Page 163 of Captive Audience
My vision blurred as hot tears filled my eyes. I took a gulp of red wine and shuddered at the vinegary aftertaste. I was down to the last twenty bucks in my bank account. I couldn’t afford the good stuff. Not unless I drew on the money Rook had left me, and I just couldn’t.
“Honey, it’s been three months without even a text. Maybe it’s time to let him go. You need to start living again.”
“I can’t.” I released the bag of cheese and dropped my face into my hands. The tears I’d been holding at bay fell freely. My chest heaved with ragged sobs.
If I didn’t sort myself out soon, the girls would stage an intervention. They’d force me to do everyday things as if I hadn’t had my heart ripped from my chest and stomped on. How was I supposed to pretend everything was fine?
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Daisy said firmly. “You’re going to shower. And I don’t mean splash water on your face and spray your armpits with deodorant. I mean aneverythingshower. Exfoliate, shave, and for God’s sake, woman, wash your hair. Twice. Who knows what critters are nesting in there.”
“Hey!” I snapped.
“I’m not done. Then, you’re going to put on a bucketload of makeup and a slutty dress, one that makes your tits look huge. Wear heels—tall ones. Meet Beth and me at Velvet and Vine in two hours, or I’ll come over there and style you myself.”
A shudder rippled through me. The last time I’d let Daisy help me get ready was prom. My own mother didn’t recognize the redhead in the photos with my date.
“Okay. I’ll come out. Just…don’t expect much from me. I’m not in the business of making miracles happen.”
But spending time with my friends wasn’t a terrible idea. If anyone could breathe life into the corpse I’d become, it was my girls.
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ASHA
Velvet and Vine pulsed with life. Daisy told a story about some big-shot hockey player she’d banged after a wedding she’d coordinated, and Beth mentioned something about an intern who’d gotten covered in diarrhea during the extraction of a lost sex toy. Apparently, IBS and certain bedroom activities didn’t go so great together.
I smiled when I was supposed to and nodded at the right moments, but it felt like watching a movie with the sound turned down. Everyone moved around me while I sat hollow in the center of it all.
After an hour, I’d had enough. I hugged the girls, told them I was tired, and slipped into an Uber.
The ride home blurred past. My chest ached the whole way. Going out hadn’t distracted me from my pain at all.
God, would this ever end?
I passed Rita, carrying a camo duffel bag slung over one shoulder, on the stairs.
“Rita.” I nodded.
“Red,” she replied, and whistled a jaunty tune.
She seemed happy. Probably off to make a gym full of grown men cry.
I unlocked my door, flicked on the light?—
And froze.
Rook stood in the middle of my living room.
My purse slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. My hands shot up to cover my eyes because clearly I was drunk and hallucinating.
I counted to three, then dragged my palms away.
He was still there.
Tired. Weather-beaten. His beard rougher, his shoulders heavier.
Dark jeans, Henley, long coat with its collar raised.
He looked like hell, yet better than anything I’d ever seen. Because it washim.
