Page 100 of The Right Garza
Smiling through my tears, I turn my hand over, lace my fingers with his, andsqueeze.Hanging on to him like my every breath depends on it.
Maybe it does.
I love him.
God, I love him.
~
The sun isbright in the sky by the time we get back to L.A. Trent drops Tripp off in Venice then takes me straight to his Santa Monica home instead of Pasadena.
Now he’s huddled in the driveway with True and the big dude, talking in serious, quiet tones while I wait with my hands wrapped around myself.
Out of patience, I walk up to the huddle and pry the house keys from his hand. He lets me, mumbling that he’ll be in soon.
I let myself inside the house. It smells of him. Like patience, reliability, and consistency.
After helping myself to a glass of OJ from the fridge, I head upstairs to the master bathroom and run the shower to heat.
As I peel out of my clothes, I make a mental reminder to dump them, along with the duffel bag of expensive clothes I brought back from Vegas, into the garbage asap. Whatever it takes to rid myself of the horridness of the last couple of days.
While the shower heats, I clean my teeth at the vanity, and once the mirror starts fogging up, I know the shower temperature is just right—piping hot.
I climb in, welcoming the sting on my skin. Wrapping my arms around myself, I close my eyes and let it beat down on my head, washing away my tears, guilt, and regret.
I see Ellie’s lifeless body in the darkness behind my lids, but I fight the stabbing urge to open them and run from it. I face it. Because I know that the moment I start giving in to being afraid of closing my eyes, it will gain power over me. Control me. And what will follow is insomnia and sleeping pills and depression and therapy sessions.
So I squeeze my eyes even tighter and let that image remain until it slowly distorts and breaks away, piece by piece, until there’s only darkness.
Plain darkness.
I don’t hear him come in. I only feel his arms wrap around me. Pulling me to him. And I let him, pressing my face his chest, eyes still closed.
“You’re tense,” I say after a long, long moment of quietude.
“I’m holding in a lot,” he admits.
“Tell me.”
“Not at you, baby.” His arms squeeze around me. “More at myself…my cousins…that stupid bitch.”
“Did you…” I swallow. “Did you know he was going to…do that?”
“Let’s just say I didn’t care,”he replies sharply.
“That’s alife, Trent.” I lift my head and look up at him under the stream of steaming water. “Taken. Without mercy. Without a thought.”
“She was a vile human being.” He’s unmoved. “Did she care aboutyourlife when she set you up like she did? Believe me when I tell you,I don’t care. And you shouldn’t either. If the Castellos didn’t need us as much as they do, that would’ve beenyou, girlfriend or not, family or not. They’d have shot you firstthencalled me after.”
“Why do they need you so much?” I ask.
He sighs, as though this is the last thing he wants to be talking about. “Certain services that we’re able to provide them.”
I take a breath before asking, “Bad stuff? Crime stuff? Like…” I can’t even think it. I don’t want to believe the boys I grew up with are capable of being cold-blooded murderers. Not Monica’s boys. No. I refuse to believe it.
Water clumps his long, dark lashes together as he shakes his head. “Let’s just say there are certain important, high-placed people…and, uh,organizationsthat can’t—for obvious reasons—communicate directly with organized criminals. So a clandestine mediator for safe, secure, and untraceable communication is needed. Red Cage was chosen by the, um… ‘highest head’ to be that mediator.”
“Oh.”
