Page 7 of Things We Left Behind
“Lucian.”
“Sloane.” He rasped my name like a warning. And despite the icy fingers of cold trailing up my spine, I felt something warm and dangerous uncurling inside me.
“Do you have to be so obnoxious all the time?” I asked.
“I don’t want to fight with you today. Not here.”
In a humiliating turn of events, my eyes instantaneously welled with hot tears.
Another dizzying wave of grief crashed into me, and I fought to push it back.
“There won’t be any new stories,” I murmured.
“What?” he snapped.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“You said there won’t be any new stories,” he prompted.
“I was talking to myself. I’ll never have another new memory of my dad.” To my undying embarrassment, my voice broke.
“Fuck,” Lucian muttered. “Sit down.”
I was so busy trying not to show my worst enemy my sloppy tears that I barely registered him shoving me none too gently to the curb. His hands rummaged through the coat pockets again, and a handkerchief appeared in front of my face.
I hesitated.
“If you use my coat to wipe your nose, I’ll make you buy me a new one, and you can’t afford it,” he warned, brandishing the handkerchief.
I snatched it out of his hand.
He sat next to me, careful to keep several inches between us.
“I don’t want to hear you whining about getting dirt on your fancy suit,” I grumbled then noisily blew my nose in his ridiculous handkerchief. Who carried reusable snot rags with them these days?
“I’ll try to control myself,” he said mildly.
We sat in silence as I did my best to get myself back under control. I tilted my head and looked up at the heavy clouds, willing the tears to dry up. Lucian was the last person on earth I wanted to see me vulnerable.
“You could have distracted me with a nice, normal fight, you know,” I accused.
On a sigh, he exhaled another cloud of smoke. “Fine. It was stupid and selfish of you not to eat this morning. Now yourmother is inside worrying about you, making a bad day even worse for her. Your sister and friends are concerned you’re not handling things. And I’m out here making sure you don’t pass out so they can keep grieving.”
My spine straightened. “Thanks so much for yourconcern.”
“You have one job today. Hold your mother up. Support her. Share her grief. Do whatever it takes to be whatsheneeds today. You lost your dad, but she lost her partner. You can mourn your own way later. But today is about her, and making her worry about you is fucking selfish.”
“You are such an ass, Lucifer.” An astute, not exactly wrong ass.
“Get your shit together, Pixie.”
The old nickname did the trick, blocking out the unrelenting sadness with a feisty bout of fury. “You are the most arrogant, opinionated—”
A dented pickup truck with Knockemout Diner decals on the doors screeched to a stop in front of us, and Lucian handed me his cigarette.
He rose as the window rolled down.
“Here you go, Mr. Rollins.” Bean Taylor, the scrawny, frenetic manager of the diner leaned out and handed Lucian a paper bag. Bean spent all day every day eating deep-fried diner delights and never gained an ounce. The second a salad touched his lips, he packed on the pounds.
