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“Yes, well, he shouldn’t have done that. So do us both a favor and lose this number, yeah?”
He sputtered through the line. “But—but, Mr. Blackwell, your father left you—”
I cut him off. “I don’t give a shit what that son of a bitch left behind. If he left anything for me, do me a favor. Take it out back and set it on fucking fire.”
With that, I disconnected and threw the phone onto Alma’s coffee table as I collapsed onto the couch. I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees and dropping my head into my hands as unpleasant memories from my past rushed over me.
The day that bastard finally died, I didn’t bother attending the funeral. Instead, I went out and celebrated by getting shitfaced drunk and throwing every picture of him from the photo albums my mother had given me years ago, before she passed away, into the fire. It was my attempt at erasing him from the world altogether. If only it had worked. But apparently, the motherfucker wasn’t done haunting me.
Even in death he had the keen ability to sense when things seemed to be going well for me and pop up to ruin it.
15
ALMA
Iwoke up disoriented. My eyelids felt like they were made of sandpaper as I peeled them back and blinked into consciousness for what felt like the first time in an eternity. It was dark outside beyond my window, and I didn’t know if it was night or early morning.
My brain was still foggy, but I could tell by how damp my shirt was that my fever had broken, and my stomach no longer felt like it wanted to escape my body. I slowly pushed to sitting and tried to get my bearings. My joints still ached a bit, but a nice, hot shower would help loosen them up. And fortunately, I felt well enough to bathe, because my whole body felt gross, and I could think of nothing I wanted more than to scrub the sick off me.
I pushed out of my bed with a groan, leaning side to side to stretch my muscles before starting for the bathroom. I still didn’t feel anywhere near one hundred percent, but it was a vast improvement to how I’d been earlier that day.
It felt good to strip out of the grimy T-shirt, and as soon as I felt up to it, I’d wash it and stuff it back down in that drawer where it belonged. I twisted the nobs in my shower to make the water as hot as I could stand it and stood beneath the spray, letting it massage all the aches and pains that still lingered.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten so sick. I was downright delirious. I’d actually dreamed that Roan had shown up on my doorstep and insisted on doctoring me back to health. There were even a few times where I lingered between being asleep and awake and imagined him tenderly giving me medication and whispering about needing to stay hydrated. It was ridiculous. A dream induced from opening up to my girlfriends about my ex, then being wracked with fever.
I laughed at myself as I scrubbed my body down and went about washing my hair. By the time I got out of the shower, I’d managed to zap most of what little energy I’d built up and wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, but I knew I probably needed to try and put something light in my stomach and drink some water so I didn’t dehydrate.
I moved toward my dresser, pulling on a pair of underwear and another baggy tee. When I turned and spotted the items littered across my bedside table, I froze. There was my thermometer, a half-full glass of water, and several medicine bottles I knew for a fact I didn’t have on hand.
A memory popped up in my head, one of Roan holding my hair back as I got sick. I cringed as the memory changed to him carrying me to bed and telling me he was going to buy me some medicine, and that he’d be back.
“Oh god,” I groaned, lifting a hand to cover my mouth. It hadn’t been a dream. He was really here. He’d really taken care of me while I was sick. I hadn’t imagined any of it.
Suddenly awash with nerves, I crept closer to my bedroom door and pressed my ear to it, trying to hear anything on the other side. I should have known something was up. Tortellini wouldn’t have let missed meals slide just because I was knocking on death’s door. When he was starving and felt like I’d slept too long, he had a habit of jumping up onto the bed and laying flat across my face, suffocating me until I woke up, desperate for air. It was his way of forcing me out of bed to feed him.
When I wasn’t still recovering from the bubonic plague and silently freaking out that my ex was in my house somewhere, I might take the time to think about what it meant that I had a cat who occasionally tried to kill me in my sleep. In the meantime, I had more pressing things on my mind.
I moved closer to the door until I was smooshed right up against it, but I couldn’t hear anything. My heart thumped out a frantic beat in my chest as I turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open.
I inched my way out on my tiptoes, my ears straining for sounds of life. Then realizing how ridiculous I looked, I lowered onto my feet. This wasmyhouse, after all. There was no reason for me to creep around like a thief in the night. In fact, now that I was thinking more rationally, I realized Roan had absolutely no business being here in the first damn place.
It didn’t matter that he’d played nursemaid for however long I was delirious and on the verge of death. This was myhouse, and he wasn’t welcome here.
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, renewed determination coursing through me. I was going to find him and kick him the hell out. Who did this asshole think he was, coming into my house without an invitation? I had a mind to teach him a less—. My train of thought came to a screeching halt when I neared the kitchen and caught a whiff of something that smelled divine. I stopped in my tracks, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. My stomach let out a pained rumble at the delicious, savory scents. It felt like it had been a lifetime since I’d eaten anything, and I was suddenly starving.
I moved farther down the hall and turned the corner into the living room. From there, I could see straight into my kitchen, and what I saw made my mouth go dry.
Roan stood at the stove, his back to me. Even after all these years, I would have remembered that long, strong frame anywhere, those broad shoulders, the muscles that worked beneath the fabric of his shirt as he moved about. All this time, and his body still had the uncanny ability to call to mine like it was its other half. It had always been like that with us. We’d know the instant the other walked into a room by feel alone. I’d loved it back then, but now it felt needlessly cruel.
As if he sensed me, he turned to look over his shoulder. The instant he spotted me, his lips curled up in a smile that made that dimple press deep enough I could see it, even beneath the trimmed beard filling in along his jawline.
“Hey, you’re finally up. How are you feeling?”
I opened my mouth to say all the things I’d rehearsed, but the words disappeared like a puff of smoke caught on the wind.
“While I was out getting your meds, I also stopped in at the diner and got you some chicken soup. I was just heating it up for you, if you’re hungry.”
IfI was hungry? Other than when I was hurling my guts up, I was always hungry. There wasn’t much in life I loved more than food.
