Page 47 of Love is Blind

And that’s my cue to wrap this shit up.

I slap my hands against my thighs, about to push off the couch when she speaks.

“Anyway, back in Charlotte, I also had a guide dog, Oreo, and he helped me whenever I left my apartment.”

I pause at that and narrow my eyes.

“Where is he now?”

Something flashes across her features.

Anger. Grief. Sorrow.

Then she fixes a smile to her pretty little face and it’s gone.

“I couldn’t take him with me,” she says. “Emmy’s allergic.”

Most guide dogs aren’t hypoallergenic, a fact I learned since the club helped Hawk open Booker and Mann—a facility that amongst other things, specializes in training dogs for service men and women. So, Emmy may very well have been allergic to Oreo, but I’m not buying it.

When a man is well seasoned in pain, he can spot it easily in someone else’s eyes.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything? I think Emmy has some beer in the fridge…unless she’s trying to scam me again and it’s one of those fancy bottles of root beer.”

I cluck my tongue against the roof of my mouth and bring my attention back to her.

“Actually, I should be going. I can’t avoid the clubhouse forever.”

This time when I slap my hands against my thighs, I actually rise to my feet. Emmy stretches forward, taking her cane from the coffee table and stands too.

“Are you avoiding the clubhouse because of Bianca? Do you think she’ll come back there?”

I pause midstride and consider her questions. I hadn’t really thought about Bianca showing up again. I suppose it’s inevitable. The bitch ain’t just gonna disappear because I made her cry and I need to prepare myself for when she decides to show her face again. That aside, I’ve got other reasons for avoiding the clubhouse and I’m staring at one right now. I know as soon as I lay my head on that bed I’m going to be flooded with memories of that night.

Hell, I bet my sheets still smell like her.

“No,” I reply, my tone a lot gruffer than I’d like. Clearing my throat, I roll my neck from side to side and move toward the door. I gotta get the fuck out of here…pronto. “She ain’t the reason, but yeah, she’ll probably come back. She wants to know where Abigail is buried.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “That was overstepping.”

I turn to her, my eyes glancing at her hand on me.

“You’re fine,” I clip.

Lowering her hand, she offers me a small smile. I avert my gaze to her again and she says, “Abigail is a beautiful name.”

I don’t know if it’s those words, her touch or just the mention of my daughter in general, but my knees shake slightly.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” I rasp. Then I draw in a deep breath and turn back to the door. Pulling it open, I step out into the hallway.

“So, friends?” she questions.

Leftie’s voice sounds in the back of my head. The story of Gertie and how she filled his matter still fresh in my mind. I look over my shoulder and stare straight into her eyes.

Eyes that will never know me.

To her I really am a phantom, something she can’t see.

Can’t catch.

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