Thirty-Seven
Kyle
“Hey, Kyle?” One of my employees opened my office door and poked her head through the crack. “The Snyders are thinking they want to go black and white for the wedding colors—”
“Silver font,” I said, not bothering to look toward the door to see who was asking or even letting her finish because I already knew the question. It was always the same question. Over and over. “Put their names in script, and keep the rest of the invitation in serif. Make sure they order inner and outer envelopes, and if they want the addresses written out in calligraphy, there’s an upcharge for that.”
“Thank you,” she said. Before she closed my door, she added, “It’s good to have you back.”
I waved and continued to stare at my inbox.
Work was the last place I wanted to be. Being at the shop meant Garin was gone, and I was having a hard time accepting that. We’d spent over a week together, and from the moment I confessed to the minute I dropped him off at the airport this morning, we had acted like a couple. He had held my hand as we walked around town. He’d cupped my face when he kissed me. He had asked my opinion when he was emailed questions about the hotel and casino, and he listened to the feedback I gave him. And he made love to me. Constantly.
Now, I didn’t know when I’d see him again.
I ached at the thought.
I needed him.
I needed more time with him.
And the last thing I needed was work. I cringed at the sight of the emails that were waiting to be answered, at the problems that needed my solving. My mom had run things while I was gone. She told me she’d heard from Garin just after the accident, and he’d kept her updated on my progress, but she needed to be at the shop to make sure the money was filtered correctly. I wasn’t surprised when she had acted more concerned about Anthony’s next trip to Florida than on my recovery. She didn’t care.
Anthony didn’t care.
And I didn’t care about this place anymore.
The clock on my computer showed it was just after four. I’d been in the office since nine that morning, and I hadn’t done a thing. I hadn’t returned a single email, I hadn’t ordered any of the products that were needed for inventory, and I hadn’t met with any of the clients who had come in. All I had done was answer questions when my employees had them and stared at my computer.
I grabbed my bag, locked my office, and walked out the back door, so I wouldn’t see anyone out front. I drove straight home. When I pulled into my driveway, my phone rang. Garin’s name and number showed on the screen. I hadn’t spoken to him since he’d left, but I knew he was in Atlantic City. He’d told me his destination just before he had gotten out of my car and stepped onto the plane.
And, because he was in Jersey, I knew something was about to go down.
I shifted into park and continued to hold the steering wheel. “Hi.”
“Hey, you.”
I hated that he was so far away. I hated that he wasn’t whispering those two words in my ear. And I hated that the tone of his voice told me something was wrong.
“I didn’t think it was right to text you this. I thought it would be better to tell you over the phone.”
He took a breath, and I knew. I felt it in my whole body as it started to shake. My throat tightened. My heart pounded.
“It’s done,” he said.
My eyes closed, and I rested my forehead on my hand, pushing it into the steering wheel. “Anthony’s…gone?”
“Yes.”
I knew this was coming. I knew that was the reason Garin had gone to Atlantic City. When he had told me that Anthony was going to fucking die, I knew he wasn’t kidding.
So, why was I shocked to hear it?
And why did it hurt?
I stared at my lap, clenching and unclenching my fingers against my forehead. My joints burned. My chest ached. I didn’t know why; I couldn’t explain it. I wanted it to stop, but it just wouldn’t.
“Was it quick?”
“I’m not going to lie to you.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“No, it wasn’t quick…and it wasn’t painless.”
I winced from his honesty and tried not to let my mind wander. Prior to the dream, I hadn’t known much about torture. Even though it wasn’t real, I felt like it gave me an education on some of the possibilities. Now, I knew what it felt like to have a knife pointed at my throat, to be told I was going to die, to feel a level of pain I had never experienced before. The true meaning of fear, of constant worry, of hurt—I understood all of it now. But I was sure that whatever had been inflicted on Anthony was far worse than what Breath had done to me.
And I had a feeling it had started before Garin had arrived. I hadn’t heard from Anthony in two days. That was unlike my brother. He usually made some type of contact every day. I was sure that meant the bosses had captured Anthony, and Garin had finished him.
I wouldn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.
And I didn’t want to know what they had done to him.
Or where they were going to bury him.
Now that I had Garin back in my life and I truly knew what I had lost, what had been taken from me, I blamed Anthony for all of it. I wouldn’t miss my brother. And I didn’t want to ever visit his grave.
But the thought of more death, more torture, still hurt.
“I’m glad you told me,” I said, “and I didn’t find out some other way.”
I heard talking in the background. Then, there was movement, the rushing of cars, horns honking.
“They need me, Kyle. I’m going to call you back in a little while.”
“Okay.”
He said good-bye, and we both hung up.
I didn’t put the phone down. I lifted my forehead off my hand and stared at the dark screen.
Anthony was gone.
Dead.
I wasn’t sure what to say, what to think, how to even process it all. But I knew there was something I had to do, something I wasn’t looking forward to.
I swiped my finger across the screen and hit Mom in my contacts.
“Hi,” I said when she answered. “We need to talk. Can I come over?”
“I just sat down to watch my shows. Johnny’s here. I don’t feel like having company.”
I didn’t know who Johnny was. We didn’t talk about her friends or the men she dated, and I never met any of them. But his company was clearly more important than mine.
“It’s urgent, Mom.” I added the last word for emphasis because, when I spoke to her, I usually called her by her first name.
“Turn it down, will ya? And pause it, so I don’t miss nothing,” she said to Johnny.
I heard the TV quiet in the background.
“What do you wanna tell me, Kyle? Make it quick.”
“It’s really something I need to tell you in person.”
“Just spit it out already.”
If she didn’t want me to come over, I couldn’t force her. But I knew what this was going to do to her. She struggled with sobriety. She had relapsed more than once. Losing her son—her enabler, her source of income—was going to destroy her.
“Anthony’s dead.” Several seconds of silence passed. “Mom, did you hear what I said? Anthony’s dead. He’s gone. He’s—”
“I heard you. I just don’t believe you.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about something like this.”
“Then, why haven’t I heard this from anyone else? Why didn’t one of the guys call me? Or one of his girls? Why hasn’t anyone from The Heart picked up the phone and told me my baby’s dead?”
“Maybe they don’t know yet.” It was the only thing I could think of without getting into details, ones I would never share with her. “I’m telling you the truth. I just heard. He’s gone, Mom.”
“No. No. No!” she screamed, the emotion finally coming through in her voice.
Had I not ratted him out, Anthony would have still been alive. But I couldn’t take this guilt on, too. I couldn’t let this eat at me. Anthony had murdered two of my friends. Had I not told Garin, he probably would have found out anyway. And, if I hadn’t put a stop to it, my brother could have killed more innocent people.
“My baby can’t be dead,” she wailed. “My baby. My baby.”
I slowly looked up, staring past the steering wheel at the house that was surrounded by palms and thick bushes. The beige stucco front. The two steps I had climbed countless times.
The house that had never once felt like it was mine.
I didn’t know where I would go. I didn’t know what was going to happen.
But I knew I couldn’t live here anymore.