Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JULIETTE
I t’s ironic that I’m cooking spaghetti tonight. My stomach is full of nervous serpents, slithering just like the noodles I’m stirring. Or so it feels.
Dean’s been in my house for all of ten minutes, and he’s already got me anxious. Something about him hanging around just puts me on edge. Every time he’s here, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know it’s coming. Despite what he says, Dean won’t stick around. Never does. The man doesn’t understand the concept of keeping his word. He’s going to leave.
Honestly, I’d probably prefer that. I know the two of us will never be together again. It’s easier if he’s out of sight, out of mind. But it’s not what's best for PJ. So I’ll let him hang around, try to be somewhat present in PJ’s life. I doubt he’ll stay long enough for my kid to get attached.
All of this is complicated as it is. I can’t believe I made it worse by telling him I’m engaged. What was I thinking? If Dean says one thing about it tonight, I’m so screwed. I swear I must be glutton for punishment. Why else would I do something so stupid?
A loud knock on the door breaks my thoughts. It slices through the air like a guillotine. It’s Arnie. Another stupid idea of mine.
“Warren, will you grab that? It’s Arnie,” I yell, not wanting to leave the sauce I’m working on.
It’s a lie. My sauce is nothing special. It’s not even mine—it’s canned. I wish I could be the mom who makes everything at home, but I’m just… not. Maybe it’s selfish, but I almost always choose convenience over healthiness. Terrible parenting, really. Eva’s voice pops into my head, lecturing about the way I’m speaking about myself. But fuck, I’m on edge tonight. I can’t take it out on the guys, even though I wish I could.
I can hear their muffled sounds in the living room. One downside of having more walls than not—I can’t hear what they’re talking about. But it doesn’t sound like anyone is yelling, so that’s a plus.
The sauce finally comes to a boil. I layer it with the noodles and get it ready to serve. I’ve already set the table and put the Caesar salad out along with the breadsticks. I just need to grab the Parmesan, and we’ll be set.
My palms are sweaty as I carry the bowl of spaghetti and the bottle of Parmesan to the table. I know this dinner was my idea and everything, but I’d be lying if I said I was excited for tonight. I fuss at the table, placing the bowl in several places before settling on the first spot I tried. I’m delaying the inevitable. I know it. But I can’t make myself go into that room and announce that dinner is ready. That is, until I hear PJ crying. Or are they phantom cries? That happens a lot to me.
“What’s going on?” I yell.
“Nothing,” I hear someone say. “Just taking care of PJ.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean? If nothing is going on, why are they taking care of PJ? I place the bottle of cheese, unable to resist the urge to move it again and again. I’m on edge tonight. Maybe I should take one of my anxiety pills. I may need it. I’m honestly not sure if it would even be strong enough to help.
I give up on the table after moving the damn thing four times. Taking a deep breath, I force myself into the living room. Arnie is holding PJ in his arms, but his focus is on Dean, who stands in front of him.
Fuck me. It’s already starting.
“Everything okay?”
Dean looks at me before the full sentence escapes my mouth, but Arnie never does. He just keeps staring at my ex.
“We’re fine, Bluebird.”
“Bluebird?” Arnie asks.
“Dean,” I start but am interrupted.
“I’m sorry. Old habits,” Dean says, looking back at Arnie. “I call her that because of her eyes and the way she sings. She has a beautiful voice.”
Some would say that’s sweet, and maybe it is, but I see what Dean is doing. He’s trying to get Arnie to doubt things. And he’s doing a fantastic job. I should cancel this dinner now before it gets worse.
“You sing?” Arnie asks, finally turning his head.
His eyes glare at me just as hard as Dean’s, like he’s actually angry he didn’t know something about me.
“Used to. I haven’t had the time since having PJ.”
“Oh,” he says. “I didn’t know that.”
“How could you?” Dean says. “No worries. I’m sure there’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Why don’t we go eat?” Jamie interjects. “Food is ready?”
I could hug Jamie Walsh right now. He and Warren may be the only allies I have tonight because it sure looks like Arnie is falling for Dean’s tricks.
“Yeah. That’s why I came out here. Time to eat.”
PJ jumps down. “What are we having?”
“Spaghetti. Your favorite.”
“Yes.” He says at the same time Warren replies, “Spaghetti again? Seriously?”
“It was that or chicken nuggets.”
“If you want to complain, you should cook,” Jamie says. “That’s what Margot always told me.”
I laugh. “True.”
He’s totally getting an extra piece of cake tonight. The man is handy to have around. I lead everyone to the table and sit PJ right next to me. Arnie quickly grabs the seat next to him. Annoyance radiates off Dean as he takes the seat opposite me. Jamie sits next to Dean, with Warren at the head. There’s one empty seat where Margot would be.
Everyone is quiet as we pass the food around to serve ourselves. I help PJ before getting myself some. I cross my fingers and all ten toes that things stay this calm. I think we’ll be okay. It takes more than five minutes for all of us to get our food.
The air is tense. An awkward silence descends over the table as forks scrape against plates. Silence is good, though. Silence I can handle. If there’s no talking, no one will find out my lie.
I try to focus on my pasta, really, I do. But that’s so hard to do when the man I used to love—the man who destroyed my soul—is sitting right across from me. He’s staring. I don’t have to look at him to know that.
PJ pushes his little car between our plates, playing with it instead of eating.
“Eat your food, buddy.”
He sighs. “I don’t want to.”
“Hey,” I tell him, making him look at me. I can feel everyone else looking at us too, but I push that away. “If you don’t eat your spaghetti, I can’t give you any cake.”
Those hazel eyes shine, just like Dean’s used to. “Chocolate?”
“Of course,” I reply. “I’m not a monster.”
“Deal.”
The critic in me says bribery is bad parenting. But is it really? I don’t know. None of this comes with a manual, and honestly, that’s a crime in itself. A piece of me is waiting for some comment, a judgment. But that’s not what I get at all.
“You’re a really good mom,” Dean says.
His words are soothing, sliding over me and comforting all the frazzled pieces. I hate that he’s still able to do that.
“Thank you,” I tell him quietly.
“Jules,” Arnie says. “Did you pick a weekend to reschedule a trip yet?”
“Trip?” Dean says, sipping his water.
It’s odd that he hasn’t touched the beer in front of him. He’s usually onto his second by now.
“We get to see where Arnie grew up,” PJ says. “And meet his parents.”
“Maybe if you’re lucky, they’ll be your grandparents,” Arnie replies.
“He has grandparents,” Jamie and Dean say at the same time.
“Right, of course,” Arnie backpedals. “I was just saying that Patrick Junior will have more family,” he adds, putting a clammy hand on my shoulder, over PJ’s head.
“That’s not my name!”
Arnie makes a face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I always just assumed the J in your name was for Junior.”
PJ shakes his head. Arnie looks at me for an answer.
“His middle name is Jamie.”
“You mean, you named him after?—”
“His grandfather,” Dean finishes Arnie’s sentence. Those devilish eyes are full of adoration as they stare back at me. “Good girl.”
My body responds to his words as if the last six years never happened. I can feel wetness between my legs. And I hate it. I’m mad at him. Or I’m supposed to be. I can’t be mad at him and want to fuck him at the same time, right?
I shouldn’t want to fuck him at all. He broke my heart all because he was too much of a pussy to have a conversation with me. A man like Dean Walsh isn’t worthy of a girl like me. That’s what my father would tell me, and he’d be right.
I’m pulled out of my head when Arnie’s hand squeezes my shoulder hard.
“Well, if I can ever get this one to marry me,” he says. “Patrick Jamie will have my parents too.”
“If?” Dean asks.
“What?”
“You said if you get her to marry you, you’re not engaged already?”
Motherfucker. There it is. The consequences of my own actions.
“No,” Arnie replies. “I’d do it, though. But she’s not ready.”
Dean looks back at me, smirking. “Interesting.”
I look at Warren for help. He’s been so quiet tonight, and that was not part of the deal. Warren tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at me like he doesn’t understand my nonverbal cues. Understanding finally dawns on him. Warren straightens in his seat.
“So, Arnie, how’s the Rosary Killer case coming?”
Odd subject to change the conversation to, but at least he changed it.
“Yeah, did you find him when you were gone?” PJ asks, slurping down noodles.
“No,” Arnie sighs. “We didn’t. It was a false alarm, probably trying to toss off his trail.”
“I didn’t know you were on that case,” Jamie interjects. “It’s all over the news.”
Arnie nods. “The guy has left eight bodies throughout Adare and the surrounding cities. It’s hard to catch him because he changes the way he does it every single time. The only consistent thing is the rosary left behind.”
“How do you know it’s a guy?” I ask.
Women can be serial killers too. My sister, Vivienne, is one of them. If I’m honest, she takes too much pleasure in her job. But I guess as long as she’s happy, that’s what matters.
“One of the victims was 400 pounds and had three bodyguards—a woman can’t get through that.”
“You must not know Vivienne,” Dean quips.
“Vivienne?”
“My sister,” I answer. “One of them.”
“I didn’t know you had any other siblings besides Warren.”
“Um, yeah. I have another older brother and two older sisters, including Vivienne.”
Arnie’s face twists. I guess my answer wasn’t the one he wanted? It’s true that Arnie doesn’t know a lot about me, but that’s by design. Why tell him about a life I can never go back to?
“Is anyone ready for dessert?” I ask.
I need a minute from whatever all of this is. This conversation feels like I’m on a speeding train, passing a bus stop every few minutes.
PJ screams his approval of my idea. Excusing myself from the table, I go to the kitchen. It’s a quiet safety. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to laugh at myself for being a fucking idiot.
What did I think was going to happen? That we’d all get along and there would be rainbows?
Before I can even catch my breath, I hear footsteps behind me. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Of course, Dean would take this chance to get us alone. I spin around, ready to tell him off, but it’s Arnie behind me instead.
“Arnie?”
His dark eyes stare down at me. Hard.
“What else don’t I know about you, Juliette?”
I swallow. “Look, I’m sorry, but my family is all back in Vegas. I didn’t think it was important.”
“What else?” He snaps.
A cold chill goes through me. There’s a lot he doesn’t know. For instance, my brother is the head of a large criminal organization. Maybe I should tell him how my family has more money than he can imagine. Perhaps that my sister is a serial killer married to three other serial killers? Or maybe I should tell him about the night I got pregnant. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear how Dean fucked me in the back of his beloved Impala.
“Look, Arnie, I know we’re in a relationship, but this is not something I’m willing to talk about,” I say slowly, my heart pounding out of my chest. “I left Vegas for a reason.”
“You left because of him.”
I nod, confirming his suspicion. “That part of my life is over, Arnie. We don’t need to discuss it.”
“I disagree. I need to know everything about you if we’re going to share a life together.”
“Um,” I hesitate, trying to come up with something. “The past is the past.”
“Not when your past is sitting at the fucking dinner table.”
That’s a fair point, actually, but I’m still not going to tell him a damn thing about my life in Vegas. That part of me is dead and buried.
I stand there, just looking at him. The longer the silence stretches, the angrier he gets. He balls up his fist. Arnie turns away, knocking his fist against his temple lightly, as if he’s trying to keep calm. He takes a minute.
So I turn away and start getting the cake ready to serve. I pull open the plastic dome it’s hidden under. A sweet chocolate smell hits me in the face, and I’m not mad at it. Chocolate is my favorite flavor and will always be my favorite. Though, confetti cake is a close second.
“You disrespectful bitch.”
“What did you just say?”
Arnie is already in my face as I turn my head. He grabs ahold of the side of my hair and pushes my head into the fridge. Pain explodes through my head as I cry out. I can’t even process what just happened. My mind feels scrambled. My hands tremble. Tears burn my eyes.
My lungs seize as he punches my side. I can’t stop the tears from falling. Why is he doing this? I’ve never seen anything like this from him before. Where did I miss the signs?
“You’re a shitty mom for even letting that scum near your child. You don’t deserve your son.”
I look up as Arnie raises his fist again. But just as he pulls back, he’s ripped off of me. Dean has him on the floor. My vision reads like a staticky TV—one that needs a new antenna. Everything is happening so fast. I can’t focus on anything. Closing my eyes, I slide down to the floor and let myself fall. My hair sticks to my soaking wet face.
Then, I hear it. PJ crying. It’s so clear. Everything in me wants to go to him, but I can’t get up. My head is throbbing. I touch the side that hit the fridge. It’s wet. Pulling my hand away from my head, I see it’s stained with blood.
I’m getting so dizzy. I can barely keep my eyes open. PJ’s cries get louder and louder, like he’s yelling for me. But I can’t make out the words. I feel someone touch my shoulders, but I’m already falling into the pit of darkness.