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“That I can do.” She sets off out of my office with a spring in her step.
I look down at my phone. I type in the name of the bakery Emma loves into the search bar.
Sweet Bluebells is on the Upper West Side.
I’ll head there, grab two red velvet cupcakes, and then make my way to the apartment.
I plan on having a large pizza delivered along with a bottle of red wine from the restaurant I took Emma to.
It’s not the best food, but it holds meaning for us now.
We shared our first meal there, and she taught me that it was all right for me to laugh again.
I felt happiness for the first time in years as I sat at that table and ate pizza with her.
Tonight, I want to sit in my apartment and plan my future with her.
I send Emma a simple text message.
Case: How do you feel about staying in tonight? I want to talk to you at the apartment.
Her reply is instant.
Emma: I like that idea. I’ll be there waiting for you.
***
I look up to see the sun breaking through the clouds as I swing open the door to Sweet Bluebells. A woman exiting the bakery brushes past me with a large white box in her hands. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you for holding the door.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I say with a smile.
I take a step inside, and I’m instantly assaulted with the smell of cake. I can see why Emma hangs out here.
I approach the counter. An older woman with brown hair gifts me with a bright grin. “Welcome to Sweet Bluebells. How are you?”
“I’m great,” I say for the first time in a very long time. “How are you?”
“Good. Good,” the woman repeats the word twice. “Tell me what you’d like.”
I survey the cupcakes in the display case.
I came in thinking I knew what I wanted, but I suddenly wonder if Emma wants to try something new.
“I think that the woman I love would want one of each,” I say, realizing that I just put a voice to what I’m feeling.
“Why don’t I pack up a dozen assorted for her?” She perks a brow. “Does she have a favorite that I should include?”
I bend to get a better look into the display case. With a tap of my finger on the glass, I smile. “Put two red velvets in for her. I know she can’t resist them.”
The woman nods before she reaches for a white rectangular box.
“Rush? Is that you?”
I freeze in place. Only a handful of people have ever called me that.
I turn toward the soft voice as she says it again, “Rush?”
I look at the blonde woman standing next to me. Her hands are shaking. Tears are streaming down her face tracking her mascara with them.
I reach for the counter to steady my balance because I can’t place her. I have no fucking idea who she is, but I can tell she knows me.
I caused her pain. I see it. I fucking feel it with every sob that comes out of her. Whatever I did to this woman, I need to make it right. That has to happen now.
Chapter 61
Case
I had a taste of happiness and fuck , was it sweet.
It didn’t last because that’s not my ticket in life.
My brother died on my watch. The pain that caused reached far beyond what I felt or what my grandfather endured.
The night that I found Apollo dead in his bed, I stood on the street outside of our apartment building. I was numb to everything going on around me.
I have hazy recollections of police cars blocking the street to oncoming traffic. I remember a neighbor trying to assure me that time would help. She said time always helps.
She was a liar.
Off in the distance, I could hear the sound of a young woman screaming. Her pain mirrored what I was feeling.
She was calling for Pol. Over and over again, she wailed his name as her friends held her upright.
When I stumbled over to her after she yelled at me, she beat on my chest with her fists.
She tore through me because I’d let my brother down.
The memory of her face got lost in my grief, but I saw it again today at Sweet Bluebells.
Her big blue eyes, and her long blonde hair.
Delaney is her name.
I didn’t bring that up from memory. She had to remind me of that today as she told me that she’d never forgiven me for not keeping a closer eye on my brother. She wanted to know if I had called him that day. I told her I hadn’t because that was the truth.
She’d called him six fucking times because she knew something was wrong.
When he didn’t answer, she went to the building and begged someone to let her in. No one listened to her that day.
