Page 141 of Darling Venom
I stilled, unmoving, watching her as she carefully unfolded it and brought it to my face. Her fingers splayed out, stretching in a way that covered most of the lines. She wanted me to see as little of it as possible.
Message received.
I read the snippets that I could.
My darling Venom,
I left something for you.
I couldn’t finish the book.
I’m passing the torch to you.
I dare you to finish it…
She wasn’t lying. Kellan called her his Venom. Wanted her to have the book. Maybe he’d even written it for her.
About her.
The silence expanded, filling the empty crevices of my home with more emptiness. I had nothing to say. By the end of the night, she would own the only thing I had left of Kel.
Charlie planted a fist on her waist. The other still carried the letter. “Before you say no again, consider this. There are two sides to every story, and Kellan’s is that you were unsupportive, always busy, and never willing to give him what he wanted.”
“What he wanted was to live with an addict who had no business raising a teenager,” I seethed.
Not to mention, I never had a choice. Once Terry dumped Kel on my doorstep with hardly a second glance at the kid, his options became me or the streets, and I wasn’t a big enough asshole to let Kel fend for himself.
“I’m not saying you didn’t have good reasons.” She edged forward, toes bumping mine. This marked the first time I had her this close without wanting to touch her. “I’m saying Kellan had wants, and needs, and desires, and you said no to them. This time, you have the opportunity to grant his wish. He wants me to finish this book, so I will. If you don’t give Darling Venom to me, you’re going against his wishes.” She rested a hand on my chest. The bloody one. My heart threatened to bruise her palm, the way it raced. “Pick Kellan’s side this time, Tate.”
I knew how this night would end. Her, in possession of the manuscript; me, in possession of an empty home and an emptier heart.
My silence only prolonged the inevitable.
Her hand dropped.
She stepped back. A spark fizzled out in her, as if I’d disappointed her somehow. “It’s about Kellan, not you.”
My fists burrowed in my pockets, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do something stupid like grab the letter and hightail it to the Canadian border. “It’s in my closet safe. 02-28.”
“Kellan’s birthday.”
I didn’t answer.
Just moved aside.
She slinked up the stairs, making as little noise as possible. Something about her movements told me she was used to being unseen, and that disappointed me. When she returned, she carried the thick bundle in her hands, cradling it as if it were one of my newborns.
She stood on my front step. “I’m going to make Kellan proud, Tate.”
I shut the door in her face, severing our ties.
Forever.
Seemed like Kellan Marchetti had three big secrets.
Suicidal ideation.
