Page 181 of Darling Venom
I’d reached the criteria for unhealthy fixation about thirty mistakes ago, and I wondered if I could ever go back. Rewind time. Undo this level of foolishness typically reserved for prepubescent boys with underdeveloped brains.
Nope.
I slipped through the door right after a family of four, and that pretty much sealed the deal on the is-my-soul-salvageable debate.
I reached 3C.
Charlie’s apartment.
Which I had no good excuse for knowing… other than the fact that I never asked her to choose me as her gynecologist, I couldn’t be blamed for having access to her patient records, and it wasn’t my fault she’d left her wallet flipped open on my counter one day.
No one had invited her into my home. Certainly not me. If anything, I could place the blame on her for doing useless things.
Reach any further, asswipe, and you could join the NBA with that wingspan.
I pounded my fist on the door. Charlie was still at my place when I’d left, which made this a good time for confrontation.
The door swung open. I offered my best trust-me smile, aware I was a strange man showing up on her doorstep and, according to her sister, Leah had an issue with people in general.
“Hello.” I stuck my hand out. “My name is Tatum Marchetti. Nice to meet you. We need to talk.”
“Marchetti,” she repeated under her breath. “Where have I heard that? Can’t be the letter—” Her eyes widened. She ignored my outstretched hand, recoiling from it. “Kellan’s brother?”
I nodded.
My smile slipped.
As if I needed the reminder of how she knew Kel.
She stepped into the hallway and began to close the door behind her, but her eyes caught on the unit across from us. 3D. Her feet drifted back into the apartment.
She moved to the side, letting me in. “Is this about the letter?”
“No.”
Leah fidgeted. Seemed to do it a lot, too. Her fingertips reached up to brush her face, but she lowered them before they made contact with the thick layer of makeup. It was her own version of Charlie’s leg tick.
The Richards sisters were damaged, and they had the power to heal each other.
She redirected her hand to her opposite arm, rubbing it at the crook. “What’s this about?”
“Charlie.”
For the record, this wasn’t actually about Charlie.
I saw myself in Leah.
I saw every single opportunity I missed with Kel.
The holidays. The birthdays. The banter. The aging. The future he could have had if I’d gotten my shit together sooner and paid attention.
And this was why I couldn’t help myself, no matter how often I’d pulled over and made a case for why I should flip a U-ie and head back home.
I saw all the mistakes I made in Leah Richards, and it made me furious.
This was not about Charlie.
It was about me.
