Page 50 of Shattered Chords

She spun around and popped her hip. “Okay.”

“If I say you have to be home at ten, that means ten. Not eleven forty-five.”

“It’s not a school night, Mom, and I wasn’t doing anything. We just went to the movies.”

“You need to text me, Ally.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” she repeated, then turned and ran for her room.

Great. I was a complete failure as a mother.

7 Dante

You’re a drive-by.

And you never clean up your mess.

The words came back to haunt me that night after my wet car wash adventure. Then the next morning, and the morning after.

No wonder I hated being sober in my previous life. Everything said and done wasn’t so easily erased when my mind clung to each insult tossed my way. Typically, I just ignored them, but not this time.

Camille Rockwell was the first woman who’d managed to inflict pain on my dormant consciousness. And because I was making amends to the entire world, I thought to myself,what the hell, and called Frank.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Thrice.

The coward in me was glad for it. Maybe Cassy had lied. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to me after all. Maybe he’d moved on.

The line clicked. “Dante.” Not a question.

“Hey, Frankie-boy.” My heart hammered in my chest. The soft hum of the washing machine carried from the back of the house. Yanneth had agreed to demonstrate how to bake lemon chicken today and, oddly, I was looking forward to my time in the kitchen. The thought made me giddy. Before the stroke, I could barely make toast without burning it.

“Long time.” Frank’s voice was so calm when he spoke, I envied him.

“Been a few months, right?” I tried to sound equally aloof, as if this wasn’t a big deal. As if we were just two dudes catching up.

Truth was, we were two fucking nuclear warheads. One wrong move and the proverbial shit would be hitting not just the fan but the entire universe.

“How have you been?” Frank asked somewhat formally.

I was downstairs, boxes still crowding the space, and despite the AC blasting on full power, the air around me was thick and solid, so I padded across the living room and onto the terrace. Outside wasn’t any better. Stifling heat enveloped me from head to toe, creeping along my spine like a spider, slipping into my nose and coating my lungs. But I liked the fact that there were no walls. Just an endless stretch of empty, plant-dotted land.

I felt my bones grow hot and brittle as a rush of dry wind whipped across my hair and face. It smelled of burnt grass and baked potatoes and reminded me of my childhood, of my years before everything became fucked, of my years before booze and drugs pulled me under.

“I’m managing,” I finally said and sank into a chair.

He was quiet and the silence pressed against me from all sides and angles.

“You know your girlfriend came by the other day,” I started.

“I figured that’s why you were calling.”

“You don’t think I could’ve come to this decision on my own, huh? My brain isn’t scrambled completely. It’s just over easy.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” His tone became combative. Ah, he still had his human heart intact. Somewhere beneath all that titanium.

“Whatareyou saying?” My traitorous voice changed too, shook and wobbled like a newborn baby in a crib.

A pause.

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