46. AUDRA
The next day…
Right after that phone call, I fell asleep. Sleeping better than I had all week. I still can't bring myself to use the bed Pete and I shared for years. I'm actually tempted to burn it, that's how much I loathe it.
The couch isn't exactly comfortable, but it beats the floor.
I've packed all of Pete's stuff into boxes. All that's left is what is in and on his nightstand. A bottle of aspirin. A book on finance and statistics, a tin of mints, and… his tablet.
My hand shakes for a moment when I reach for it. No good can come from this, Audra, my inner voice warns. I know, I yell back petulantly.
Both Pete's laptop and phone are gone, either with the police or… who knows where. But Pete was techno-obsessed. All his devices were Apple, and all of them were synced to each other. I know all the passwords, codes, and PIN numbers by heart.
Whatever I expected to find, there is nothing there. I browse through his emails, texts, and calendar. The only thing the calendar yields is the place, date and time of Pete's vasectomy. Everything else is open as a book. Meetings, appointments, birthdays, the usual.
"Oh, fuck you, Pete." I throw the tablet in with the rest of his stuff in the box. Even his pillow is in there. In the end, there is no trace of Pete left in this house. Not that I want to live here. Eventually, I'll have to come back for Mom's and my stuff, but this was… cathartic.
More boxes arrive right on cue. Apparently, Gabe is not only watching me, but reading my mind as well.
I call Mom, tell her I'll be back tonight, and that I'm thinking about selling the house.
"Perfect. I like it here. Do you think Gabe will let me use more than one room?"
I don't respond, because what is there to say? The moment I bring up finding a new place, she'll just get all bent out of shape, and I'm not ready for that conversation, especially not over the phone.
I've barely come to terms with the idea of giving Gabe and me a chance. Talking to Jenna and Violet helped. Hearing that Jenna, too, jumped from widowhood to remarriage, not giving a damn what other people thought… it opened something in me.
In a way, my mom was right. What do I care what other people say or think?
The only people who matter are Gabe and me.
My mom is important to me, of course, but I already know where she stands on this.
Then there are Kelly and Maggie. I love them, and I want their approval and friendship, as I have from the moment I met them, but do I need it?
No. Neither does it really matter what my friend Annette thinks.
My only friend. How pathetic is that? And why have I never thought about this?
What happened to my life? I used to have lots of friends. They came easy to me. People liked me. Now? Annette is my only claim to friendship outside of family.
I can see myself getting closer with Jenna, not just because of what we have in common, but because she is a very warm and interesting person that I'd love to get to know better.
Same with Violet, even if she is on the East Coast. More than all that, though, I can see myself getting closer to Gabe, a lot closer.
Not because of the sex or the money, although they help, but because, despite the fact that he's a cold-blooded killer that some people might call a sociopath, he's shown me more consideration in the short time I've known him than Pete did in six years.
It would be so easy for him to force me to stay with him; he could easily pick me up or send his men. The fact that he hasn't, that he's grudgingly giving me the space I need right now, tells me a lot about the man he is.
I don't think he'd ever lie to me the way Pete did.
It wasn't just the lie; it was the omission, the way his decision affected both our lives.
I don't think I would have married him had he told me that he would get a vasectomy.
I wanted—want—kids. I've always seen myself with a bunch of them in the future, something Pete knew.
During the first couple of years, when we…
when I was still hopeful, he even talked about his plans to take our kids to soccer practice.
To throw a baseball with our son, to attend our daughter's dance recital, and that was after he got the vasectomy. How fucked up is that?
I realize that Mom has been talking the entire time, not noticing that my mind had drifted.
"How could he do that?" I ask Mom quietly.
Mom stops, thrown off by my interruption. "Do what?"
"That lie," I whisper. "All of it. The doctors. The vasectomy. Why wouldn't he tell me?"
My voice cracks. Because that's the part I can't get past. Not the decision. The lie. The fact that the man I thought I knew and loved… deceived me like that.
"How could he sit there," I continue, my throat tightening, "and watch me cry every time I got my period?" My hands are starting to shake. "How could he say let's try again—" my voice breaks completely, "—when he knew?—"
I can't finish it. I don't have the air. I don't have the strength. Mom exhales, like this is all very simple to her.
"Men," she shares her wisdom, "are unreliable creatures."
I stare at the phone.
"That's it?" I ask, incredulous. "That's all you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say?" she counters. "That he was perfect? He wasn't. He lied to you. Big deal."
Big deal?
"He made a decision about my life," I spell it out for her since she doesn't seem to want to get it. "About my body."
"And he did it because he thought it was best," she shrugs. "Men do that."
I shake my head slowly. "No. That's not?—"
"He was weak," she cuts in. "That's the problem."
That lands hard.
"Pete was a good man," I snap.
"He was a safe man," she corrects. "There's a difference."
The silence that falls is heavy and ugly. "He couldn't handle you," she continues, softer now. "Not really. Not what you are."
I don't even know what that means anymore.
"You're much better off going back to Gabe," she adds.
I let out a hollow laugh. "Of course you'd say that."
"I'm serious," she insists. "If you don't love him, it's much easier to control him."
I'm still staring at the phone, because that seems to be all I'm capable of.
"Control him?" I repeat.
"Men like him?" I can basically see her shrug. "They're predictable. Power. Desire. Ego. You just have to know how to use it."
That… doesn't sound right. Not when it comes to Gabe. Not even close. I have a feeling nothing and nobody will ever control that man. I wouldn't even want to. He's… I settle for interesting, because all other adjectives are way too dangerous to think about now.
"Not like Pete," she continues. "He was a mistake. A weak mistake."
"Stop," I cry sharply.
But she doesn't.
"You settled," she accuses bluntly. "And now you're paying for it."
My stomach churns again. Worse this time. I press a hand against it, swallowing hard. What is wrong with me? Everything feels off. My body. My mind. My life. All of it.
"Well, then, are you on your way back?"
I notice a shadow passing by the window that leads to the front door. I pause. It's a large shadow. I narrow my eyes.
"There is a man outside," I tell Mom.
"A man?"
Quietly, phone still in hand, I walk to the window.
The blinds are closed, but they let in enough light to have noticed the shadow.
If I tilt my head a certain way, I can see outside, even though it seems like I'm looking through the bars of a jail cell.
My heart does a quick jump in my chest when I recognize the man from the funeral. Detective Greenwald. Shit.
Before he can raise his hand to knock on the door, another familiar face appears, takes the raised fist into a death grip, and shakes his head. That's all Brick needs to do. He looks scary enough to chase even a police officer off.
If my heart jumped at the sight of Greenwald, it nearly leaps out of my chest at the sight of Gabe's trusted guard. Shit.
"Shit."
"What?" Mom demands edgily.
"I've got to go. The cops are here."
"Oh!"
I hang up and open the door, just in time to hear Brick say, "Talk to her lawyer."
"Mrs. Hale," Greenwald exclaims when he sees me lurking in the entryway, while the look Brick gives me could be easily called a death glare.
"Leave," Brick leans in. He's a few inches taller and wider than Greenwald.
"Are you threatening me?" Greenwald postures.
"I'm advising you to leave," Brick corrects him. "There is a difference."
Greenwald assesses him, looks at me. I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest for good measure. "You're making a mistake. The next time I come back, I'll have an arrest warrant."
His words hit. I'm not used to being threatened by cops… well, not anymore anyway.
Greenwald leans in awkwardly, his fist still held tight by Brick. "You know there is a man looking for you, willing to pay a lot of money for any information."
"That's enough." Brick's hand slides from the detective's fist to his wrist and bends it. There's an ugly crack, followed by Greenwald's loud scream.
"That's assault," he bellows. "On an officer."
Brick raises his arms, "So arrest me. I'm sure your bosses will be very interested to learn of your dealings with a certain member of the MC."
What the actual fuck?
Are they talking about Razor? That's the only explanation for his comment about the MC.
"Fuck you," Greenwald cradles his broken wrist and retreats. "You'll regret this. Both of you."
Brick turns to me and asks, "You okay, Audra?"
"Yeah." I blink a few times, stare at him, then nod. Good thing I was about to leave anyway. I'm pretty sure Greenwald will be back. Suddenly, the protection Gabe offers seems even more welcome.
Gabe picks me up promptly at five. The moment he knocks on the door, my heart stutters. Actually stutters, which is ridiculous. It's just a door. Just a man. Just…