Page 20 of Love, Hate, Love

I’d been mid-dial, but that completely stalled out my brain. “What do you mean, speaker?”

“I’m supposed to monitor your phone calls. It was in the contract you signed. What do you think that means?”

It took me a few seconds to register what he was saying. “Isn’t hearing what I say enough?”

“No. I signed off that I would monitor your phone calls. I can’t do that with a one-sided conversation. It’s in the papers. I can pull them out, but it’s coming off your time. I’m not wasting all night on this.” He shrugged, as if he had no control.

“You’regoing to listen to my calls?” I made sure to glare, just in case he didn’t hear the disgust dripping from every syllable.

“Do you really think I want to sit here and listen to whatever you have to say to Sally Mae and Susie Q about their hair or who blew who?” He pointed to the clock on the wall. “You’ve already wasted five minutes of your thirty, so I’d get dialing if I were you.”

Every time I saw him, I wasn’t sure how I’d make it a year. Anotherweekseemed unsurmountable.

“What about the five minutes I waited for you to crawl out of bed with the little whore you’re fucking?”

I hadn’t had a conversation this mean with anyone since…maybeever. It was like I couldn’t be around him without my head exploding and the blood in my veins wanting to shoot out of my eyes. I was probably growing fangs and claws right now. As far as mistakes went, coming here was going to be top of my list.

Him? He was sitting calmly and looking at the clock. “Fine. I’ll give you that. I’ll reset your time to thirty, but start dialing, because I’m not giving a minute more.” He tilted his head, motioning to the phone.

He might be acting calm, but I could see that vein in his neck starting to bulge. Did I waste another three minutes telling him what a bastard he was, or make my calls? He’d probably enjoy the fact that I was nearly frothing at the mouth. It was likely the only time his black, shriveled-up heart ever pumped with life.

Screw it. I couldn’t waste any more time on him.

I dialed Cassie, my best friend—and also my only friend left. The one thing the bottom taught you was who was willing to visit the depths of hell to stay by your side. Turned out all my other friends would rather go visit the islands.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hey, Cass, it’s?—”

“Holy shit, I’ve been answering every damn spam call waiting for you.”

“I called as soon as I could. Just so you know?—”

“How’s the dickhead being?”

This was Cass. I either had to be aggressive in my warnings or this was going to happen. Kadewasa dickhead, but I’d rather he didn’t know we’d discussed him at all.

“The dickhead is just fine,” he said.

There was a long stretch of silence before Cass said, “You’re supposed to tell people when they’re on speaker to avoid unfortunate situations such as these.”

“I tried, but you kept talking.” I would’ve felt worse about the awkward situation if I thought she really cared. I knew her better than that.

“Because my best friend, who I used to talk to every day, is basically in prison and I still can’t figure out why.”

No. Not this conversation now. Not in front of Kade. He might be grumpier than he used to be, but he still didn’t miss a trick. That kind of thing didn’t go away just because he’d turned into an asshole.

“I told you what happened. By the way, it’s not even close to how I’d imagine prison. It’s not that bad here. It’s sort of calm, to be honest.” If I had to compliment the place to get her off this line of questioning, I would. The strange part of it was how the truth of those words seemed to fit.

“You know what I remembered the other day? I think we were on the phone when you got that painting. I remembered?—”

“Cass, I don’t have that much time to?—”

“You told me about some ugly painting at your apartment someone shipped to you by mistake, and you had to hang up and go make some calls. You stuck it right back in its crate, saying you couldn’t bear to look at it because it depressed you.”

Of all the things she had to dredge up, now, on speakerphone, withhimhere.

“That was a different painting.”

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