Page 107 of Road Trip with a Vampire
“It doesn’t bother me that you take shady jobs for money,” I began.
He looked at me, face brightening. “It doesn’t?”
“No,” I said. “We all do what we have to do to survive. Gods know I’ve done my share of shady things. But,” I continued, holding up a finger when I saw the hope in his expression, “I can’t get involved with someone who was paid to do shady things tome.”
He held my gaze for so long it felt like my heart might break into pieces. Slowly he stood to his full height, then crossed the room to where I still sat perched at the foot of the bed.
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” he breathed as he gazed down at me, his eyes shining. It sounded almost like begging.
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Was there? “I don’t know,” I whispered. I needed time. Time to sort out my head and my feelings. Time away from him. And I needed sleep. Gods, I needed so much sleep. “I just don’t know, Peter. I’m sorry, but your twenty minutes are up.”
His face crumpled. “I understand.”
When he got to the door to my room on his way out, he paused, hand on the doorknob. Then he said, with a conviction I’d seldom heard from him, “I will never be worthy of you after what I’ve done. But you are the first good thing to happen to me in longer than I can remember. I will spend the rest of my existence trying to make it up to you.”
Without another word, he was gone.
Twenty-Five
Chicago, Illinois
Present day
Peter looked across the cafétable at the two men he’d come to meet.
On other, very different projects, Peter had worked with better. Much better. But these people had experience he did not have. They were also willing to help even though he wasn’t certain he deserved it. That more than made up for their obvious shortcomings.
To be blunt: He didn’t know where else to turn. And he needed help, objectively. He’d taken care of John Richardson in that warehouse, and one of the other vamps who’d been there as well.Thathad been easy. This, though…
Thishad him terrified.
“Nice to see you again, Petey,” Reginald said. Peter still didn’t know whether the man called him Petey because he liked the nickname or if he did it simply to antagonize him. Reginald gestured to the man seated to his left. “This is my friend Frederick. When I toldhim I needed to counsel someone even more pathetic than we were in matters of the heart, he insisted he come.”
“Only because you are an imbecile, Reginald,” Frederick said. He inclined his head towards Peter in greeting and offered him a warm smile. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I heard you previously suffered from amnesia.”
Peter bristled. Thinking of those weeks when he’d had no memories made him feel inadequate. He hated feeling inadequate in any way.
“Yes,” he confirmed more tersely than he’d intended. “I did.”
Frederick made a humming noise that Peter assumed was sympathetic. He touched his right temple. “I was in a coma for a century, myself.”
Peter had no response to that.
Reginald awkwardly cleared his throat, obviously wanting to move on from the subject of mental maladies. That gave them one thing in common, at least.
“I admit I wasn’t inclined to help you when you first reached out,” Reginald said. “You understand, I’m sure.”
Peter did. “Yes.”
“But the three-page, single-spaced letter complete with bullet points you sent more than proves your remorse,” Reggie continued. “And your devotion. So. Let’s hear your plan.”
Plan? Peter had no plan. All he knew was that it had only been a week since he’d last seen Zelda, but he already missed her so much he couldn’t think straight.
“I was hoping you might have ideas,” he said, like the fool he was.
Reginald nodded at Frederick, then turned back to Peter, a cheeky grin on his face.
“If there’s anything I have,” Reginald said, “it’s ideas.”
