“No idea,” he mutters, watching me down the length of his water bottle while he gulps. “She wouldn’t tell me.”
“And Sarai? You don’t know where your own daughter is? How to reach her? Them?”
Caleb turns away from me, shrugging while he sorts through the items in his duffle bag. He’s avoiding looking at me. This is some shit, but I can’t get to the truth. It’s like a puzzle with all the pieces on the table, but I can’t see how they fit together. I know I’m missing something. There’s a question I should ask or something I don’t know, and somehow, he’s hiding from me. Caleb is covering his ass, I’m sure, but why would she go along with him all this time? And he’s fine with her just leaving him?
Leaving him.
“You two broke up?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
The way to Iris is actually clear for the first time since we met. He throws a piercing look over his shoulder at me, his smirk a forced lift of his lips when his eyes don’t smile at all.
“We’re not together anymore,” he replies. “But she doesn’t want to be found by anyone.” He turns to face me now and crosses his arm over his chest. “And that includes you, West. Did you think because she gave you a few minutes in the closet you meant something to her? You didn’t.”
A practiced smirk lifts one corner of his mouth.
“She has my money and my kid, so I guess she doesn’t need me anymore.” He shakes his head. “Who would’ve thought I’d let some swamp whore from Louisiana trap me? I suspect that Creole bitch even gave it up to my bodyguard while I was gone.”
I lunge for him, ignoring the twitch in my knee and slam him to the wall, then pin him by the throat.
“You’re a liar,” I grit out, tightening my fingers around his neck. “Say it again and I’ll break more than a leg, you entitled son of a bitch. You’re not good enough to touch her.”
“But I did touch her.” A demon’s smile teases the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I’ve touched her everywhere you’ve never gotten to. Fucked her in all the ways you’ve only dreamt about, and to top it all off? She had my baby.”
He cocks a brow, regaining his arrogance by the second. I hate his handsome face, his blond hair and blue eyes and tan skin. I hate everything outwardly appealing about him because inside he’s crawling with worms.
“Write her off, West,” he says. “She’s gone. She got what she needed, and now she’s gone.”
Iris is not like that. I know she’s not, but why didn’t she try to get in touch with me? If she’s gone … after what happened in the closet? Would she just leave without even saying goodbye? Without telling me how to find her? Was I that wrong about what we had? Maybe I’ve been misreading this woman since the night we met. I just knew that what I felt, she was feeling, too.
You’re not fooling yourself.
She told me that. Her whispered words spark again in my memory, and all the feelings, the sensations, the perfection of those moments in the closet with her flood my mind. I wasn’t fooling myself. I don’t know everything that’s going on, but there’s one thing I hold onto even as I exit the training facility and Jared and I pull out of the parking lot.
I’ll see her again.
That thread that connects us, glowing neon, it’s still there. I may not be able to see it, but I feel it. It’s still wrapped around me.
Wherever Iris is, I hope it’s wrapped around her, too.
HALFTIME
“She remembered who she was
and the game changed.”
—Lalah Delia
34
Iris
One Year Later
MiMi says she was tutored by the bayou, by the Mississippi itself. She says that river is the blood meandering through Louisiana’s veins, and it casts a spell on all who love it.
I don’t know that I ever loved Louisiana. I never knew this Louisiana. I lived in the Ninth. On the bayou, a thick carpet of green grass squishes between my bare toes; in the city there was concrete under my feet, cracked and unforgiving.
An arch of cypress trees shelters the path from MiMi’s small house down to the river, but in my neighborhood growing up, power lines crisscrossed the sky like electric spaghetti. No, I didn’t love the Lower Ninth, but I think I’m falling for the bayou.