Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(66)

“It’s weird,” she sighed. “That you came.”

“Are you used to people not coming when they should?” I asked.

“Pretty much. Plus, I’m not your problem.”

“I’ve never seen you as a problem. Your clothes, maybe. But never you.”

“What’s in the bag?” She changed the subject.

I handed it to her wordlessly. I’d stopped at the bodega down the street to see if the dude who’d fed me all those years ago was still there. He wasn’t, but his son was. I asked the son to sell me all his expired stuff. After looking a little suspicious, he’d relented.

“Dinner for two. Hope you’re not fussy.”

“Not at all.” She grabbed the plastic bag and peeked inside. “Aww. Takis. Fancy.”

“There’s cheese balls and Almond Joys, you know, to offer you a full, nutritious meal.”

I sauntered over to settle on the same grave I used to sit on when we were kids, of Harry Frasier. I stopped when I saw there was another grave right next to him now. Of a Rita Frasier. Wife, mother, grandmother, and doctor.

“Not alone anymore, buddy.” I brushed a hand over Harry’s tombstone before propping myself against it. When I turned to Arya, I caught her looking at me strangely. Again, I found myself wanting to get caught. For Ari to call me on my bullshit. To recognize me. Her eyes flashed with something. I wondered what she’d do next. What would come out of that pretty mouth of hers.

Nicky, how I’ve missed you.

Nicky, I can explain.

Nicky, Nicky, Nicky.

But she just blinked and shook her head, turning back to the grave in front of her.

“Hey, Ar. It’s the other Ar. I . . . where do I even begin? Things, as you know, are a mess. Not only with Conrad. Mom is suddenly taking interest in me, probably because she’s scared to be homeless in half a minute . . .” She shook her head. “It’s stupid, complaining to you, when you have it so much worse. Sometimes I envy your lack of consciousness. Other times, it terrifies me. I still have entire conversations with you in my head. I still see you everywhere. In my mind, you grew up with me. You have an alternate life. You’re married now. With a kid on the way. Aaron”—she let out a chuckle, laughing and crying at the same time—“I absolutely loathe your wife, Eliza. I call her Lizzy just to rile her up. She is so stuck up.”

I bit down on my lip. Arya had been and remained a wonderfully odd girl. But for the first time, I also recognized that we weren’t all that different. That both our parents had sinned greatly, even if in different ways.

“In this alternate universe, I’m looking forward to you giving me a nephew. You know I love children. Even considering having one myself. What’s that? Have I met anyone myself?” She frowned, shooting me a quick look. I straightened my back, like a pupil.

“Nope. No one worth mentioning. I mean, there is this one guy, but he is off limits. He says the chemistry is stronger than us. But as you know, I flunked that subject in high school.”

She talked to Aaron a few more minutes before coming to sit beside me. I opened a bag of chips and passed it between us. She munched, extending her legs and lacing them at the ankles.

“How’d he die?” I asked, because I needed to. I wasn’t supposed to know.

“SIDS.”

“I’m sorry.”

“At least I didn’t get to know him. It’d have hurt a million times over, I assume.”

Depended on the person. I had yet to miss my mother.

“Do you visit him often?” I asked. We were both staring at Aaron’s grave. Looking at one another seemed too . . . raw.

“More often than I should. Or so people keep telling me. A part of me is angry at him for bailing on the shit show. I need someone to be here, you know?”

“You have someone to be here,” I said, with honesty and openness that should’ve frightened me but somehow didn’t.

Suddenly, I remembered something. I passed Arya the bag of chips, stood up, found two small stones by a flower pot, and put them on Aaron’s grave.

“So he’ll know we came to visit.” I heard the smile on Arya’s face behind me and turned to look at her. “I used to do that all the time. How’d you know?” Her eyes glittered.

“Who said I’m not Jewish?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Your name. Christian,” she laughed.

My fake name, more like.

Tread carefully now, a voice inside me warned. But I was too far gone to listen.

“Someone once told me about this tradition.”

I sauntered back, taking my seat next to her, our shoulders brushing.

“Hey, Christian?”

“Yes?”

“It’s my birthday today.”

I know.

“Happy birthday, Arya.” I kissed the crown of her head as she propped her cheek on my shoulder, looking straight ahead at the conveyor belt of businesspeople gliding along Park Avenue. “And happy birthday, Aaron, too.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


ARYA

Present

We didn’t kiss again.

That, I couldn’t let happen. Not if I wanted to survive Christian Miller. And already, I knew my days would be grayer, bleaker, once he was gone.