Page 95 of Blood Money

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CARMEN

Itwiddle my thumbs in my lap under the table. The small diner I told Bradley to meet me at is practically dead, but that’s not surprising, considering it’s so late. The smell of stale coffee, burnt bacon, and pancakes fill the air as pots and pans clink together and food sizzles on the flat tops.

I debated on reaching out to Cyrus myself, but if I want this to work, I need to keep my distance. I’ll be damned if we went through all of this for nothing. Therefore, Bradley is my best bet. Not only is Tony still following me, waiting to see if I fuck up, I’m sure, but there is a cop watching Lydia’s every move now also. I wouldn’t doubt if they’ve already tapped our phone lines too, which is why I insisted he meet me here.

The bell above the door rings, pulling my attention from the crumbs on the table. “Bradley!” I raise my hand so he can see me, then lay it on the table.

He strolls over, looking around the diner as he goes. Once he makes it to the booth, he slides over the cracked vinyl seat and clasps his hands above the table. “I’ve been so fucking worried about you, Carmen.”

He unlaces his fingers and tries to reach for mine, but I slide my hand away. “I need your help.”

He tips his head to the side with a scoff. “Seems everyone does these days. First you, and now the psycho.”

I squint my eyes and lean over the table. “Cyrus? Has he reached out to you?”

His brows pull together. “You didn’t know?”

I shake my head. “No. What did he want? Is he okay?”

He pushes himself back in his seat, and his lips form a hard line. “Do you love him, Carmen?”

I’m taken aback by his question. “Brad—”

“Answer the question,” he deadpans.

I suck in a deep breath and shrug. “I don’t know.”

He nods slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Does he make you happy?”

I think about his question. Does he? I ask myself.

Honestly, I think it’s more complicated than that. Happiness is such a basic label with so many different meanings. Do I smile with Cyrus? Yes. But it’s deeper than that. I feel seen when I’m with him. The way he looks at me… The way he makes me feel… It’s more than happiness, but I’m not sure if it’s love. Or maybe I just don’t want to admit it is love.

For so long, I’ve been the definition of an independent woman. I did what I wanted when I wanted. I didn’t answer to anyone and never planned to. Even sweet Bradley couldn’t change that, but somehow Cyrus did. He made me feel like I wasn’t alone.

“He does,” I finally answer.

“And he’s good to you?”

I nod. I don’t think Bradley needs all the dirty details on just how good.

He stares at me, unblinking, like he’s thinking. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, you know? You to be happy.”

“Bradley, please.”

He holds up his hand. “No. This isn’t me feeling sorry for myself, Carmen. Deep down, I knew you and I would never work because I wanted something you couldn’t give. But these past few days, just seeing the way you’ve interacted with him—how you talk about him and how he talks about you—I know there is something special there, and standing in the way of that would take from your happiness.”

I bite my lip. “This doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

He smirks. “I know.”

I nod because it’s the only thing I can do. All words have escaped me, and I feel it would be shitty to bring the topic of help up again when he’s essentially telling me he gets it. That I don’t have to try and explain anymore. This is his closure, and he needs it.

“So, tell me what you need, Carmen.”

I press my lips together and wonder if this was a good idea. Asking him seems wrong at this point, but I have no other options. “I… I need you to get a message to Cyrus.”

---