Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

I’m still sluggish. I don’t know if it’s from him drugging me, the crying, the exhaustion from what he’s putting me through, or just lack of enough sleep.

I haven’t eaten in a long time, either. I guess it could be that.

Now we each have a cupcake and split the third—an Oreo cupcake.

“This still Cherie’s favorite?” he asks, almost off-handedly.

“I don’t know,” I mutter. “Cherie hates me now.”

He nods, like he’s not too surprised. “That makes sense. You did start fucking Satan.”

“And when it seemed like he’d murdered you,” I point out. “She’s lucky to be alive, actually. Cherie triggered a nervous breakdown that nearly made me lose my mind. Mateo wanted to kill her.”

This does surprise him. “You had a nervous breakdown over me?”

“Not over you,” I correct, pulling a piece of cupcake off and sticking it in my mouth. “Over my own sense of guilt.”

He nods like that makes more sense. “So, you started fucking him again right away, huh? Did you at least make him take it from you the first few times, or did you just open your legs for him with my blood still on his hands?”

“Don’t be gross,” I admonish. “You have no idea what I went through when all that happened.”

“Well, I know you ended up on a beach in the Bahamas with him, so it doesn’t seem like you suffered too much.”

I scowl at him. “It’s been four years and you weren’t actually dead. How long am I supposed to suffer, Vince? And how did you know he took me to the Bahamas?”

He pops a piece of cupcake in his mouth. “You told me last night. You don’t remember?”

“No, Vince, I don’t remember. You drugged me. I don’t remember much of anything.”

He smirks at me, like it’s amusing to have that over me. “Huh. Bet that’s a little scary, isn’t it?”

I roll my eyes, ignoring him and finishing my half of the Oreo cupcake. When I first saw him, the good memories were all that remained. After he “died” I steeped myself in them, remembering the times I’d failed him, glorifying his memory. Even once I found out he was alive, those feelings didn’t dissipate. I cared more for Vince after he was gone than I had when he was sitting right beside me. But that’s because he was only a memory, and I could block out shit like this. I could block out any of the unkindness and remember him making goofy faces at me when we went out to eat. I could block out the faint aura that hangs around him of a bomb just waiting to go off. Instead of recalling him telling me he’d burn Mateo’s house down if I left him, I remembered him buying me groceries when I was poor and embarrassed at my local grocery store.

My brain has a very inconvenient way of doing that, I’ve realized.

I did the same thing with Mateo. Obviously that worked out with him, and it would’ve been harmless if I never saw Vince again, but now I’m disappointed. He should’ve stayed a memory. I could’ve kept loving his memory. Now I have to deal with his reckless reality.

One thing’s for sure. When I get back in Mateo’s strong arms, however the hell I get there, I’m not holding this Vince crap against him anymore. If I would’ve let him deal with this shit his way, I would be at home getting ready to pick Bella up from school tomorrow, ready to get my Meg on and make nice with some mean little brat’s concerned mom. Instead I have to take an involuntary road trip with my psycho ex-boyfriend.

I miss my family.

I miss Mateo.

I want to go home.

—

“I have to pee.”

“I told you to pee when I got gas,” he replies.

“I didn’t need to then. Now I do.”

My legs are also stiff, my butt hurts, and I just want to get out of this damn car. He handcuffed me to the door again, and I’m pretty sure it was just to annoy me this time.

Now he mutters and complains about what a pain in the ass I am, but a few minutes later he pulls off the freeway and takes me to a gas station. The bathroom is inside and he doesn’t trust me to go alone, so Vince walks me in and waits outside for me to pee.

He doesn’t let me bring my purse. I look at the mirror, contemplating how I wish he would’ve. I have a lipstick in there. I could’ve written a note for the next person to come inside.

It seems like Vince thinks of that, though. Even though he didn’t let me bring anything in the bathroom, he peeks in to make sure I didn’t try to leave any kind of breadcrumb before he grabs my hand and hauls me back through the gas station so we can return to the cursed car.