Right. That’s tonight. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Mate, I love you like a brother, which is why what I’m about to say might be hard to hear.” He grabs one of the chairs from across the room, drags it over, and sits across from me. Leaning forward, he pins me with a glare. “Get your ass off this couch and into the shower. You are coming with me, whether you like it or not.”
My head falls forward, and I can’t meet his gaze. I don’t want to go. I don’t ever want to leave this couch. But he’s right. I run a hand through my hair, releasing a frustrated breath.
“Hey.” He waits for me to lift my stare. His lips pinch with concern, his gaze softer. “I get it, I do. She left.” He pauses, allowing the reality of it to stretch between us. Tears well in my eyes, but that doesn’t stop him. “That was her choice to make, and as much as you don’t like it, you have to live with it. Life is short, and I will not sit by while you piss yours away.”
“I love her.”
He grunts, clasping me on the shoulder. “I know, man. I know.”
I inhale, closing my eyes so I won’t cry. It’s bad enough he sees me with my heart shredded to pieces. But as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I can’t spend the rest of my days hiding out in my condo. It doesn’t change the truth. Life is passing me by. Hell, she’s moved on with hers. My throat clenches. A single tear drops and my heart splits open all over again.
“Ah, fuck. Don’t cry. Aubrey’s not here, and I’m not any good at that stuff.”
I laugh, and though it still hurts, it’s nice to find something funny. “Where is she? She never misses one of your reveals.”
“She, uh, isn’t feeling so great. We thought it better she rest at home with CJ rather than stop for puke breaks.”
“She’s got the stomach flu?” My brows rise. “You left her home with Chance Junior?”
“Not the flu.” A smile works his way onto his lips. “Aubrey’s pregnant. Another little Bateman to take over the world.”
“What?” For a split second I wish it were me getting to share such news. I swallow back the tinge of resentment that threatens to sour this joyful moment. The smile on my lips is a foreign feeling, but it’s a step in the right direction. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, mate. We’re thrilled.” He shoves to his feet and moves the chair back to the table. “Now, go shower. Times a ticking, and I can smell you from here.”
“Fine. I’m going.” The blanket drops from my waist as I stand, and I adjust my boxer briefs so Chance doesn’t get a peep show as I walk toward the hall.
“And shave that small animal off your face,” he calls after me. “You’re starting to resemble a goat!”
I cringe a little at the imagery. Turning in the doorway, I narrow him with a glare. “That hurts.”
He nods, his lips pressed in a firm line. “The truth does that.”
50
Rachel
“I’m so glad you invited me.” Cora bounces in her seat as she plows over a bump in the road intended to deter drivers from speeding. From the ten minutes I’ve spent in her Hummer, two things are clear. She doesn’t adhere to road signs or speed limits, and I might never see Jude again because there’s a very real chance she’ll kill us all. “This is so much fun.”
“Honey, that’s a red light,” De’Shaun says from the front passenger seat.
“Short cut.” Cora smiles, cranking the music and the steering wheel simultaneously.
I grip the handle above my seat in the back, and hold on for life as Cora takes another turn. Jesus.Who gave this woman a license? Or sold her a military grade vehicle?
“Nervous?” De’Shaun turns in his seat to meet my gaze.
“Totally.” This time as my stomach dips and dives, though it has nothing to do with Cora’s driving. I suck in a breath and shake off the nerves. It felt like a good idea when we came up with it this morning, but now—now, I can’t stop picturing all the ways it could go wrong. “You’re sure he’ll be here. And we can get in?”
“No one turns Cora Bentley away from a publicity event.” Cora winks at me through the rear mirror. I wish she’d keep her focus on the road. “Ever.”
De’Shaun swears under his breath. “Do you always refer to yourself in third person?”
She rolls her eyes at De’Shaun, but laughs. I appreciate how easygoing she is and, despite her poor driving, her social connections.
“You sure this will work?” My knee bounces as I press my toe to the floorboard of the car. There’s a good chance he won’t want to see me. Or hear what I have to say. If he’s angry, I’ll understand. I can work with angry. I ignored his calls and texts, then blocked him for good measure. But if he won’t even give me a chance? I think about the “Ask Ida” letter. God, I hate knowing how much I hurt him. I wish I knew when he sent that. Was it weeks ago? “What if he’s already moved on?”
