Chapter 4
FOUR
Jessica waited until the beaded curtain stopped rattling behind her before letting her breath out in a shaky exhale.
Someone—Scarlett, probably—had cranked the fans to max. They roared overhead, rattling in protest, stirring the cheap perfume fog into something vaguely noxious. Jessica forced her hands steady, but they refused to stay that way. Her mind kept replaying the moment Ryan had said Dante’s name.
She didn’t want to think about that. So, naturally, her brain thought about nothing else.
Her phone buzzed across the counter.
A text from Trent.
u done yet? i’m hungry
No 'hey babe'. No 'how’s your night'. No interest in anything that wasn’t directly related to his stomach or his dick. Trent was consistent, she’d give him that much.
She typed Be home soon, deleted it, then typed it again because she hated herself a little when she didn’t respond to him.
Her hand drifted automatically to the thin chain under her dress. The ruby ring—small and impossibly precious—rested warm against her sternum.
She closed her eyes. She saw Dante’s hand on hers, years ago, sliding the ring onto her finger. A promise whispered between two kids who thought escaping a cartel pipeline was just a matter of courage and timing.
A future that never happened.
Jessica swallowed hard and let the ring drop back beneath the fabric.
She finished dressing with movements that were too fast and shaky. Her pulse still hadn’t settled from Ryan showing up like a proverbial bad penny.
Humidity wrapped around her the second she stepped out the back door. She tugged her tote higher on her shoulder.
A car idled at the far edge of the lot. It was a dark sedan, its windows tinted too black for the local laws. It was probably nothing, probably just a guy waiting for his buddy to finish throwing up behind the dumpster.
Still, her skin prickled.
Jessica quickened her pace until the car slipped out of her peripheral vision.
At the far end of the alley, she hit the sidewalk and turned toward home, pulling her denim jacket tight around her.
The familiar ache settled in her bones; it was the long, heavy exhaustion of living a life that felt like it brought her no joy at all anymore.
Her duplex was a short walk from the club, past a chain-link fence and a row of shuttered shops with faded signs. The porch light was on.
Trent was on the couch, still in his Corpus Christi PD uniform shirt, the pants draped over the armrest like they had tried to make a run for it. His duty belt sat on the coffee table beside an empty beer can. He glanced at her, barely, then reached for the remote.
“You bring food?”
Jessica stared at the belt on the table, the badge catching the TV glow. Once upon a time, that badge had meant safety. Now it looked like nothing more than a prop.
“No,” she said.
He grunted, disappointed but not surprised.
A yellowish-purple bruise tracked across his cheekbone. Apparently, it was a gift from a “suspect” he’d chased down last week. Or, more likely, a bar fight. Trent liked to play the hero, as long as it didn't require him to move much off the upholstery.
Jessica kicked off her heels and dropped onto the opposite end of the couch. Trent didn’t move his feet, so she pushed them aside with hers. He still didn’t move, didn’t look at her, didn’t even mute the TV.
She kept seeing Ryan’s face. Hearing his voice. Your name surfaced. Dante’s too.
Her chest felt too tight.
She’d told herself that even though it didn’t feel like it, Trent’s badge did make her safer. That dating a cop meant she wasn’t completely alone in the world. But Trent wasn’t Ryan. He sure as shit wasn’t Dante. Trent wouldn't notice danger if it sat on his lap and asked for a light.
She leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes. I’m not her anymore, she’d told Ryan. So why did it feel like the walls of her life were closing in, one memory at a time?
Somewhere outside, a car door slammed, right outside her window.
Jessica’s eyes snapped open.
But Trent didn’t react at all.