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I want to reach out, cup his cheek with my hand and feel his beard beneath my fingertips, but I don’t. Curling my fingers, I press my nails into the palm of my hand and watch him for a moment, then I nod my head once and step to the side, shifting around to face my parents.
My father’s lips are parted in shock, my mother’s eyes are narrowed in anger, and I know that this is truly them. This is who they are. My father, feigning surprise, my mother angry. Both selfish.
“You’ve been married to him all of a day, and you’re ready to side with this stranger? Was the sex that good?” my mother grinds out.
“I’ve known him for weeks. It was better,” I say. “But this isn’t about him. This is about you.”
My mother actually growls as if she is a wild animal. Ignoring her, I reach out beside me, extend my index finger, and glide it slightly against Coleman’s wrist. There is a lot I should do and maybe even say. However, I do not.
This is all I have.
Support for him.
Disgust for them.
This is who I am right now. I don’t think I’ll be able to just make any of that go away. So I stay where I am, ignoring the anger that exudes from my mother and the stench of unadulterated fear from my father.
“Fuck you,” she growls.
Coleman takes a step forward. I wait for him to ask me if I’m okay with this, my answer formulating though not quite coming forward. I want to say something witty and smart, but everything I can think of has to do with actual fucking, and as much of a bitch as my mother is, that won’t work for this moment, so I stay silent.
Without another word, not a second more of arguing, not a single fucking whimper. I watch as Coleman slits my mother’s throat. Then my father’s. It happens so fast that I don’t even register what’s happened until they’re both on the floor.
He turns to me, his eyes finding mine, his jaw clenched, and then he dips his chin in a single nod. His gaze slides over to his father’s, and he tilts his head to the side. Henry Hamilton’s lips twitch into a smirk, and for the first time, I see something close to an expression of happiness flash in his gaze. It disappears almost instantly, and he dips his chin, his gaze never leaving Coleman’s.
“I’ll see you in the morning for work,” Henry murmurs.
“You will,” he states before he faces me again. “Let’s go home, hummingbird.”
And that.
Is that.
At least for now.
ChapterTwenty-Four
CLAIRE
I should be shakingwith fear. I should be crying with agony and trauma. I should be a lot of things. Maybe I should be shocked, too. But I’m none of those things. I’m not numb. I can feel. I’m not sad. I expected they would go down eventually. I don’t know what I am exactly.
When Coleman stops walking, his fingers squeezing mine, the moment we step outside, I turn toward him. My body automatically rotates, drawn to him, the pull so strong that I feel as if I’m made of a magnet. As if we’re both magnetized.
Sucking in a breath, I’m frozen at the sight of his expression. He is clearly feeling something, although I can’t tell if it’s relief or something else.
“Coleman?” I ask.
“You’re going to hate me, Claire. This won’t be the last heinous thing I do. It’s certainly not the first.”
Sliding my tongue along my bottom lip, I wet my skin as I look up at him. Still drawn to him, still magnetized by him. He is everything to me right now, and I don’t quite understand why. He’s my husband. He’s my first lover, my first kiss, and I feel completely and totally obsessed with him. I still don’t comprehend it.
I don’t understand the way he makes me feel. I’ve only known him a short time, and while I’m aware that in that short time a lot has happened, it doesn’t make up for the fact that I consider myself a levelheaded person. Except I feel nothing even close to levelheaded when I look at him—when I’m near him.
Part of me wishes he could just consume me and put me out of this awkward misery I’ve placed myself in. The other part of me wants to strip him naked and demand that he stays inside of me all day, every day until we die.
Completely and totally unrealistic for both things. There is a moment of silence, one where we just stare at one another, and I’m not sure what he wants me to say. To do. I don’t think there’s anything really that I can tell him at this point. If I say I don’t care that my parents are both dead, how does that look?
If I tell him I’m angry that they’re gone, I would be lying. And at the same time, I feel a mix of emotions. I’m not sad they’re gone. I don’t feel anything much about watching them bleed in front of me. But, the future of their casino, my siblings and their education, who is going to take care of them? Coleman? I highly doubt it.
