Page 46 of Broken Halo

I don’t take the chance that she’ll slam the door in my face, because the chances of that happening are as real as my current preoccupation with how to break through her walls. I move into her house, forcing her to step out of my way.

“Wait! What are you—”

“Is Griffin in bed?” I move through her house and into the big-ass room that looks out to a pool and deep yard. This fucker probably cost a mint and she’s surrounded by mini-mansions with no privacy. Who the hell wants to live like this?

I turn and she’s standing, barefoot, in the opening to the kitchen. One foot is hitched and her arms are crossed.

“Is he in bed?” I repeat myself, wondering if this is going to be a one-way conversation.

She huffs, “Yes.”

I slide my hands into my pockets. “He do okay today?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t answer my question. “What do you want?”

I look around, the rooms are as wide as they are tall and everything is shadowed. “Are you staying here or will you move?”

She drops her arms. “Are you serious?”

I look away from a bookcase filled with pictures of her son. “Very serious. I’m putting my mom’s house on the market. I’m in real estate mode.”

Her expression transforms from exasperated to surprised. “You’re selling Faye’s house?”

I shrug. “Barely use the condo I live in. What am I going to do with two properties?”

She turns away from me and goes to her kitchen sink where the dishwasher is standing open and she starts to load it.

“Ellie.”

She doesn’t turn to look at me. “What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She slams a bowl into the top rack with more force than necessary, given the fact gravity would’ve done that job for her, and flips it shut. She turns to me, and as well as I knew her ten years ago, right now I can’t tell if she’s going to cry or scream. “Everything. Everything is wrong and you barging in my house talking about your mom, who I miss so much it hurts, tops it off. What the hell do you want?”

What do I want?

I haven’t allowed myself to want anything for as long as I can remember. In fact, I’ve done everything I could to not want anything beyond money. After I thought Ellie threw away what we had and kicked me to the curb in the process, I knew money was the key to life being less miserable.

Does it bring me happiness?

No fucking way.

But it does make life easier to swallow. I’m the poster child for this hypothesis and can vouch for its results. My misery couldn’t be easier.

I lower my voice. “I want us to not hate each other.”

She wraps her arms around herself again and works her lip between her teeth—her chest rises and falls in a way she looks like her lungs might explode.

“I want us to move on,” I add.

“I did move on,” she throws back at me like a rotten piece of fruit, trying to strengthen her voice. “And so did you.”

“Ellie—”

But I’m interrupted by a knock on her front door right before it bursts open. Ellie and I both turn toward the front of the house and I move between her and the entryway.

“You-hoo, Ellie! We’re back!”

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