Page 29 of Darling Venom
He’s never tried anything—has he?
So why couldn’t I let it go?
Kellan and Tate lived on Pomander Walk on the Upper West Side. I’d always imagined a loaded Kellan tucked in an icy, futuristic skyscraper on the Upper East Side.
This street, however, resembled a charming English village. In the middle stood Tate and Kellan’s home. A red-brick brownstone with pea-green shutters, overflowing flowerpots adorning the windowsills, and cozy yellow light seeping through the windows.
Normal, warm, and inviting.
The exact opposite of the men who resided inside.
A stab of jealousy found my gut. I couldn’t help but compare our lives.
The narrow road brought the houses near, facing each other closely like two people on a date. I had nowhere to hide, so I sat on a stairway across from his house, in front of his closed door.
I produced a book from my backpack and pretended to read. I slapped my right leg to stop it from rocking.
Get your shit together, Charlotte. It’s not about you.
I didn’t wish to talk to Tate Marchetti, but I also didn’t want to wake up every day with a headache, praying to see Kellan at school just to know he was still alive.
I started playing out scenarios of how it would go down when I finally met this Tate guy. I imagined myself bursting into a lecture when he arrived.
Yelling at a faceless Tate.
Putting him in his place.
Balling my fists and hitting his chest.
Ripping him to shreds with my sharp words.
Bringing him to his knees with the truth of what was happening to Kellan.
I even imagined myself chickening out and running for my life when he appeared.
Nothing prepared me for the third option—the one where Tate never showed his face. An entire afternoon of my staring at the Marchetti entrance passed before I saw their living room curtains flutter open.
Kellan peered out from inside.
Fuck.
Our eyes collided.
My throat worked around a swallow.
I didn’t wave hello. There was a limit to the amount of awkwardness I could endure.
Fifteen minutes later, a police officer parked at the end of the street and approached me while tugging his belt over his beer belly.
“We received a call from a resident that someone has been sitting in front of their door for a few hours now. Everything all right, miss?”
This felt like the deepest betrayal.
Me trying to narc on him to his brother.
Him calling the cops on me.
I nodded, smiling weakly at the uniformed man as I uttered the lie that slipped through my mouth so easily these days.
