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I grab my jacket from the floor. “Soon.”
“Soon?”
“Yes, Abigail. Soon.”
She pulls her knees to her chest really fucking slowly. Leans on her arm as she stares. “You don’t have a wife, do you? Please tell me you don’t.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think I’ve got a fucking wife? Please.”
“Wouldn’t be the first fucking time,” she hisses, and shifts her gaze to the ceiling.
“Is that what happened to you? He had a wife?”
She laughs a hollow laugh. “Lots of things happened to me, Leo. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the whole truth, it seems.”
“I haven’t got a wife,” I tell her. “I’m not with anyone. I’m not lying about anything.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Good.”
I check the time on my phone. Late. Really fucking late.
I gesture to the wide open curtains. “You probably want to close those before you get up.”
She flashes a smile, at least for a moment. “Anyone out there will have seen enough already, don’t you think?”
“Better than pay-per-view. Maybe we should give them a regular time slot.” I dig my keys from my pocket.
“Don’t leave it weeks next time. A couple of days should see me walking vaguely normally again.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.” I smirk.
And then I go.Twenty-SevenI do not deal with threats and ultimatums.
Yair LapidPhoenixI’ll tell her everything. The whole sorry tale.
I’ll show her everything.
Soon.
And maybe, just maybe, our broken parts will fit together enough to fix us both.
It’s a longshot, but isn’t it always.
I’m still on high alert as I slip back out the way I came in. I make sure the entrance door is locked just as I found it, and then I cross the street to my truck with one last glance up at her living room window.
I don’t know what it is that first sends a shiver up my spine. Some early cognition of being watched, or maybe the familiar hulk of a vehicle parked just down the street from mine.
I’ve only just ventured close enough to read the license plate when I hear his footsteps behind me. I’d recognise that gait anywhere.
Any-fucking-where.
His voice is slurred and spitting rage when it comes.
“Barely a fucking year and you’ve moved on like she was fucking nothing.”
He’s not expecting the full force of my weight as I shunt him backwards. Not prepared for the venom with which I lift him clean off the ground and slam him up against his truck.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Jake?”
He swings for me but misses. “I fucking followed you, you stupid cunt. Wanted to see where you fucking went.”
“That’s bullshit,” I snarl. “I’d have clocked your fucking truck a mile away.”
His eyes are like coals. “You’ve got a fucking tracker, asshole.”
“Great. Congratulations, you found me on GPS. And now you can go on your fucking way.”
“What’s her name?”
My pulse is frantic. Icy. “She’s none of your fucking business.”
He sneers. “She’s everyone’s fucking business tonight. The building opposite has fucking scaffolding. I’ve seen the dirty little slut’s pounded fucking asshole already, what’s in a fucking name?”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
But he doesn’t. He never does. “No wonder Mariana wanted out. No wonder she begged me to take her. You’re a filthy fucking animal. Always fucking have been.”
“Watch it,” I snarl. “Just fucking watch what you’re fucking saying.”
He manages to slip his hand under mine, twists hard enough to shake me off. I watch him stumble a few paces, cursing the fact I ever fucking dragged him out of that fire.
He gestures up at the window. “Like her, do you? Wanna play happy families with her? You, her and my boy?”
“For the thousandth fucking time, Jake. He’s not your fucking boy.”
He jabs a finger at me. “That’s for the fucking paternity test to decide.”
I close the distance between us, ignoring the fact his fists are raised. “There’s not gonna be a fucking paternity test. You’re a fucking drunk, Jake. A bitter fucking drunk who wants to torch the whole fucking world with your misery. Do us all a fucking favour and either go fucking join her, or sort your fucking life out.”
He points at Abigail’s window. “Like you have, you mean? Got yourself a pretty new thing to make yourself feel better? This one gonna end up in her grave in a few years too?”
I take a breath before I tear his fucking limbs off. “Get a fucking cab and go home. I’ll get one of the guys to pick your fucking truck up in the morning.”
“PATERNITY TEST!” he yells. “I WANT THAT FUCKING TEST!”
I stare him out. Wonder for the thousandth fucking time what happened to the brother I grew up with.
I feel as fucking poisoned as he is. Just being around him makes me feel fucking cursed.
He struggles to light a cigarette. I struggle to bear fucking watching him. “I want to see the boy.”
I shake my head at his fucking audacity. “I want an island in the Caribbean, Jake. Not gonna fucking happen.”
