Page 116 of Darling Venom
I walked until my ankles hurt. Until the evening blurred into night, till the sun fell and the city glowed beneath a blanket of artificial light. Until I had nothing on my mind but Tate and Kellan Marchetti.
And when I looked up and took in my surroundings, I realized where my feet had led me. The bar I’d gone to with Tate.
I peered inside the windows. Just to see the place we’d once sat, exchanging stories. Probably the closest thing to healthy healing either of us would ever get.
But then I saw him.
The only man to ever rob me of my sanity like this.
Tate.
He cradled an empty glass, and from the looks of it, it wasn’t his first.
I must have stood there for half an hour. Dazed. Staring at him through the window like something out of Misery.
A woman sat beside him.
Two, actually.
Both salivating.
Both interested.
One of them dropped a pen back in her purse and folded up a sheet of paper, sliding it to him. Her number, maybe?
He eyed it. Grabbed it. Slipped it into his pocket.
I swallowed, glued to each movement of his body. Sweat crept down my neck. Bile rose to my throat. My heart did violent dives inside me.
Open the door, Charlotte. Stop this.
Take him up on his offer. You know you want to.
Instead, I stayed rooted to the pavement until I couldn’t watch anymore. He was drunk, and I knew I should’ve at least barged into the bar and offered to help him get home safe. But I couldn’t bring myself to make my presence known.
I fled, wondering why it mattered what Tate Marchetti did with his life. He was a stranger. Older. Someone I’d survived twenty-two years without knowing, and someone I’d survive twenty-two more years without seeing.
And then it struck me.
I wasn’t just watching Tate.
I was worrying about him.
When did I start to care?
When did I stop hating him?
Since Charlotte Richards entered my life, I’d come to the un-fucking-pleasurable realization that there was a lot about my little brother I didn’t know.
Kellan had a friend, and I’d never met her until now.
Kellan wanted to kill himself, and I found out from a pair of cops on my doorstep.
Kellan wrote a book, and he didn’t tell me.
Darling Venom remained tucked away in my nightstand. Probably the source of my recent insomnia. Not that I’d slept great the past four years. (Sleeping pills weren’t an option when I needed to be on call twenty-four hours of the day.)
The bartender slid a glass of something clear my way.
