Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(16)

“So, did you eat?”

“I did.”

“What did you eat?”

I glared at nothing. “Chicken soup and, uh, Parker House rolls.”

“Oh. Your favorite.”

“Yeah. My favorite,” I responded softly.

“Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“You’re using your Scarlet voice.”

Crap. “Am I?”

“You are. She’s there, isn’t she?”

I rubbed my face with an open hand, suddenly tired of talking. Falling asleep was always difficult, even without the corporeal her in the room. Usually, if I wasn’t exhausted to the point of passing out, night was when memories of Scarlet were sharpest, which was why I always made sure to wear myself out during a typical day. Some folks work out, work hard, and work long hours due to ambition. My reasons were much less commendable.

“Are you still there?” Dani’s voice in my ear brought me back to the present. “Billy?”

“Yes, I’m here,” I said, working to banish thoughts of Scarlet. Again.

Life beyond this room had continued since I’d discovered the vacant rocking chair. Life had moved forward while I’d struggled to think about anything else. But I’d done it. Last night, I’d pushed her to the margins of my mind, filling the spaces she sought to invade with ordered lists and tasks. If there was one skill I’d practiced more than any other over the last decade, it was forcing myself to concentrate on matters other than Scarlet St. Claire.

“So, she’s there. Right?”

“Did Cletus tell you that too?” I didn’t try to disguise my dislike of the subject.

“Actually, yes. He made a point of telling me you were there with Scarlet.” She sounded amused, like she found Cletus hilarious. “It was really cute.”

“Yeah, well, he knows you and I called off the engagement, but he doesn’t know it was fake.”

“Oh, I think Cletus probably knows it was fake. In fact, I’m pretty sure he knew the whole time it was fake.”

“You think so?” I didn’t know if I agreed with her, given how Cletus had loudly fretted about the engagement.

“Your brother is an evidence-based person. We never went on dates or spent any time together except to be seen in public. But it doesn’t matter now, because you called it off.”

“Are you still irritated?” I asked.

“No. Of course not. From the beginning, we agreed to do it as long as it benefited both of us. And I wasn’t irritated with you when you ended it, just the situation. I was hoping we’d have a few more months. I have a few irons in the fire, deals I need to see through that would’ve been easier if I was engaged to Congressman—soon to be Senator—Winston.”

“You should’ve said so. We can continue for a few months more, if it helps.”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary since you’re presently in Italy with Scarlet.”

I ignored that. “Dani. It’s no big deal.”

“Billy, it’s fine. But thanks for letting me be the one to make it public. I might wait another week and then send out the official statement.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Dani paused, maybe thinking, maybe uncertain how to proceed, but eventually asking, “Are you staying off your feet?”

“I’ve done nothing but lie here since I arrived.”

“Good. The doctor made a point to call me and remind me to make sure you stay off your feet this time. You didn’t take care of yourself with the last donation, this time you really need to stay off that hip. No walking. Take it easy.”

“Fine.”

She paused again, perhaps working through how to broach a topic. Content with silence, I stared forward unseeingly, neither enjoying nor disliking the cold void of thought and feeling within me.

I’d been in this numb limbo before. The first time when I was twelve, just after I woke up in the hospital after my father had almost killed me. The second time when I was sixteen, just after I woke up in the hospital after taking Scarlet’s punishment as my own and my father’s men had almost killed me.

This time, the numbness had descended just after discovering my little brother Roscoe in that diner with a stab wound in his back. Since then, I’d been going through the motions, doing what needed to be done. The void had only intensified when I’d decided to make the first bone marrow donation for Darrell, an act that would save the life of the man who’d almost taken mine twice.

Dani sighed—sounding impatient—and said, “Okay, real talk, Billy. How are you? And I don’t mean your hip. Have you seen her?”

A suggestion of something, of pain and frustration, throbbed once behind my eyes. I closed them, blocking it out.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well?” she asked.

“She’s the one who force-fed me,” I said.

“Really?” she asked.

“Mm-hmm,” I said.

“You should do a continuous hunger strike while you’re there.” Dani’s tone was desert dry. “Then maybe she’ll give you the time of day.”

“I’m not doing that.” I tested my jaw, moving it back and forth. I’d been grinding my teeth at night, or so my dentist had told me when I’d complained of headaches.