Page 88 of Shattered Fate

“He’s looking forward to it. Goodnight, Zarah. Sleep well.”

He kisses my cheek and slips out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

I say goodnight to Ingrid who was up reading in bed, brush my teeth, change into pajamas, and swallow one of the pills Jerricka prescribed me.

I fall to sleep easily but wake up covered in sweat. A nightmare chased me all night long. Her hair was a gorgeous red, she wore a little black dress, and she hung on Gage’s arm.

He didn’t mind.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Gage

Ibitch at myself all the way home, pissed I let my insecurities out around her. I’m supposed to be the strong one, and I shoved my weakness onto her. She stood up to it, though. Stood up to me.

Zarah’s a lot stronger than she thinks she is.

In a shitty mood, I drop into bed intending to read some more of Max’s journal. I don’t like Zarah seeing Willow Black. The idea gives me the creeps, as I’m sure it did Zane, but she’s been under non-stop surveillance since her husband and son were taken into custody.

Willow can’t do anything to Zarah under house arrest. She’s monitored twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They can’t talk about anything more than the weather and the latest fashions. Maybe that’s all Zarah needs. Maybe it’s all she wants.

I’ll have to do better to find time for her, but it’s difficult. She lives so far out of the city and Pop and I are neck deep in missing persons and the cases Ross threw at us.

Hopefully after Christmas things will calm down and I can figure out how we can spend more time together without balding my truck tires in the process.

Whenever I flip through Max’s journal, I torture myself and read the passages where he writes about Zarah. I don’t know why I do it except I hate picturing them together. I know, it confuses me too.

How she can say she loved him but then says she loves me? We’re nothing alike. We had nothing in common besides our jobs which Pop keeps insisting are similar. I guess they are—only his was more on the legit side of things...and paid better.

I didn’t know Zarah before Ash locked her up and threw away the key, and who’s to say they would still be together now. Once Zarah’s her own person, she might not love me anymore. I wonder if Max stayed up late at night worried about that, too.

Tonight, a different name pops out at me in Max’s precise and strong writing:

Dad and I got into a fight tonight. I don’t know what we were fighting about, really. He doesn’t want me seeing Zarah. The only thing is, I didn’t tell him I was. All my time so far has been spent with Mel and Richard, going over what we’ll do at the gala, or writing articles for the paper. It’s not like I’ve been photographed all over KC living it up like a VIP. We stay pretty close to the Crowne. I don’t know how he knew, but when he was yelling at me to keep my dick in my pants, I wasn’t wondering about the how, only the why. He said I could do better than a woman passed around a party like a joint, and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to hit him. Fuck him and fuck Mom who didn’t say a goddamn thing to stand up for her. Feminism is alive and well in the Cook household, I see. Gage wouldn’t have put up with it. His fist would’ve been down my father’s throat before he finished the sentence. I need to be more like him. I would have asked for his help, but I want totackle this on my own. Make him proud of me. Maybe he’ll want to be my brother again.

I close the journal as tears leak from my eyes. I didn’t know he felt like that. He never called, never texted. The handful of times I saw him at Mom’s, I thought it was enough...for both of us.

He’s right about one thing. I won’t let Rourke talk shit about Zarah. If he didn’t like the idea of Max being with her, he won’t like me dating her, either.

Maybe what Zarah said about people gossiping about her wasn't that far off the mark, but you can't stop living because you're scared of what people will say. It's none of their goddamned business.

Baby crawls across the bed and lays her head on the pillow next to mine. She always knows when I'm out of sorts.

I place Max's journal on my nightstand and turn off the light. I set my alarm to go off at seven.

We have a lot of work to do.

After a crappy night’s sleep, I drag my sorry ass to the office.

Zarah needs to move back into the city. That’s all there is to it.

I look like shit in jeans and a t-shirt I picked up off the floor. Even the two huge mugs of coffee I downed didn’t make a dent.

“The Mesas won’t talk to us,” Pop says as I fall into a chair. “They claim holiday obligations, but that’s just shit. Their daughter’s gone. They won’t be celebrating anything.”

I need a minute to remember who the Mesas are. I feel like I’m living two separate lives. Sitting with Pop in our office couldn’t be any further away from Zarah’s mini mansion lettingLucille serve me my dinner, even if she does pat the top of my head like I’m a little kid.

“Can’t talk your way into everything,” I mumble.

---