Page 123 of Parrish

Chapter Thirty-eight

Jack Parrish

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, swiping my hands over my face. Dropping them to my sides, I lift my gaze to the stairs and shake my head.

“You going to go after her?” Bas questions.

Ten days ago, there would be no hesitation in my reply, I would’ve already been upstairs, sorting us out. But life has taught us a lot can change in ten days. Hearts can break, love can slip through the cracks and years can go missing. A man can lose sight of his will to fight.

He can surrender.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I ignore the question and make my way towards the liquor cabinet in the living room. Bending down, I pull out a bottle of bourbon. Not bothering to fetch a glass, I twist the top off and take a swig from the bottle.

“Day drinking,” Nico comments, stepping into the room. “I’m a fan.”

“It’s almost five o’clock,” Bas tells him.

“No judgments, man,” Nico says.

“Shouldn’t you be outside somewhere?” I question as I take another swig.

“Don’t worry, I’m going back to my post. Made friends with a squirrel while I was out there and saw him trying to take a piss on this,” he says, tapping his fingers to the book in his hand.

“What the fuck is that?” I ask, eyeing the book.

He extends it to me and shrugs his shoulders.

“Reina dropped it when she was getting out of the car,” he replies. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to go watch the wild.”

Placing the bottle on top of the counter, I take the book from his hands and flip through the pages. Most of it’s blank except for the first few pages.

Skimming the lines, I note there are single words written on each page. Some of them have been crossed out but the ones that aren’t have memories written below them. Memories of us. Things we’ve done, words we’ve said to one another. It’s not much, but it’s there. I flip the page and there is more of us.

More of me.

She’s remembering it.

All the love.

All the beautiful.

It ain’t fucking gone.

I flip to the last page she’s written on and go completely still.

“What’s wrong?” Bas questions as my eyes scan over the three lines.

Red.

Cadillac.

Rest in peace.

Peeling my gaze away from the page, I look at Bas and shove the book towards him.

“What does that say?” I ask frantically unsure if my head is fucking playing games with me or not.

“Red. Cadillac. Rest in peace,” he reads, meeting my gaze. “What is this?” he asks, tapping his finger against the page.

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