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“Get in, Little P.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, then he shifts his attention to the rain-streaked windshield, as though my compliance is non-negotiable.
With numbness biting at my veins, I climb in and shut the door. The car fills with warmth and nostalgia, and there I go again, silently thrashing against the need to burst into tears.
We drive in silence. Amy Winehouse’s rendition ofWill You Still Love Me Tomorrow?plays low on the radio. Nico’s jaw is slack with indifference as he turns off the main strip.
I can’t fight it. An awkward little sob escapes my throat and his gaze warms my cheek.
“Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to be distracted?”
My vision blurs and there’s no turning back. The dam opens, the tears flow, and my sobs fill the car, ugly and loud.
Nico lets out a tense breath and swings the car around.
“Distracted it is.”
Theysayifyoulove something, let it go.
If something almost kills you twice in one week, you should probably let it go too.
As I watched her sleep peacefully in my arms, my blood smeared over her stomach and my come glistening on her inner thigh, two truths solidified like metal in my chest.
The first, was that now that I knew what it felt like to kiss her, I’d never kiss another.
The second, was that I’d never let her go.
She was all mine,and not a soul on this fucking earth could prize her from my cold, dead hands. No, she had to be the one to letmego, and I needed to give her a good enough reason to never want me back.
The football game roars on the television; the rain hammers on the bay windows. I’m reclined on my brother’s sofa, bringing another chip to my mouth, when Rory appears in the living room doorway.
The night I wrote the check and scrawled a note, I turned up at the house because I didn’t know where else to go. Angelo opened the door with a gun, lowering it when he saw the look on my face. He held out his hand in silence, but I only shook my head. I couldn’t even keep my breathing steady, let alone my fucking hand.
The next morning, I awoke to his wife standing over my bed, her dog in one hand, a kitchen knife in the other.
“I’m sorry to hear you got stabbed,” Rory said calmly. “But what the flamingo have you done to Penny, and why is her cell switched off?”
Since then, she’s been arguing with Angelo behind closed doors and shooting me death glares from all four corners of the house. I still haven’t eaten or drunk anything that hasn’t come from a sealed container.
But now, as she runs her gaze down my legs, it’s the softest it’s been all week.
“Are those my sweatpants?”
“Your husband’s.”
She frowns. “Same thing.” She glances at the bag of chips nestled in my arm. “Are those my snacks?”
“Probably.”
Stroking the ball of fluff in her arms, she stares at me for the longest time. She sighs. “You’re just a heartbroken little fool, aren’t you?”
“What gave it away?” I ask dryly.
Her eyes fall to my feet in sad bemusement. “The novelty lucky socks. Oh, and the fact you’ve hardly moved from this position all week.”
New Year’s Eve has come and gone, and I barely even glanced at the fireworks on the other side of the living room window, let alone threw a signature Raphael Visconti party.
What would I have done, put on a fucking suit and a smile and pretended like everything underneath it wasn’t on fire? The only respite I’ve had from the pain was when the captain ofLa Signora Fortunatexted to let me know Penny had gone nuclear.
