Page 87 of One Last Rainy Day
A cost I know will come sooner than later. Just as that notion strikes me, the familiar urgency sets in—we’re wasting time.
I could fucking end this right now. Right fucking now.
With a bullet.
I can’t blame Cecelia, and I can’t blame my brother.
But IcanblameRoman.
I can blame Roman for being the barrier between the life I could be living—unshackled, untethered, and freely raining down punishment. A life I want more than any other.
I click my signal at the stop light while eyeing my glove box.
My ignorance is no longer bliss butblisteringme, hindering me from the progression just as much as her father.
One point-blank shot to that arrogant prick’s skull will put my brother’s drawn-out mission to rest and grant me the freedom I need.
Even if I could kill him without remorse, I could never look at her, let alone touch her again, with his blood on my hands.
A simple solution to an overly complicated problem.
Banging my head against the back of my rest, I shake my head in dismissal. Because of both Tobias and Cecelia, that bullet can’t fly.
Trapped by the stoplight, I glimpse Maman through the haze clouding the windshield, dancing and waving her hand in encouragement to join her before sweeping me into her hold and swaying with me all over the kitchen floor.
A blink later, Cecelia takes her place—hand outstretched for me to dance with her where I sit beneath my windowsill as she sways in a cloud of smoke emitted by my exhale.
What I’ve allowed to happen between us is an illusion, one I bought into—that, as of late, I started feeding.
Tobias surpassed it all. Bulldozed past Delphine, our fucked situation, all of it, while managing to stick to the game plan without entanglements holding him down. Yet, I can’t make it past the daughter of the man I hate with every fiber of my being?
For my brother, I will, or else I’ll ruin everything we’ve collectively overcome to get to where we are.
I have to let her go.
Decision made, I speed toward the end of the secret I can no longer participate in and park on a dime when I reach the house.
It ends now.
Stalking through the front door and up the stairs, I’m stopped at the door by the sight of her lying face up at the end of my bed, wearing nothing but one of my black T-shirts and tiny boy shorts. Hair spilling over the side of the mattress, knees drawn, a book hoisted at eye level. She spots me, turning on her stomach, her smile lighting up the room as her soul-filled eyes meet mine. “There’s my motherfucker.”
Fuck.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“HI,”SHE SAYS, eyes rolling down my frame before she bounds toward me where I stand, dripping at the door. “You’re soaked.” She lifts, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. “What took you so long?”
“Business,” I lie, taking a step in as she blocks me playfully, matching my footing.
“What business?” she asks.
I lift a brow, and her brow quirks before she rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Whatever means you’re not an accessory after the fact,” I snap. “Secrets keep yousafe.”
“Secrets keep meinsane.” She shivers at the chill from the rain droplets spilling onto her while clasping her hands around my neck. “I missed you,” she whispers, “been missing you...where have you been?”
“Busy.” Gripping her hands, I release her hold as my stunted heart thunders back in a determined rhythm while her expression draws in confusion. Destruction has been my sole focus for so long that I don’t know how to slow my desire for chaos enough to fully give her the few peacefulparts of me I have left. I’ve educated myself to the point that it’s maddening. I know too much to ever know peace like other people do. Where Sean sees a glass half full, I can only imagine shattering it. I’m too enraged, too fucking frustrated with all that’s wrong. All that needs to be fixed, all that I want to fix—to change that for anyone, let alone a nineteen-year-old woman.
