Wrong Kind of Love

Tor’s grip on me tightens. Her warm tears splatter my arm, and I cry even harder. Life is suffering. Goddammit, it is. I hold onto her tighter, resting my chin on the top of her head as I fight back the onslaught of emotions, finally finding that ember of anger and breathing life into it.

Tom Campbell has taken everything from me, and I will take everything from him.

26

Victoria

From the bedroom window, I watch Jude’s truck disappear down the drive. It’s the first time in two days he’s left my side, and in his absence, the silence is nearly unbearable. I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen, expecting to find Marney at the table with his coffee, but he’s not there.

Without Caleb here, the house is too quiet, the kind of silence no amount of conversation can fill, and I hate it. I miss the sound of him cussing out the referee while watching a football game, or playing video games, or just chatting and laughing about nothing of any consequence. In his absence, the little bit of joy that once existed here is gone. And I loathe the silence because it allows me to think about things I don’t want to, like a nightmare that’s stuck on repeat in my head. I pace the living room for a while, then slip out the back door, like the outdoors may offer some kind of salvation. I round the back of the house, heading toward the cluster of headstones tucked in the shadows of the towering pines.

I stop in front of the four headstones, unable to fathom that the marble marker is all that’s left of Caleb, and one day, there will be no one alive who remembers him. Maybe sooner than later…

I sink to the warm grass beside his grave and trace my fingertips over his name. "Hey, Caleb," I whisper. Maybe it's stupid, but I feel close to him here, as though his presence still lingers nearby. "I miss you." I release a shuddering breath. "So much."

I don't know how long I lie in amicable silence, but it’s long enough that the sun begins to dips below the horizon.

"It should have been me, Caleb."

He never should have been there, and I hate that Tom seems to know everyone’s weakness, each and every button to press for maximum pain. It begs the question of why he didn’t kill me. Maybe because at the time, I wanted him to. Now I know it wouldn’t have just been my life, and a sliver of guilt rises at the thought. I move my hand to my flat stomach and try to picture my life with a baby. Tom’s hatred for Jude is bound to extend to my child. I don’t want that future for myself. “How am I supposed to bring a baby into this?”

The crunch of pine straw catches my attention seconds before Marney's stout figure comes into view. "So, I take it Jude doesn't know you're knocked up, huh?"

Panic works through me. I’m not ready for this to be anything other than my secret. I haven’t processed it myself yet, and Jude has enough to deal with between Caleb and me. Marney pulls a cigarette from his pocket, places it to his lips, and lights it with a quirk of his brow. “Well, does he?”

"I don't want him to know."

He blows a steady stream of smoke out before his gaze drops to my stomach. “Yeah, well, hate to tell you, but he'll figure it out when you start to look like you swallowed a damn watermelon."

"I know."

He shuffles toward me and places an arm around my shoulders. "Why don't we just get you back inside? You need to rest..." he leans down, bringing his face level to mine as his eyes soften, "... and eat."

"Please don't tell him.”

"I ain't gonna tell him. You need to be the one to do that."

And I would, just not yet.

27

Jude

My stomach feels uneasy when I park beside the Cadillac at the back of The Longbranch. I grab the briefcase from the passenger floorboard then head toward the back door. A thin haze of smoke hangs around the empty bar, drifting from the smoldering cigar in Garcia’s hand. I can’t believe I’m doing this. A few weeks ago, I wanted nothing to do with his cartel, and I know I’m about to fucking marry it. Gabe will kill me when he gets out of prison if I’m not already dead.

The heavy door slams shut behind me, and the two shadows in the corner of the room emerge, dropping back when Garcia calls them off. “Bookie…” he lilts when I stop beside him.

The briefcase makes a thud when I drop it at his feet. “Three million.”

He kicks it beneath his chair. “So you say yes to my offer?”