Atone (Recovered Innocence #2)(25)

She breaks the kiss and traces a finger around the edge of my lips as though she’s trying to memorize their shape. That’s a stupid thing to think, but that’s how it feels. Her eyes follow the movement around and around. It’s ticklish. I let her do it anyway. She could do just about anything to me right now and I’d let her. It’s not just the blowjob—although it was f*cking amazing—it’s her. I’m not supposed to compare, and there’s no way to do it without cheating them both, but I can’t do things—do this—with Vera and not make comparisons to the only other woman I’ve ever slept with.

Everything with Vera is new and interesting and exciting. Everything with Cassandra toward the end was frustrating and difficult and work. We were trying to start over when she was killed. I was trying to forget she slept with someone else during the time we were broken up. We were trying to find our way back to the new and the easy and the exciting. And then she was gone. I was left with nothing but if-onlys and thoughts of what might have been. It was what might have been that I held on to.

I saw the grief for what might have been in my parents and how it f*cked them up like it’s f*cking me up. Maybe that’s why I came here—to not be like them. To try something I haven’t been able to do—let what might have been go and grab on to what might be. Vera is what might be. My new job at the agency is what might be. Trying to forge a new relationship with my parents is what might be.

If I’m honest with myself things with Cassandra weren’t all that great. Admitting that feels disloyal, like spitting on her grave. I loved her. Hell, I still love her. I think I always will. I can’t talk about her without talking about how angry I was with her when she died. That’s why I don’t talk about her.

I never got to say goodbye. There was no closure. I was sitting in a jail cell, wondering how I got there and how it could be possible she was dead when they buried her. I’ve never even visited her grave. I’m not exactly sure where it is. She’s been in the ground for more than six years. I can’t picture her there. In my head, she’s someplace else, like Europe or something. Any moment she could come back. I hold on to that, along with everything else that was Cassandra and me. The good, the bad, and the tragic.

Vera taps my forehead, knocking me out of my morbid thoughts. “You promised just you and me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She climbs off me, grabs the bottle and tips it back, taking too big a drink, then hands it to me. I finish it off in three big gulps. My head swims. It’s just the thing I need to push back the thoughts I shouldn’t have had. She grabs a slice of cold pizza and takes a bite, regarding me with a solemn expression. I’ve disappointed her. I didn’t leave everything outside. I hauled it in and piled it around me, walling myself off.

“The only time you’re not feeling guilty is when you’re drinking or screwing. Either we need more alcohol or we need to have more sex.” She regards me over the top of the half-eaten slice of pizza. “I’m too sore to have sex again and I’m already feeling hungover.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For which part?”

“All of it. I’m sorry I f*cked this up for you. I’m sorry you’re sore—I should’ve been gentler—and I’m sorry you’re not feeling good.”

“Are you staying or leaving?”

“I want to sleep with you, if you’ll let me.”

“You gotta tell me what you were just thinking.”

“Why do you want to talk about it?”

She wipes her face and hands with a napkin, then balls it up and throws it at me. I let it bounce off my chest and onto the floor. She’s mad. Not just angry…pissed.

“Because it will never go away if you don’t,” she says. “You haul it everywhere you go.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“What were you just thinking?”

I shake my head. I can’t say it.

“What?” she taunts. “Afraid you’ll scare me off?”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you. It doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m laying on top of you naked and you’re thinking about another woman. That’s not right.”

“I wasn’t thinking about her that way. Fuck. Just leave it.” I lean over to grab my shirt, but she snatches it and my pants away from me. I’m slow from all the f*cking booze. I’d have to rip them out of her hands to get them back.

“You had a look on your face.” She points at me. “Like that one.”

“What one? What the hell are you talking about? Give me my clothes.”

I make a swipe for her, but she’s faster, scooting out of reach. I stalk toward her. She’s quick, running over the bed to the other side. We’re both naked and drunk. This is ridiculous.

“Give me my damn clothes.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Right now I’m afraid I’m going to have to walk home naked.”

“Maybe it wasn’t all sunshine.”

“Shut up.” I grab for her again, but she’s too quick.

“Maybe she’s better in bed than me.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not? You were comparing us, weren’t you? And don’t f*cking lie to me.”