Page 2 of Undeniably Corrupt
“Hey, man,” I answer Stone, one of my best friends. “How’s it going?”
I can hear the hospital in the background, which is no surprise. He’s a pediatric emergency room physician.
“Hey,” he replies. “I’ve been texting you. You had me worried after three days of no replies and missing our hockey game on Sunday. Everything good?”
That has me scowling. “Sorry. Yeah. I meant to reply, and by the time I went to, it was the middle of the night. You guys probably won without me anyway.”
“It was a hard-fought battle, but Owen and I pulled it off. What’s up? You heading out to work?”
“I’m good. Just leaving the office to get some coffee before I head back.”
He blows out a breath. “All right. Shit, man. How many hours have you been awake?”
I chuckle. “Too many to count, but it is what it is.”
“You need sleep. It’s not good for you not to.”
“Thanks, Doctor. I’ll take that under advisement along with how I shouldn’t put bacon on my egg and cheese this morning, nor should I have it on a bagel. Spoiler alert: I intend to do both.”
I can hear the smile in his voice as he replies, “Fine. But you’re coming to Sorel’s baby shower this weekend.”
I roll my eyes as I reach the café. “I wouldn’t miss it, and I’lleven sleep, shower, and shave before I come.” The warm blast of air, accompanied by the incredible scent of coffee and greasy food, practically has me groaning as I get in line.
“Good stuff. Because Mason is a little too excited about crashing his wife’s baby shower, and he’ll need us to rein him in.”
I smile thinking about that. “It’ll be—” My voice cuts off when my breath dies in my lungs. I blink and blink again, positive my overly tired brain is simply playing tricks on me. Except as I study the girl at the counter taking orders, I know that’s not what it is. I’d know those bright blue eyes and that sweet smile anywhere.
Even without having laid eyes on them for the last ten years.
And she’s wearing the bracelet. The delicate silver chain with the diamond half heart on it. The other half is buried six feet under.
I rub my forearm over the hidden tattoo, my heart hammering so hard in my chest it’s making me dizzy.
“Van? Vander, you still there?” Stone yells in my ear.
“I gotta go,” I mumble and disconnect the call. I slip my AirPod from my ear to my case and bag, then mechanically shift with the line, all the while unable to tear my eyes away from the girl. Visions of the last time I saw Liora flash through my head like the pages of a graphic novel I forced myself to stop reading years ago.
The day of Cassian’s funeral. No. After that. The night at my dad’s tattoo parlor before I left for MIT. Her smile. Her body. Her kisses. Her soft words. Her touch. Her love. Her tears. I walked away from her that night, sick to the point of second-guessing everything. It was as if she cursed me, and I spent far too long haunted by her, unable to shake her ghost.
We were just kids, and it was a lifetime ago. But… I was crazy about her. She was the smile that woke me up every morning. Her brother’s death ruined me. Ruined both of us. And two weeks later, I was gone, leaving her behind. It led me down a very dark path. One that was reckless and self-destructive.
“Next!” she calls out because I stopped moving, and now it’s my turn. “Good morning!” she chirps, all bright sunshine for this cold, gray winter morning. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have an Americano with one sugar and two creams and a bacon, egg, and cheese on a sesame bagel, please.”
She punches everything into the tablet in front of her before she glances up and meets my eyes for the first time. And there’s something in them. A shift. Searching. They hold before they trickle around my face and down my body until she adjusts her weight to her other foot and glances back down at her screen.
Likely because I look like a serial killer and not because she recognizes me in return.
“That—” She clears her throat. “That’ll be sixteen thirty-two. What’s a name for the order?”
I reach for my wallet, flip it open, and stare at the choices of payment before me. So tempted. What would she do if I said my name or handed her a credit card with it printed on it? Then again, if she hasn’t recognized me yet, is this how I want her to see me again for the first time in ten years?
“Bennett,” I say, using my friend Katy’s husband’s name because it’s the first to pop into my head. I hand her a twenty. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “That’s very kind of you. Next,” she calls, and that’s my cue to shift to the side and wait for my food, my body buzzing and my gaze locked on the back of her head.
“Um, miss, you got my order completely wrong,” a woman gripes from beside me. “You. Blonde girl.” Three sharp finger snaps clip by my ear.
