Page 67 of The Arrogant's Redemption

"Thanks for everything."

"You’re welcome. You look like hell, LJ. I don’t know what’s tormenting you, son, but you need to fix it before it buries you alive."

I barely end the call before it rings again. I only pick up because I see it’s Morrison. These days, I can count on two hands the number of people I interact with. The ones I talk to on the phone are even fewer. I only perform surgeries two, maybe three times a week now—rare cases, the kind where the patient wouldn’t stand a chance if not for my hands.

"Hey," I answer.

"Can you come over, or are you in Boston?"

My throat tightens when I hear his voice, slow and strained. My cousin was in a coma for nearly seven months, and once he woke up, he spent five more relearning how to walk and talk.

"No. I’m on the island. Just finished for the day."

I gave up my Manhattan apartment and moved to a house on the outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts. Halfway between the city and Cape Cod.

I don’t have a logical explanation—only that I’m a fucking masochist. I’ll never go near Alexis again. I’ve already destroyed enough lives. And yet, I’m not ready to move on.

I force myself back to the present. "Something happen?"

"Yeah. I remembered the day of the accident."

"I’m on my way."

"You look like shit," he says the moment he opens the apartment door.

Still leaning on a cane, he opens his free arm to me. At first, when he started doing that, it threw me off. Morrison used to bethe coldest person I knew. As cold as me and my partners. But ever since he came out of the coma, it’s like a switch flipped. My cousin became affectionate, unafraid to show how he feels.

"Let’s sit. You shouldn’t be putting too much pressure on that leg."

"Yes,mother," he says, with a flicker of his old sarcasm.

Once we’re seated in the armchairs, I try to act like what he said on the phone didn’t bring a few seconds of life back to me, after nearly two years buried in guilt. "You said you remembered the day of the accident?"

"Yeah. First, I need to say for the thousandth time that it wasn’t your fault, LJ."

"I don’t want to talk about that. Just tell me what you know."

He rests the cane on the floor and takes off his glasses. With thumb and index finger, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Pain?"

"Not physical. I remembered what happened when I got in the car with her. I remembered everything. She didn’t die in an accident because she was sad, LJ. Jodie was screaming that she was going to punish you. She wasn’t thinking about herself or your child. She wanted to hurt you—and she did."

"What?"

"Apparently one of her crazy friends called and said they saw you eating ice cream on the beach with a woman in Cape Cod."

I don’t move a muscle. I never told Morrison about Alexis. With everything that happened, it just didn’t feel right. She’s not to blame for anything—I am. I should’ve warned her family the moment I realized Jodie was unstable.

"And then?"

"She said she called—or at least that’s what she was shouting at your mom’s house. She said she was getting in the car to go find you. Actually, to bring you back. She was convinced that once you found out about the baby, you’d get back together. Shewas out of her mind, LJ. Living in some alternate reality. I can’t tell you exactly what was going through her disturbed head, but whatever you or her family think, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t lie. You didn’t deceive her. If you ask me, she hid her mental health issues. No one snaps overnight."

"I agree with that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t protect my son from her."

"Here’s the truth, cousin: you couldn’t. She was carrying him insideher. For nine months, her body would be his home. I haven’t changed that much, LJ. I’m no fucking angel and definitely not a psychologist, but you’re destroying yourself over something that wasn’t your fault—and my gut says your state of mind isn’t just about Jodie."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

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