Page 71 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“No,” said Vickie breathlessly. “Not entirely.”
“What?” He turned to her.
“What did you say your boss’s name was? Chet something?”
“Chet Thornington.”
She smiled, satisfaction creeping across her face. “I thought so. Azrael. I saw the log. Chet Thornington was the last person to sign in.”
“The insufferable man. Of course. That’s a spot-on description.”
“Now why would Chet be sniffing around Madam Cleopatra?” She picked at the polish on her fingernails. “I guess it’s also possible that he was visiting someone else. It’s a big hospital.”
“That’s true. Being an asshole isn’t a crime on its own.” He pulled out of the lot, and within minutes, he was on the freeway.
“I’ll keep an eye out at school, though he does seem to be all business, even when the business is cruelty to children for some sort of twisted fun.”
Vickie shook her head. For a few minutes, he thought that maybe they would drive silently. It was kind of nice, just being here in the car with her.
“Before we went in. About your parents. You were saying.”
“You want honesty?” He gripped the steering wheel.
“Yes.”
“No pretending, then,” he started, voice hoarse. “I was an ass to them.” Focusing on the road, he told himself he was avoiding looking at her because of the winding curves and not because of the shame rattling around his rib cage. He felt hollow. Small.
Vickie’s hand pressed against his shoulder, thumb to clavicle, and the risk of the inch of fabric separating life from death made him swallow. That and the unbearable closeness of her.
“Hey. You were who you were. They knew you, and they never expected you to pretend to be anything you were not. They accepted you. They love you, Azrael.”
“I wish I could tell them,” he said. Her face lit up.
“You can.” She rummaged around in her bag, pulling out a velvet box. She opened it to a shiny pair of cuff links shaped like skeletal ravens. They were a gift from his mother to his father for their twentieth anniversary. “I found these last night, along with a rather ominous noose, when I was looking for extra donut molds. I figured we could ask them what more they know about the situation, and that maybe you could talk with them. I could help. It could be good for you.”
He inhaled deeply, holding it for four counts and releasing it for eight. Letting the anxiety and the self-loathing roll off him. He tried not to linger on how much it meant to him that she saw him, really saw him, for all he was.
Azrael wanted to dance with her in libraries or swoon over her while sipping on coffee and tea.
Though a small, angry part of Az’s brain told him he should let Vickie go so that she could find someone who could really be with her, the larger part of it, the rational part, told him that this was the anxiety, and the depression, fucking with him. He had made his choice about not pretending. And he would let her make her own choice, too, rather than deciding for her.
“Is it too weird to summon them in a car? After last time?” She bit her lip, and he wondered if she was also thinking of the way she’d writhed in his lap. The way they’d burned for each other before he, well, almost actually burned for her.
He shook his head to clear the cobwebs of lust. “What the hell. We have hours. Yes, let’s do it.” He swallowed, hoping he didn’t regret this decision.
CHAPTER 22Victoria
The cuff links heated in Vickie’s hands, and she turned in her seat, catching Azrael’s eye before he returned his glance to the road. He was searching for the things only she could see.
“Victoria, please tell Azrael that we are with him when he needs us. Always.” From the back seat, Benedict spoke in that rough, stony voice, and his gold eyes flickered over his son. Persephone, ethereal arm linked through her husband’s, as though she couldn’t bear to part with him, even in the afterlife, nodded and met Vickie’s gaze.
Vickie tried not to blush at this, and shehopedthey had not been haunting the library yesterday and watching the striptease that had accompanied the dancing. Vickie reassured herself that she would have sensed that.
Probably.
“I saw what he keeps in his wallet, still,” said Persephone softly. “Tell my son that I understand. He thinks reserve can shield him from the harsher parts of reality, but he deserves everything. Even if it is difficult. Tell him that it is worth the risk. All of it. He deserves every single moment of joy that his father and I had, and will continue to share in whatever awaits us. We chose this life together, and death won’t stop us from choosing each other. Always.”
Vickie cleared her throat, her chest twisting at the pain in the shade’s voice.
