For You (The 'Burg #1)(90)

He finished, rinsed his dish and put it in the dishwasher while I was wiping down the counters. I tossed the sponge into the sink and dried my hands thinking he needed new dishtowels. Something yellow, bright and cheery.

“Feb, baby, got somethin’ to tell you.”

I turned to him and he moved into me. His face was serious and something about it made me brace. Bad news was coming and there were no longer thoughts of cheery, yellow dishtowels in my head even as he pulled the one I had out of my hands and threw it on the counter beside me.

He put both his hands to my neck, settling them where it met my shoulders and he gave me a squeeze.

“Suicide last night,” he said and stopped talking.

“Yeah?”

“It was someone you know.”

Oh no. No. Nonononono.

“Who?” I whispered.

His hands gave me another squeeze before he pulled the earth right out from under me.

“Amy Harris.”

For a second that lasted an hour, I couldn’t think.

Then I asked, “What?”

“Amy Harris. She hanged herself Monday. Her friend found her yesterday.”

Amy Harris. Shy, pretty, sweet Amy Harris. Shy, pretty, sweet Amy Harris who had, twenty-two years ago, taken everything from me.

Now I had it back and she hung herself.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Feb –”

My eyes lifted to Colt’s. “It’s because of me.”

His brows snapped together just as his face grew strangely dark. “What?”

“Because of me,” I repeated then lifted a hand and pointed at myself then at him then back at me while saying, “because of me, you and me.”

“Why would you say that?”

I felt my own brows snap together. “And why would you ask that?”

His hands gave me another squeeze. “Fuck, Feb, we’re not goin’ there again.”

Then it dawned on me. Post-coital talk. Put the past behind us. Move forward. The whole while he knew Amy had offed herself.

I lifted my other hand and used both, pulling them up and separating them to rip his hands off my neck and I took a quick step back.

“You prick!” I screeched then turned on a foot and stomped out of the room.

He caught me in the living room with a hand on my arm, swinging me around to face him.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he clipped, edging toward angry.

“Fuck you!” I shouted, already beyond angry, twisting my arm from his grasp.

“What the f**k’s the matter with you?”

I felt my eyes get wide. “Now?” I asked. “Now, Colt? Are you still gonna play this game now? Now that Amy’s dead, dead because of you and me?”

“I don’t know how you figure that, honey, maybe you’d like to share.”

Sarcasm.

I felt my head explode and it exploded by me screaming, “You take the cake, Alexander Colton! You take it and eat it and go about your merry f**king way! A woman is dead!”

“I know that,” he shouted back, “I saw ‘em cuttin’ her down!”

“And you’re still playin’ this game?”

“Gotta know the game before I can play it, Feb.”

That’s when I let it loose. “Sherry and Sheila Eisenhower’s party, Colt. Cast your mind back. That was the night I caught you f**king Amy Harris!”

And after I said that, that’s when I watched a change come over Colt. A change that was terrifying to witness. A change that froze every centimeter of his body. A change that told me I still had earth under my feet, it had to be there because my world was about to rock.

* * * * *

Colt stared at Feb, even heard her call his name, but his mind was somewhere else.

It was at Sherry and Sheila Eisenhower’s party. A party he remembered clearly and at the same time didn’t remember at all.

It was like a lot of parties he’d been to in high school, in college and, before Feb grew out of them or, more precisely, broke up with him, a little while after college.

Sherry and Sheila’s folks were away. The girls got a couple six packs and asked their friends around. Their friends asked their friends who asked their friends. It was out of control within hours. A couple of people brought kegs. Some scored hard liquor. Others brought weed. Necking, fighting, laughing, puking, passing out, everything happened.

Colt remembered it because he woke up the day after alone in Sheila and Sherry’s parent’s bed. He didn’t remember getting there. He’d been drunker than he’d ever been in his life, before or since. So drunk, he didn’t remember a thing. He felt like an ass. It wasn’t a high school party but he’d been one of the few who was of age and waking up in someone’s parent’s bed was high school shit.

He’d been clothed when he woke up though, he remembered that, and hungover. Nasty hangover, again the worst he’d had in his life, before or since.

He remembered it too because the next day, Feb, cold as ice, broke up with him. She didn’t say why, she just said it was over. He felt such shit he remembered getting angry but not much. She could get in a snit, though she’d never broken up with him. He knew he’d talk her around.

He never did and, shortly after, she went wild.

With sudden clarity he remembered Amy Harris was at that party standing removed at wall and talking to her friend, Colt couldn’t recall the friend’s name. He remembered seeing Amy there, being vaguely surprised, smiling at her and she smiled back.