Page 61 of Best Served Cold

“She’s very mature for her age—”

“No. Absolutely not. I will never, and could never, be attracted to a child.”

“Stop being difficult. She’s not a child. She’s a lovely and mature young woman who’s willing to look past your issues and give you the family you should have already had.”

“No. Hard no. Not happening. The day I let you or Paster whoever-the-fuck tell me that it’s my Christian duty to fuck a child—”

“Noah!” she shrieked.

“What? Can’t handle a few curse words while telling me to commit SA against a minor? After you just finished telling me you torpedoed my future with your machinations? Which is worse here? A couple of cuss words, or multiple felonies and years of lying?”

“Pastor Michael warmed me the demons in you would resist salvation. That the wickedness in you would continue to fester and pull you further from the path. All that sadness you feel, the turmoil and depression”—her inflection was the verbal equivalent of air quotes—“that’s your punishment. You did it to yourself with your stubbornness and selfishness. Either grow up and start taking your future seriously or do the world a favor and end it like you’ve been threatening to for years.”

All the air in the room was sucked out in an instant, creating a vacuum that made my lungs burn as my chest squeezed tight.

“We expect you at the end of the month.” The line went dead, and the noise in my head came back with a vengeance as her words echoed through it.

Do the world a favor and end it like you’ve been threatening to for years.

Numbness settled over me as my brain and body detached from each other, leaving me in a weird sort of in-between where reality didn’t track and it felt like everything was a few seconds out of sync.

Woodenly, I stood and went into my room, making sure to bring the baby monitor in with me. I couldn’t let Becca see me like this.

I needed to be alone.

I deserved to be alone.

I would always be alone.

11

ZANE

My fingers moved over the guitar strings, years of muscle memory making it so I didn’t have to think about the notes and could focus on the music.

“Talk.” River flopped on the couch next to me, bouncing slightly on the cushion, and knocked his knee against mine.

“Nothing to talk about.” I dropped my gaze to the fingerboard so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

“I saw you.”

My fingers slid down the strings, breaking the flow of the song with a loud mess of notes. “What did you see?” I asked, still not looking at him.

“You and Noah behind the club.”

“Which part?”

“The part where he had your dick in his mouth.”

With a soft sigh, I put my guitar on the coffee table, then leaned back against our threadbare couch. “Oh.”

“You never keep secrets from me,” he said quietly. “I mean, I get it if you need to, but you don’t have to.”

I slid my gaze over. My chest ached at his forlorn expression.

He was right. We didn’t keep secrets from each other, and I’d been a shitty brother the past few weeks. If there was anyone I could talk to about this, it was him.

“Fuck.” I thrust my hand through my hair, tugging on the strands to distract myself with the pain. “I’m sorry. I just…”

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