“Let me out,” I gasp between a nip of his teeth.
“We're not taking it past this, Addie,” he declares with finality.
“Why?” I breathe, and the logical part of me rallies against the stupid question. I should be relieved.
“Because the first time I fuck you, I want you to have all of me. Not just bits and pieces.” He takes a breath. “I’m not whole right now. And I can’t worship you when all I see is her.”
Reaching up, I trace his scar, and a breath shudders out of him in response.
“Okay,” I whisper. I get it. He’s suffering right now, and I’m only a temporary distraction. It doesn’t bother me when I know the girl occupying his mind is a little girl that is now dead. A death he blames himself for.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. But I just want you to know that it’s not your fault. The what ifs will plague you as long as you let them, Zade. But you need to remember all the girls that you did save. Don’t forget to remember them, too.”
He doesn’t deign me a verbal answer. Instead, he leans in and skates his lips across mine. I let him explore, our kiss much calmer. The burn is a low sizzle, bubbling beneath the surface but depleted of oxygen to allow it to grow.
Sex isn’t something either of us needs right now. He’s not in the right mindset, and I don’t know if I ever will be. This thing with Zade—it’s confusing.
And eventually, I’m going to have to put a stop to it.
Just not tonight.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I sigh when I see it’s my mother. Despite my brain screaming at me not to, I click the green button and slap the phone on my ear.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet, trying to keep my voice from betraying how I actually feel.
“Hello, honey. How are you doing?” she asks, her prim voice tightening my body into stone. It’s a trained reaction when passive aggressive insults are being slung my way most of the time.
“I’m good, just getting ready for the fair,” I answer, glancing over at Daya.
We’re in my room getting dressed, a heady sense of anticipation in the air.
Satan’s Affair is tonight, and we always have the best fucking time. I know tonight won’t be any different. I’ll finally have a night where my headspace isn’t filled with dangerous men and a murder gone cold.
Or maybe a particularly dangerous man I haven’t seen in a week.
“That haunted fair you go to every year?” she asks derisively. “I don’t understand why you like going to those things. I swear there’s a mental condition associated with finding enjoyment out of horror.” She mutters the last part, but not quiet enough for it to clearly transmit through the phone.
Pesky radio signals.
I roll my eyes. “Was there a reason you called, Mom?”
Daya snorts, and I shoot her a glare.
“Yes, I wanted to know what your plans are for Thanksgiving. I expect you and Daya will be visiting?”
I suppress the groan working its way up my throat. Daya and I are like a married couple and split holidays between our families.
She has a large family, and they’ve always welcomed me with open arms. Their get-togethers are loud with laughter and games, and I die of bliss every time I eat their food.
While my family is small and stiff. My mother has mean cooking skills, but she lacks the warmth and comfort, and I usually end up going to bed early and leave in the morning.
“Yep,” I confirm. I roll my lips, contemplating doing something very stupid now that I have her on the phone.
“Hey, uh, Mom?”
“Hmm?” she hums, a note of impatience laced in her tone.
“Can I ask you a few questions about Gigi’s murder?”
Daya’s eyes widen almost comically, and she mouths, “What are you doing?”
She knows as much as I do that Mom might not take well to us investigating Gigi’s murder. But I have to ask.
She might have some valuable information, and getting in an argument with her might be worth it if there’s a possibility of learning something new.
She sighs. “If it’ll convince you to move out of that place.”
I don’t deign her a response to that, letting her believe what she wants if it gets her talking.
“Did you know Grandpa John’s best friend? Frank Seinburg?”
She’s silent for a beat. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” she says. “I didn’t know him personally, but your Nana spoke of him.”
“What did she say about him?”
She sighs. “Just that he was around a lot up until Gigi was murdered, then he kind of disappeared.”
I roll my lips. “Do you know about Grandpa John’s gambling habits?" I push, incapable of keeping the hope out of my tone. Unfortunately, she detects it.
“Why are you asking, Addie?” she deflects with a tired sigh. She’s always weary when it concerns me.
“Because I’m interested, okay? I met Frank’s son,” I admit. “Mark. He talked to me about Gigi. He remembered her, and he brought up some interesting things about John’s gambling.”
I don’t admit that I’m investigating her case myself. I’d prefer she assumes that we happened to have a connection and spoke on it, nothing more.
“How did you even come into contact with a man of that social standing? God, Addie, please tell me you didn’t sell yourself to him.”
A fly could buzz into my mouth, and I wouldn’t notice. My mouth hangs open, and all I can feel is hurt.
“Why… why would you think I’d ever do something like that?” I ask slowly, the heartbreak evident in my tone. I can’t keep it hidden—not when my mother just accused me of being a prostitute.
She’s silent again, and I wonder if she realized she went too far. “Well, then how did you meet him?” she finally asks, deflecting a question I’d really like to know the fucking answer to.
I sniff, deciding to let it go. It doesn’t matter why she thinks it, just that she does.
“Daya has friends in high places. We met at a dinner party and he said I looked familiar, so I told him who I’m related to, and he connected it from there,” I lie, working to keep my voice even. Daya quirks a brow but doesn’t comment.
It feels like an arrow has been shot through my chest—the sensation tight and sharp.
“Your Nana said that John put them in a dangerous situation with his gambling, but not too long before Gigi’s death, it all seemed to go away. He stayed out late and came home short-tempered just to fight with Gigi about whatever he was pissed off about that day.
“Frank was a sponge for their relationship. With their marriage failing, I think he was put in the middle of it a few times. Nana spoke of one incident sometime before Gigi died where she and Frank got in a fight. Nana didn’t remember much about what happened, just that Frank had grabbed Gigi and pushed her on the ground and said something about a betrayal. That’s all I know,” she explains stiffly, as if reciting a verse from the Bible.