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I glance away, disappointed. Although I have no right to be. This is what I wanted. I chose this. I let her walk away, and I am a prick for it, just like her friend said. But I remind myself that it’s better for her. Safer. I start the engine and back out of my spot, tempted to plow right through Georgie’s car and give it more than a little nudge. I know what that is. Jealousy. Not like before, like when I thought he might have something with Mercedes. Jealousy that I’m not a part of whatever is going on in there. Jealous that I am on the outside. Knowing I will always be on the outside.
Santiago’s curse floats to mind. I wonder if he knows how powerful words are. How I am suffering every day for the loss of her. The loss of him.
I swallow down my emotions and drive for hours, going nowhere, barely aware of what I’m doing until, closer to one in the morning, I arrive home to a quiet, sullen house. I don’t sleep much anymore. I’m on autopilot. I work. I eat what I need to get through the days. And at the end of each day, I spend my evenings parked outside Mercedes’s house, keeping vigil. I tell myself it’s to watch for Douglas, to make sure she’s safe, but I know better. I miss her. I feel the loss of her like a hole in my chest. Something I have never experienced before. And, strangely, I cling to it. I don’t numb it with drink because when I’m alone and especially in the small hours of the night, I want it to wash over me. To drown me. Because at least then, in some pathetic way, I am close to her.
Theron greets me from where he’s sitting by the fire in the living room with a tumbler of scotch at his side. He is in the dark apart from the small reading lamp beside the chair.
“You’re stalking her again?” he asks, closing his book.
“You’re here again?”
“Where should I go?”
“Somewhere else.”
“Well, unlike you, I don’t have multiple properties to choose from.”
“I gave you the South Cottage. Go there.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s boring.” He gets up and goes to the bar to refill his glass. “Drink?”
I shake my head but don’t leave. The truth is, it helps having him here. A distraction.
“Can you at least not brood. Let’s go to the Cat House,” he suggests.
I raise my eyebrows. “We’re not friends, you and I.”
He lifts his chin, expression serious. “No, I know that. You tolerate me. You will never forgive me for the things I’ve done.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. You are free to go to the Cat House. Maybe it’ll do you good.”
“Having my brother be able to stand in the same room as me would do me good.”
I ignore him. It’s selfish, I know. He’s trying. But I can't deal with him right now. “Although I didn’t think the Cat House was where your interests lay any longer.” Because ever since his meeting with Solana, he’s been asking questions. “I saw Solana tonight,” I taunt.
“Did you?” He drinks. “Did she ask about me?”
“No, oddly. I don’t think you’re as memorable as you like to think of yourself.”
“Well, I’ll pay her a visit at the shop.”
I grow serious. “No, you will not.”
“Why not, big brother?”
“You know why. If Mercedes sees you—”
“I’m not going into hiding, Judge. I told you I want to talk to her. I want to apologize.”
“I don’t care what you want. You’ll upset her. She’s in a fragile state.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure she has a fragile state.”
I stalk toward him, take him by the collar, and shake him so hard that the scotch splashes from the rim of the glass onto his hand. “You will stay away from her. From anywhere she might be, or God help me—” I stop myself. God help me what? Christ. I’m even using my grandfather’s words. His threats. I release my brother, pat down his shirt, and step away, raking a hand through my hair.
“I’m not scared of you, Judge. Give it up. You’re not him. Besides, he’d never have wasted good scotch.” He rinses his hand at the sink, then repours and drinks. “I will stay away from Mercedes to keep from upsetting her, not because you’re threatening me. But I’ll only do it if you have a drink with me.”
“That’s blackmail.”
