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Zander opened his mouth, and then he promptly shut it, not saying anything right away. A guilty expression crossed his face, and for just the quickest of moments, he actually appeared apologetic. But that apologetic moment quickly passed, and the Zander I knew all too well took its place. “You know what I mean. You have standards. Standards that guy doesn’t meet.”
“He’s here for a reason. He wouldn’t be in the running if he didn’t have something to offer the Hand. I think you’re underestimating him based on his appearance.” Sure, Damian might look like a thug, he might talk like one on some occasions, but he was here; Zander couldn’t deny that.
“You’re right about that, but just because he’s here doesn’t mean he’s good for you.”
“I think we both know I don’t care what’s good for me. Not anymore.” I could reference a hell of a lot of instances. Me being engaged to Luca. Me tangling myself with Zander and Ezekiel and Cade. “The gun’s nice. I like it. Let’s end the conversation here.”
He nodded. “Understood, ma’am.”
Shooting him a glare, I growled out, “Did you just call me ma’am? I’d think real hard about your answer.” I wasn’t a ma’am. I wasn’t old enough to be a ma’am. He said it just to be an ass. I didn’t think he’d ever called me that before.
Before he had the chance to say his piece, my phone buzzed, and I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. Luca had texted me, asking to meet at the park in the city. My face must’ve changed as I read the message, for Zander asked, “What is it?”
“It’s Luca.”
“Ah, right. The guy who you’re supposed to marry and also the guy who’s been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you told him the truth about his sleazy fuckwad of a father—” He wasn’t exactly wrong with what he’d said, but I was too busy fighting the way my heart instantly reacted when I saw Luca’s name pop up on my cell.
“He wants to meet at the park,” I said.
“After days of radio silence, literally coming here and giving you that ring, now he wants to talk? I say fuck him.” Zander paused. “Not literally, though. I definitely don’t mean literally.”
Though I was inclined to agree with him, I also knew I couldn’t avoid Luca forever. I needed to face him, hear what he had to say about how he’d reacted to my truth, and then maybe we could move on. Not that I thought it could ever be the same as it was before, but… but I didn’t want to lose Luca, either.
How fucked up was that?
“When does the prince want you to meet him?” Zander took on a very sarcastic tone, and I’d like to say it wasn’t warranted, but in spite of it all, I found it kind of amusing.
“Now, I guess.” I texted him back and stood up. I grabbed my glass and my present. “Get the car ready—unless I’m wrong and you don’t want to go?”
He harrumphed. “See if you can stop me.” As he went to start the car, I took my glass into the kitchen and then headed up to my room. I set the box down on my bed, and then I went over to my dresser, where I’d set my white gloves. I slid the ring off my finger, placing it next to them, and then I went into the walk-in closet and found my black pair, sliding them on instead. I went to my desk, found Father Charlie’s cross, and slipped it on; I hoped it would help give me some clarity, as the man himself had tried so desperately to do when he was alive.
I almost left my room then, but I stopped when my peripherals caught sight of the box on my bed. My feet drew me to the bedside, and I lifted the lid, eyes laying on the gun. As Damian said, it was a good idea to always pack some heat when you were out and about in Cypress. Up until now, I’d never really thought much about it—ironic, since I’d been shot.
But the man was right, and so I took the gun, checked to make sure it was loaded, and then slipped it underneath the back of my shirt.
I went downstairs, meeting Zander at the car. He stood with his ass leaning on the hood, his arms crossed, but the moment he saw me exit the house, his posture relaxed. He noticed the change of ring to gloves, and he cocked an eyebrow, though he didn’t say anything out loud. After opening the car door for me, he went around to the driver’s seat, and we got going. With any luck, we’d get there first. I wanted to scope the area.
The park in the center of Cypress was actually a pretty big space. It had a pond that was probably big enough to be considered a lake, a trail that went around it for the walkers and the runners. Since it was such a nice day, there were people aplenty. Zander took a position near the tree line a little ways away, still in sight but far enough away to give us privacy. I stood at the lake edge, staring out at the water.
With no wind, the lake surface was smooth. Not a single ripple to be seen. A beautiful, serene scene, and yet I knew beneath the surface, the bottom of the lake was full of rocks and other imperfections. In a way, the lake was kind of like me. Pretty on the outside but broken and uneven on the inside.
I reached up to the cross around my neck, touching it. Its weight reminded me of all the times I’d spent in that church. I’d lost track. I’d started to go to mass, to every week’s confessions. Any time I could be with Father Charlie, I had. It was better than being at home, where I so clearly wasn’t wanted.
One particular day flashed in my mind, a vivid memory I could recall almost perfectly.
I sat in the dark confessional, Father Charlie in the space across from me. A wooden divider separated us, but it had small holes you could see through. If you put your eye up to it, you’d see the other side. I didn’t know who’d do that, but I was sure it tempted some of the younger kids whose parents forced them to do this.
We’d already gone through the opening of the confession, and we sat there in silence—something Father Charlie said was normal, sometimes. Sometimes it took patience to get to the crux of the matter.
My gaze was on my lap, or more specifically, on my hands. I wore gloves. They felt… strange, but I’d rather feel the leather on my hands rather than other things. The touch of another person, specifically.
“I went out and bought gloves,” I whispered.
“That is good,” Father Charlie spoke, his voice just as kind and as warm as it always was. When he asked a question, I really believed he wanted to know the answer, just like when he expressed concern for me, I felt like he really cared. Such a switch to what I was used to with my own father. “Do they help?”
I nodded, and then I realized he could only see my shadow, so I said, “Yes. At least, I think they do. They give me something else to focus on.” Again, I was quiet, but this time, my mind was heavy with other thoughts.
How long had it been since that night? Three weeks? Less than that since I’d tried to throw myself off a bridge.
