I’m stunned. I had no idea.
Carmen smiles. “It’s okay. No need to beat around the bush. I have a feeling you and I are going to see a lot more of each other, and we might as well come clean with all the dirty details.” She flips a few strands of long, curly black hair over her shoulder. “And these men don’t play nice. Not out of bed, and most certainly not in bed. Did Christian hurt you, Kerry? Is that why you have this wall up between you and him?”
I clutch my midsection as renewed pain shoots through it. The memories of our first night together brings me right back to the present, to Cecilia, to the raw, horrifying emptiness inside. “Do you have more of that Tequila?” I whimper.
“Sure.” She shoots up and disappears out of the room, returning a moment later with the whole bottle, pouring a little more at the bottom of my glass. “I’m not letting you get drunk. You need your senses. You’re grieving, and you need to live through that.”
I down the glass in one swallow. “I don’t want to,” I whimper. “I don’t want to feel this pain.”
Carmen lays an arm around my shoulders. “I know,” she says. “I know. I’ll take care of you until you have your beautiful little daughter in your arms again. Now tell me about you and Christian.”
So I do. Resting in the arms of Carmen Moreno-Payne, despite the pain wracking my soul, I tell the whole messed up story about Christian Russo and Kerry Jackson.