Sitting in my old living room and staring at the door that leads to the empty pool that drained my little girl of the life she was meant to live, D’lilah pours herself another glass of cheap vodka. For the first time in a long time, I relate to what she’s feeling.
My body aches and I’m tired. So fucking tired. I fist my hands into my hair and try to pull to the forefront all my reasons for needing to stay strong, but fail. This isn’t about me, shouldn’t be about me, but it hurts so badly.
“What did they say?” D’lilah slurs from her slumped position in the chair across from me.
I peer up at her and take in her dirty clothes and tangled hair. Her pallid skin and bloodshot eyes prove her slow suicide mission is working.
“She’s going downhill.” I swallow back the ache in my throat that hasn’t disappeared since I left the nursing home. “No longer responding.”
“Huh.” She takes a swig of the clear liquid and drops her head back. “Probably for the best.”
I grind my teeth and rein in my temper. “Whatever the fuck that means, ’Li.” Easy to say from her hiding place at the bottom of a bottle.
She laughs a deep guttural sound of intoxication and surrender to the inevitable. “Never should’ve put her in that place.”
My lips pinch together to keep from saying all the things I’ve wanted to say but never could.
“Just drawing it out, ya know?” She shrugs and takes another gulp.
“Says the drunk who wrote her off,” I say, shocked at the intense growl that punctuates my words.
This is fucking stupid. I need to get the hell out of here before I make today worse than it already is.
She glares at me through one eye. “I tried to go; you wouldn’t let me.”
“Too little too late.”
“What does it matter anyway? She’s gone, Cam! What’s the point? So I can stare at the shell of a girl I don’t know?”
Unthinking, I hook the lip of the coffee table and flip it on end. “You selfish bitch!”
She shoots to her feet, stumbling before she finds her balance. “Fuck you! Get the fuck out!” Her face blooms red with anger, and her nostrils flare.
I shake my head and storm from the room, ignoring the foul rant that she’s spewing to my back. If living in denial, wallowing in her own pain until she dies is what she wants, I’ll leave her to it. My stomach knots as the obligation to make right all I’ve done wrong washes over me.
Dammit. Fuck! I turn, throw my fist, and smash through the dry wall. My chin drops with the weight of regret. I lean my forehead on wall and try to slow my heaving breath and racing heart.
“Cam—”
“Not now.” I hold my hand out to keep her back and close my eyes. Calm down. Think.
“I’m sorry. Today sucks for all of us.”
I push off the wall but avoid her eyes. “I have to go.”
“You don’t have to leave—”
I whirl around and fix my eyes on hers. “Sober up, ’Li. You need to be there for our son tonight. Do not fuck this up.”
She jerks as if my words were a sucker punch to the gut. Good. Maybe that’ll help pull her head out of a liquor bottle long enough for her to show up to her son’s birthday dinner.
Twenty-Seven
Eve
I’m uneasy, and it’s not for the reason I’d think. Walking through the Planet Hollywood Casino to The Striphouse restaurant on Cameron’s arm is attention getting enough. He’s somewhat of a local celebrity now that he’s taken over as president of the UFL. I curl my fingers into the starched fabric of his navy blue dress shirt and feel the tension in is muscles.
Something is off.
And I don’t think it has anything to do with the fact that we’re having dinner with his ex-wife and teenage son. This feels bigger than that. There’s a vibe of anxiety or tension that charges the air around Cameron and has been since he picked me up. I felt a similar agitation from him before, leading up to Ryder’s birthday. But tonight it’s intensified to the point that my skin tingles with the power of it.
“Mr. Kyle, the rest of your party is here.” The hostess motions for us to follow her through the old Hollywood-style restaurant.
The deep red upholstered walls are covered in old black-and-white photos of actors and actresses from decades ago. Chairs and booths are in the same dark red leather, which lends a sophisticated and classy ambiance. The scent of melted butter and rich meat swirls in the air, and my mouth waters despite the off mood of my date.
“Here you are.” She stops at large half-circle booth where both D’lilah and Ryder are waiting.
Cameron gives a grunt of acknowledgement.
“Took you two long enough.” Ryder flashes a teasing smile. I’ve noticed he’s ditched the old faded tees for a nice plaid button-up shirt.
“Sorry, that was probably my fault.” I shift on my feet at the feeling of D’lilah’s eyes eating me up from heels to hair. Luckily, I wore my favorite sleeveless white fit and flare that’s just short enough to be sexy rather than skanky and a pair of black pumps that make my legs look twice as long as they are.