Page 69 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

Chapter Thirty-Three

William

Josh—William is gone.

Josh … Josh. It was Josh who stood in the kitchen rinsing the brushes under the running water and clearing out the wonderful aroma of turpentine. It was Josh who had taken Rosie breakfast in bed, and then got back into bed with her, because, damn, she was so beautiful and perfect that she deserved more than William could give her. More than anyone could give her really, but Josh tried.

It was Josh who had finally come out of hiding when he’d had enough listening to the whine of William. He was pretty sure Rosie had helped it too when she’d banged the bathroom door shut that night William was having his pity party. A loud message of—shut the hell up.

Rosie came into the kitchen, her arms laden with laundry. She walked behind him, heading to the washing machine and stuffing it in.

“You’re quiet,” Josh said, shaking the water out of the brushes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“Fine and nothing in one sentence.” He cocked an eyebrow. “What did I do?”

“What didn’t you do is maybe a better question.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, his mind racing over things he might have forgotten. Correction, what William would have forgotten because failing at life and living, and anything else was William’s forte, not his. “Is it your birthday?”

“No.”

“Did I leave the toilet seat up?”

“Yes, but you always do,” she said, standing and pulling out the soap drawer on the machine. She frowned at it. “I can never work this darn thing. Soap goes here, right?”

“I didn’t do the washing? Is that it?” he dried his hands and went to Rosie and the machine to fill it and turn it on.

“No, William. It isn’t the washing, or the toilet seat or anything else.”

William … the name jarred against his skin like a burn he couldn’t get to heal. It was the scar on his skin that throbbed, begging for life, but he only wanted it so he could be miserable. Josh had enough of miserable. “I’m going to do a final coat on the wall in the back,” he said. “If you do the last gloss to the window frame, maybe we can hang the curtains. We could then both start …”

“Stop it,” Rosie shot, cutting him off. “Just stop. Okay?”

“Stop what? I’m talking about decorating.”

“It’s been days of this now.” She snatched the brush from his hand.

“Decorating takes days.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. Its days of this … this … I don’t even know what to call it, but …” She ground her teeth and let out a frustrated strangled noise at him, her face flushed. “Where were you yesterday morning? And the morning before, and don’t you dare tell me you went to see Carly.”

“My appointments were yesterday and the day before.”

“Yes, I know. And I am an idiot. You told me you had appointments. When you left yesterday, you said, you had an appointment with Carly.”

“I did.”

“Doesn’t mean you actually went, does it?”

Josh stared at Rosie for a moment, fighting the smirk on his face that he knew would make her even madder at him. She was right. He had said to her that he had appointments and then gone out and rode his bike for an hour or so. “Are we not decorating today?”

“Carly called me. Yesterday, while you were supposedly there. I told her about you.”

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