Chapter 10 #2
That’s the life, isn’t it? Wives at home who know about the fuck pad you keep in the city, but they’ll never confront you because they won’t leave you anyway.
And no one really likes you, not even your friends, but they’ll never abandon you, no matter how much they fear or hate you, because you’re too costly as an enemy.
It’s a wolf’s den full of people who aren’t really wolves, because at the heart of it, we’re all trapped. Nothing means anything to you. Not your spouse, not your job, not your friends. The disposable wealth makes it feel like it’s worth it, though.
My throat grows tight, swelling with a ball the size of a fist. Nausea rolls through me, a fresh sweat breaking out on my forehead. Dallas…
I lurch, feeling the walls closing in on the sides of my head.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, breathing hard. “It’s too hot.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hide the grimace.
I back away from Jerome and his friend.
“Go. Cool off,” Jerome tells me. “We’ll meet you at the bar.”
But I shake my head. “I gotta pick up Sophia.”
They stare at me, but I can’t meet their eyes.
Carrying my club, I retreat toward the rough. “It was nice to meet you.”
And I hurry into the brush.
“See you Friday?” Jerome calls out.
I lift a hand, acknowledging.
Leaving my clubs back at the cart, I rush for my car, my head splitting. I try to force air in, but I can’t fucking breathe. Crossing the lot, I crash into my car door and spin around, sliding down. I squat, my head in my hands.
Why did I think of him back there? Feeling disgusted, angry, or scared, I always run to him in my head as if he’s home.
He’s not my home. He’s a piece of shit I longed for, because I needed attention back then.
And he’s standing in the way of me being in control.
Sweat drips down my temple, my shirt soaked, and despite what I tell myself, I see those green eyes behind my lids and still remember exactly how his mouth felt.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” I hear someone ask.
“Just fuck off,” I gasp.
Rubbing the heel of my palms into my temples, I try to breathe in and out, but my heart rate isn’t coming down.
God, I’d love to kill Milo. I’ve hated him since we were sixteen.
And I’d celebrate with a whole fucking bottle of champagne if my father died today.
I wouldn’t miss Vincent or Jerome, and what a fucking glorious place this would be if Mrs. Johnson, Dr. Schmidt, Mitchell Kenmont, and all the other fucking ugly, sagging souls in the Wolfe Room disappeared.
I shake, my mother’s face drifting into my head all of a sudden. I don’t think of her often, my memory of her so limited, but what if she were still alive? Would I be off with her, somewhere in the world right now?
I can almost feel her hands on the back of my neck, cool and calming.
Something cold drips down my skin, and my stomach starts to unknot as, finally, I exhale a full breath. In a moment, I’m breathing easy, everything relaxing again as the headache gets duller.
“Will you answer me?” a voice gripes. “Are you okay or not?”
Lifting my head, I blink my eyes open, seeing Liv Jaeger leaning over me and pressing her hand to the back of my neck.
My eyelids flutter, my hand reaching up and taking the soaking cloth she holds there. I pull it away, and she stands up straight.
A small cooler sits on the pavement next to her feet. I heard her crew was using part of the grounds today for a shoot.
The last time I saw her was high school graduation. Her whole family was in attendance, more as protection for what I tried to do to her than in support of her.
Turns out, I’m an ugly soul, too.
I fist the cloth in my hands, squeezing the icy water she probably got from the cooler. I whisper, “I really am sorry sometimes, you know?”
Standing up, I let my eyes trail over her flip-flops, up her black shorts and white linen blouse.
I toss the cloth onto the ground. “And then I remember you’re a fucking Jaeger.”
I see her jaw flex, but then I turn around and climb into my car.
—
An hour later, I’m bursting through the front door of my house. “Sophia!” I shout.
Goddammit. I really need a fucking drink, but I got to the school and found that she was already gone.
The office had no idea who picked her up, and when I went to her favorite classroom and her favorite fucking teacher, he was gone, too.
I drove around to the spots she liked. The library.
The park. The dessert shop with the garden courtyard. Nothing.
I even called her therapist. Not that she would’ve gone to him outside of her scheduled appointments, but I had no clue why she would just leave school without telling me.
She wasn’t at his office, though.
I was about to trudge over to the damn Bay. If Dallas took her over there, we wouldn’t be waiting till Friday night for some fun. I thought it best to check at home first, in case her mother came back.
Or my father.
I stop in the center of the foyer, listening for her reply or her music or the TV, but the house is silent.
“Sophia!” I bellow, my throat stinging.
I’m exhausted. I almost hope I don’t find her, because I might strangle her.
I charge for the stairs, but then I see something in the sitting room and stop. Her old pink drapes are threaded through a warped wire hanger and secured to one of the chandeliers. The bottom balloons out around the carpet, like a tent. A small light glows from inside.
I cock an eyebrow, exhaling.
Stalking over, I whip open the curtain to see her lying asleep inside, her record player still spinning even though the music is over.
She wears the same thing as this morning. Her overalls and red T-shirt, not looking the slightest bit twenty years old with her petite frame and doll face.
I nudge her with my golf shoe.
She doesn’t budge.
“Wake up,” I tell her.
She doesn’t stir in the slightest. I narrow my eyes, watching her chest for signs of breathing.
“Sophia,” I bark.
Kneeling down, I scoop her up, half in my arms as her head flops back, lifeless.
I pinch her arm, and she immediately winces.
Opening her eyes, she scowls up at me. “Ow.”
You little faker.
“I told you to wait for me at the courtyard at school,” I growl.
“I finished early.”
“You’re not supposed to come home alone.”
She tilts her head to the side, smiling as she whispers, “But he’s gone.”
Tingles spread up my arms, the quiet house surrounding us, and it finally hits me, too.
We’re free. For a little while.
I look around, noticing the first thing she did was build a tent in the sitting room, complete with chairs to hold the curtains wider, a basket of snacks and drinks, her favorite snow globe, and some books.
I release her and stand up. “Did you eat?”