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Her voice cracks a little at the end, and I sense that there’s something she’s not telling me.
“Has anything else been happening while I’ve been away?” I ask softly, watching her face for any sort of tell that she may not reply with the truth.
“Nothing that’s important right now,” she says. “When can I see you? I assume Mr. Billionaire lives in Portland or did he fly you off to some extravagant place?”
The forcefulness of her excitement for me isn’t missed and my heart aches. I want to push her for answers, but considering I’m keeping plenty of secrets of my own, I let things be what they are.
“Hopefully this next week,” I reply. “I’ll work out some plans just as soon as I can. I promise.”
I hear the open and close of a door, and she glances to her left. “I need to go, but we’ll talk againsoon, right?”
“Very soon.” It’s a promise I shouldn’t have to break now that I have my phone back.
“Love you, Liv,” Tori says, the sadness back in her tone.
“Love you, too.”
The video chat ends, and I slam my phone down on the mattress. Damn it. I need to figure out a way to meet with her sooner rather than later. I don’t like that she’s hiding something, too.
If it’s her arrogant boyfriend causing her grief, he’s about to have the shit literally scared out of him. I may have reservations about Justine using Jaxon’s money to handle my bills, but using the guys to put some fear into Greg isn’t above what I’m willing to do for my best friend.
Not even fucking close.
* * *
Havingmy phone back has a bittersweet sting. I spend hours scrolling through messages and photos, a masochistic dance of reminiscence and heartbreak. Tears fill my vision repeatedly, blurring the memories and intensifying the ache of loss. But it’s not just the absence of communication with my friends that hurts.
It’s the reminder that my mother is gone, irreversibly taken from my life. I crave to gaze at her smiling face in the photos, hoping to feel her presence, but it only amplifies the emptiness. There won’t be any more phone calls. No shared lunches or dinners. No sleepovers. No…anything.
Overwhelmed, I collapse on the couch, clutching my phone to my chest as sobs wrack my body. Why her? Why did she have to be taken from me? Thoughts twist and spiral in my mind, a never-ending cycle of anguish and unanswered questions.
If she hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have known about her past-due bills. I wouldn’t have gone to that auction or seen the dead body that now has another man wishing for me to be dead.
“Fuck,” I mutter into the empty room, swiping furiously at my face. I don’t want to be a mess. Hell, I’m not even sure I can afford to be. I need to draw on whatever strength I had when I was taken. The parts of me that allowed me to be brave in that cell, to stare a murderer in the face, and not break.
My phone gets shoved into the cracks of the cushion. As much as I want to be able to answer when Tori reaches out again, I need a break from all that lies within that thing.
I get up and decide to pour myself a shot of whiskey. Luca seems fond of the alcohol. Maybe I’m missing something by avoiding the stronger drink.
Flipping the crystal tumbler over, I grab the bottle and tip it slowly so that I don’t get too much, wanting to avoid wasting anything I won’t be able to force down if I hate the stuff.
Vodka I can handle, tequila only after I’ve had vodka, but anything else, unless it’s been mixed with a lot of other sugary shit, I’ve avoided for reasons unknown.
Now, with my life in shambles, why shouldn’t I?
As I lift the glass to my lips, the door swings open, and Luca strides in. His eyes dart around the room, panic flickering momentarily before his gaze lands on me, his eyebrows raised.
“Helping yourself, huh?” he remarks, stepping closer and shedding his suit coat.
“Not covered in blood tonight, huh?” I retort, grasping tightly to the resolve I’d just been searching for and lowering my glass for the moment.
When he gets closer, his gaze narrows. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I’ve been in this room since you left.”
“I know that.” His tone makes me wonder if he watches me while he’s away…
“Why have you been crying?” he asks more assertively than the question should require.
