Page 30 of Sin of Love
“Gideon,” snaps my father. “Your front door was unlocked. It smells like a pigsty in here. The house is filthy. You’re filthy. What on God’s earth has happened to you? All of this over a woman? No woman is worth—”
“Get out,” I bark.
Lucy glances uncertainly at my red-faced father, then takes several steps toward the front door. Smart woman. I stand, unsteady but full of enough rage to compensate, and level a glare on my piteous excuse for a father.
“Did I stutter?”
“Frank, maybe—” Lucy doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Get the fuck out!” I roar.
My father pales but holds his ground. “We need to talk, son. If not today, then soon.”
“You have five seconds before I come over this couch—”
He’s out the door in three.
I slump back to the couch, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes. This level of hangover should be illegal. I can see clearly, but my brain is half-blind and tripping into walls. I need to get up. Take a swig of vodka. Chase away the nightmare still clinging like sticky webs inside my fucking skull.
Deirdre…
“Take this.”
I jerk, hands falling. Lucy offers me two aspirin and a glass of water. Grunting thanks, I down the pills and water, then lean back to rub my forehead. Just the possibility of relief makes me marginally more alert. As I do every morning, I consider not drinking today.
Then I blink and see empty blue eyes.
Maybe tomorrow.
“I thought I told you to get out.”
Lucy sniffs, tossing silky black bangs from her brow. Peering into her dark eyes, I try to remember loving her. I think I did—maybe. I definitely loved saving her, even if it turned her into a cheating hag.
“I’m leaving,” she says, nose wrinkled like she smells something bad. Probably me. “Just so you know, I stepped outside to call Finn, as well as a cleaning company and grocery service.”
“What the fuck,” I mutter.
Her eyes narrow, voice sharpening. “The thing about family, Gideon, is that we don’t always go when we’re told to, no matter how much our loved one hates us. Next time you see your dad, you might want to listen to what he has to say.”
My chest shakes with silent laughter. “Why do you even care? You took half my money and all my furniture. Why are you here?”
For a moment, her facade drops, and I see the young woman she was—full of passion and desperation to live—who only needed someone to believe in her.
“Because when no one was there for me, Gideon, you were. When I was a coked-out fashion student about to lose my apartment, job, and life, you pulled me back from the brink. The least I can do is let you know that people care about you. I may not want you back anymore, but I still care. Your father, Finn—”
“Okay, okay. Thanks for the aspirin. You can go now.”
Her face falls. Regret alights briefly before I snuff it out. Once upon a time, her words would have filled me with purpose and satisfaction. Once upon a time, I had an unstoppable messiah complex. Therapy 101: since I couldn’t save my mother from her schizophrenia and depression, I fell in love with emotionally unstable women who fulfilled my need to be the hero.
Until Deirdre.
She was the first woman whose altar I worshipped at, whose majesty brought me to my fucking knees. Who, despite her physical scars and fractures of spirit, was the most whole and perfect woman I’d ever met.
Who didn’t need to be saved.
Who could instead—maybe—save me.
By the time I rouse from my thoughts, Lucy’s gone. I manage a trip to the bathroom, then focus my waning stamina on making coffee. I might not have food in the house, but there’s always booze and caffeine.
