Page 92 of Tell Me You Love Me

ROUND TWENTY-SEVEN

TOMMY

“Why are you green?” I drive one-handed, the other in her lap, and with one eye on the rearview mirror as we speed away from the cemetery and onto the road toward home. But fuck! My father knows where she grew up, too. Should I take her to my house? Will he follow us? “Alana? Hey?”

“Take us home.” Her eyes are glassy and fearful. Jittery as she avoids my gaze. “I want to go home.”

“That’s him, huh?” Franky scrunches his little body tight like he’s trying to avoid touching Fox and Chris on either side. “Mom?”

“Don’t, honey.” She presses a hand to her mouth and stares out the window, her cheeks deathly pale and a sheen of sweat on her brow. “Please, not right now.”

“For years,” Chris snarls, “that prick has been gone. He wanted nothing to do with this town and nothing to do with us. He didn’t even bother us when Tommy took the title, which is prime fuckin’ time for a leech to come searching for blood. But he left us alone. Not a single word. Now Bitsy’s in the ground, and he thinksthisis when he should cause a scene? The fuck is that?”

Alana’s chest heaves, her lungs spasming in search of fresh air. Her pulse thunders and tears glisten in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. Steely, she clamps her lips shut and waits us out. Clenching her jaw and gritting her teeth, she only shakes her head.

So I say nothing, and I ignore the panic desperately clawing at my stomach.I ask no questions and demand no answers. I merely drive, speeding just a little too fast and cutting corners when corners are empty and cuttable.

I take a five-minute drive and turn it into two, and when I sling the car into Bitsy’s driveway and slam on the brakes, I meet my brother’s eyes in the rearview mirror, thankful to find his arm over Franky’s chest and the boy safely held all the way home.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Alana pushes her door open before any of the rest of us make a move, then, climbing out, she goes to Chris’ door and peeks in past his hulking frame. “Can you hang out with Aunty Fox for a few minutes, honey? I need to wash my face and take a second. Funerals are always icky.”

“Go.” Fox gently unsnaps Franky’s seat belt, sliding out of her side and taking his hand to bring him with her.

She doesn’t give him the chance to choose Chris’s door, which is interesting since he was leaning that way in the first place.

I meet my brother’s eyes in the mirror—if Fox is Alana’s representative, then he’s mine—so when he nods, knowing what I need, I snatch the car keys and storm around to follow Alana into the house.

Already, she’s through the kitchen, her shoes left abandoned and toppled to the side on the tile flooring, and though her perfume lingers in the air, the woman is nowhere to be seen.

“Alana?” I stalk into the living room, the TV still on from this morning, but no one here to watch it. Then I continue through when the creak of the stairs gives me the only hint I need. “Alana! Babe, come down here and?—”

“I just need a minute!” She tries for fake cheeriness. False pleasantries. Exactly how her mother raised her to be. “I need privacy for a moment, then I’ll come down and make lunch.”

“No.” I jog up the stairs and emerge on the carpeted landing, glancing left, then right. I need no invitation and have no use for a map. I’ve snuck through this house more times than I can count, and even if I’d forgotten the way, I need only to follow my nose.

Lavender willalwayscall me home.

I push through Alana’s closed bedroom door and keep going until I reach the attached bathroom, only to find her on her knees, her head hung over the toilet bowl and her back heaving with the sounds of her sickness.

“Hey?” Sorrow slides through my veins, shoving aside the anger I came in here with, compliments of my piece of shit sperm donor. “Lana.” I grab alight blue hand towel and soak it under the tap, then I cross the room and crouch behind her heaving body, dragging her hair back and placing the cold towel on her cheek. “Jesus, Lana. I thought you were stomping up here to get your baseball bat so you could sneak out again to knock his head off. I didn’t expect you to be puking. Are you alright?”

“Go away.” She vomits again, her body caught in the clutches of a spasming stomach. “This is so gross.”

“Smells kinda gross, too.” Teasing, I try for humor when all Ireallywant to do is get in my truck and pay a visit to the prick who made an already bad day worse.

If I could repay eighteen years of torment and physical abuse without landing in prison, I would. For Chris. And for the boy I used to be.

But I know my limits. I know the rage bubbling in my blood is as fiery today as it was in my youth. So, I focus on Alana instead. On brushing her hair back and rubbing her shoulder. “That ugly motherfucker’s face is enough to makeanyonesick to their stomach. But I’m actually starting to freak out a little bit. So maybe you could do me a favor and take a breath? I need you to feel better.”

“Can you call Ollie?”

Surprise brings my brows together. “Ollie?”

“His dad,” she groans. “The cops. Anyone. I need Grady out of Plainview. Now.”

“I mean… so do I. But you don’t have to worry about him, okay? He’s drug fucked and too stupid to do much more than act a fool in front of a crowd. He won’t step foot on your property, I promise.”

“I need him gone.” She heaves again, but there’s nothing left in her stomach. Her chest clenches, and her breath catches. Taking the cloth from my hand, she tumbles back and sits on her butt, resting her head on my chest while she wipes her face.

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