledge of all things mystical, I knew fire was an important way to release and cleanse. And this dude needed some serious releasing for being a fucking traitorous dick. I was sorry he was dead, but that didn’t absolve him from what he’d done while he was here.
“You didn’t even look at the pieces.”
“Why should I? He hurt you, so he isn’t worth it.”
She swallowed loudly enough for me to hear. “Ezra asked me to go to his memorial in Mystic. I don’t know if I can. My family doesn’t know what he did, and I don’t think I can look them in the eye and pretend he was a good guy when I know deep down he wasn’t.”
“You feel you have to go.”
“Yes. Not for him.”
“No, for your brothers.”
Silently, she nodded.
“Would it help to have a friend with you?”
She reached up to grip her throat, her fingers digging in until I was sure she’d leave marks behind. “I don’t have any friends I could ask.”
“You do, and you don’t have to ask because I’m offering.” I wrapped my fingers around hers and carefully pried them away from her skin. With a squeeze, I released them. “Let’s go on a road trip, Ruby.”
Ten
Watching the sun tease the sky held a whole new meaning when you knew a funeral was in your future.
No one should be in the ground before the age of thirty. Hell, I’d say eighty with the whole medical advances thing. But twenty-seven? The same age as me? No.
That wasn’t the way it should go.
I tucked my fingers into the oversized cardigan I wore against the biting wind. The sky was steel gray and heavy with rain. I could smell it on the air and feel it in my shoulder.
It was always my barometer. At least the old injury had been for a good cause—beating the holy hell out of a ’67 Impala for a client with more money than sense. She’d wanted a replica of Baby from the show Supernatural.
And I’d been stupid enough to do it.
She’d found the most ridiculously rusted out piece of crap that had been wasting away in some dude’s barn. It’d had water damage, frame issues, and leather eaten by God knows what. But in the end, I’d gotten that motherfucker growling as well as Dean Winchester himself.
Or so I liked to believe.
Some days were insanely fun. Some days were made to be stamped out and forgotten. I had a feeling the next two days would fall in the latter category.
The rumble of Lucky’s ancient pickup coming down my drive had me turning around. My weekender was packed and a cooler with snacks, water, and sodas stood at the edge of my as yet renovated barn.
We had to wait a few days for some final permits to come in as well as roofing supplies and some lumber from Turnbull. It was the snow capital of NY and they’d already had their third snowstorm, though it wasn’t even a full week into October.
