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I hide the smile that escapes me by dipping my head, lifting it once my expression is neutral again.
“Yes,” I reiterate. “I felt it.”
Our eyes tunnel into each other’s, blocking out everything but the awareness of a flash of pink in my peripheral vision.
“Was I wrong?” I ask, wanting to know for myself whether she needs closure too, whether she thinks of me, dreams of me, hungers for the taste of me. The touch of me.
That she isn’t plagued by the same insatiable hunger that I am for her that distracts me from what I’m doing, that fills me with yearning so deep that everything else becomes devoid of taste, of scent, of sound, of color…
I expect her to say, “Yes, you’re wrong, asshole. She doesn’t need closure. She needs you to fuck right off, and not come back.” Only she doesn’t answer, glancing quickly at her partner next to her instead, and making my heart race in my chest.
“What exactly are your intentions with her, Greyson?” she asks. “What doesclosurelook like to you?”
“I… I don’t know. I left in a way that wasn’t pleasant.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“I was hoping to remedy that.”
“And hurt her again?”
Shards of glass whip through the air, slicing at my skin.
“No. I don’t want to do that. I want to see what… works best for both of us.”
“And if she says she wants nothing to do with you?”
“Then, I’ll respect her decision. And I won’t come back.”
She takes a green cardboard coaster in her hand, running her fingers over the rough paper, staring down at it for longer than would be comfortable for the average person.
When she looks back up, I brace myself. “It’s only because of your help dealing with that piece of shit ex of hers that I didn’t get them to throw you out when you stepped foot in here, tonight.”
Her eye contact is so bold that if I hadn’t spent years helping the most unpalatable of Washington’s wealthiest scumbags to clean up their messes, I may struggle to hold it.
“That’s given you a pass. One pass.ONE.”
Orpha rubs her forehead with her hand, raising her eyebrows as she braces against the storm of Marilla’s delivery.
“Now, if you hurt that girl ever again, you’ll end up with a storm on your hands that will rock your world, boy. Your money doesn’t intimidate me. I’ll be over to fuck up your safe little world until you learn some fucking manners. Do you understand that?”
“It seems clear,” I reply.
“It is. That girl means the world to us. She’s a sensitive one. She’s been through some shit. You hurt her, you make her believe something that isn’t true, and I’ll summon up the power of The Morrigan and rain hell on your ass until you can’t look in the mirror without seeing my face.”
If it weren’t for the second mention of Indie’s pain, her words would be borderline amusing. It’s not the first time I've been threatened in my life, and I doubt it'll be the last, but I'm not sure a woman has eyeballed me in a way that made me feel like the Celtic warrior goddesses of old were now watching my every move.
“Is. That. Understood?”
“Marilla,” sighs Orpha.
“It is,” I respond. “Hurting your daughter is the last thing I want to do.”
“And yet you’re here…”
“And hurting her isn’t part of that plan.”
“Well, you just remember my crabby old face if the idea even crosses your mind.”
