Their fingers brushed as she handed the bag to him. If someone tried to describe the moment to Orion, she would’ve rolled her eyes. Because something passed between them with that simple touch. Something that even Orion, in her cold and empty heart, could feel. It was as if the two of them had just realized they were the only people left in the world.
She felt like a voyeur, like she was peeking in on a moment that was pure and right, and making it ugly and tarnished.
Luckily, as moments do, it ended.
Things worked under the guise of normal after that. Eric spoke to Orion, was polite, friendly, and warm. They all got into the car, spoke about light things. But there was an undertone. Even someone ignorant in matters of love and romance—someone stunted, crippled for life in those matters—could see it. Taste it in the fucking air. It was all she could do not to vomit all over Eric’s nice leather seats.
She was thankful when he let her out first. This was hopefully tactical. Hopefully, he’d make a move on April, though she was sure it was going to be the other way around.
Eric was the kind of guy that walked Orion up to her door. He would not be convinced otherwise. He was also the kind of man to order April to lock the doors while she waited for him to come back. She was the kind of woman to argue.
They didn’t talk much on the way up. Some casual conversation, but Orion didn’t do small talk and Eric didn’t seem to mind.
She was aware that she was spending time with the other half of the homicide squad investigating the murder she’d committed.
“Don’t fuck it up,” she said as they arrived at her door.
He raised his brow in surprise.
“April,” she clarified. “I’m not good with feelings. I don’t have them like other people do. That’s not how I am anymore. But I see what April is. What you are. I see what happens in the bowels of fucking hell, or life as I know it. You’ve seen it too. Grab onto that kind, crazy, little bitch. Don’t fuck around. Don’t make excuses. Just hold on to the one thing that might give you a semblance of happiness. Until it all falls apart at least.”
Orion was surprised at her own words. For interjecting herself further into April’s life. The life of cops. Was it the wine, or was it this other half of her, freed from the monster, finally finding her voice?
Eric looked sufficiently stunned too, but to his credit did not try to deny what he felt for April. “I won’t fuck it up,” he said. “Or, at least, I’ll try my best not to.”
Orion nodded, uncomfortable. She met his hazel eyes. “If you break her heart, I’ll kill you.” She hadn’t planned on saying that either. She sure as shit hadn’t planned on being so damn serious about it, but April meant something to her, for better or for worse.
Something moved in the back of Eric’s eyes. Something that noted the emptiness in her voice. The killer there. “Duly noted.”
She nodded, then opened the door and closed it without goodbyes.
She waited until it had been long enough for Eric to walk down to the car, maybe have an argument with April for not locking it, then leave.
Then she waited a little longer. Then she slipped out the door.
Something had become clear tonight.
She did not know about love, and she never really would. Same with romance. But something as primal as sex, she needed to take it back. She needed to be able to do it on her own terms before she continued on her path.
Orion drove to the bar.
Whether it was a good idea or not, it didn’t matter. She felt in control enough that she wouldn’t crash the car into some family of churchgoers. And she wasn’t exactly worried about being arrested for a DUI, considering she’d killed a man and got away with it.
The bar wasn’t far.
She had intended on continuing to avoid most hard liquors. She needed a clear head for things to come. But what she had planned tonight did not require a clear head. It required a mixture of bravery and stupidity, which conveniently was the side effect of a twenty-dollar cocktail.
She looked good. These days, she always did. Orion had become sort of addicted to clothes and online shopping. April was a bad influence. The small second bedroom in her apartment now served as her closet.
She had an affinity for heels and wore them everywhere. The ones she had on tonight were blood-red, six inches high, and designed by Manolo Blahnik.
She had on a silk, bias-cut skirt that brushed her knees and a loose-fitting sheer shirt that showed the lace of her bra underneath. Orion looked sexy. She didn’t feel it, and she never would. But she was playing a part.