Page 21 of The Hate We Breathe
“You seemed surprised to see me this afternoon,” I say, letting her have her way for now. “I didn’t know you’d heard that I was back.”
She lifts one shoulder in an awkward shrug, her other hand pinning her sleeve down as if she’s frightened I’ll reach forward and yank it back up. “There’s a difference between hearing gossip in class and seeing you in the flesh after weeks of nothing.”
My only response is a low hum, but I sit back on the bleachers, reaching out and curling my hands around the back of the metal bench to keep myself seated. Seconds pass and I feel the burn of her stare as she finally pulls her gaze from the field like it’ll save her.
“So,” she tries again. “Gio, Lex,andNolan? That’s a lot of testosterone to juggle, even for you.”
I roll my eyes, but the tightness in my chest doesn’t ease. Not really.
“I’m not juggling them.”
“No? Then what do you call it?” She bumps her shoulder into mine, smirking now, playing her part. “You’re living every girl’s dream, Jules. Just admit it.”
I snort. “I doubt my life is anyone’s fucking dream.” Not the normal life, but my sex life… My eyes find the men on the field.
Gio’s shirt is off now—becauseof courseit is. Nolan’s barking orders like he runs the damn team and, well, he kind of does. Lex, however, is turned to the side—not paying attention to anyone else as his eyes find mine across the yards that separate us. My lips twitch and I lift a hand in a wave. His face brightens and he raises a hand to wave back when Nolan strides up to him and slaps the back of his head, distracting him.
Embezzlement. Kidnapping. Murder. My life is one fucked-up drama after another, but at least I have them. My gaze turns back to Mads as the bleachers creak under her shifting against it. She lifts her hands and rubs them together, blowing into them as if her breath will be enough to keep them warm. My fingers already feel like Popsicles and we’re still at the tail end of fall. Snow hasn’t even hit the ground.
“Juliet?”
“Hmmmm?” I watch as Lex scowls at Nolan but shoves his helmet back on his head and lowers himself into position. The team has moved on from the obstacle course. Now, they’re practicing lineup and a mock game. Hopefully, that means they’ll be done soon.
“Are you…” Mads’ voice penetrates my thoughts again, but still, I don’t look at her as I wait for her to voice the question she obviously wants to ask. I hear her indrawn breath and then, “Are you going to the funeral?”
My back clenches tight and, slowly, as if the top of my skull is attached to a string, I turn to face her. She watches me with soft eyes and her hands now folded in her lap.
“What funeral?” I ask, but I fear I already know. My stomach knots. The cold digs deeper under my skin.
“Mr. Calloway’s.” No matter how quiet her voice is, the answer stabs into my chest like a sharpened blade.
“I… didn’t know that it had already been decided,” I admit, turning my gaze back to the field and narrowing my eyes on the three men that should have told me. They have to know. They know damn near everything else that goes on in this fucking town.
“It was in this morning’s paper,” Mads tells me. “He was a big part of the town and it looks like it’ll be open to the public.”
“Who put it together?” I ask. “Don’t the police need more time with the body? Collect more evidence?” I doubt that Mads would know the answers, but I ask the questions anyway. “When is it?”
“Next weekend,” she answers. “I don’t know about what the police need from his body or evidence, but they had a whole article about him and his life in the paper. It wasn’t just an obituary. I think someone named Stuart is coordinating the funeral proceedings.” She pauses and when she speaks again, she sounds sad. “I don’t think he had a lot of family.”
No, he didn’t. But for a bastard like Morpheus Calloway, family wouldn’t have meant shit anyway. I’m not surprised to learn that his assistant is the one arranging things. That fucker had been so far up Morpheus’ ass he couldn’t see past his bullshit. No doubt, he’ll be blubbering away in an ill-fitting black suit on the day of the funeral.
When I don’t say anything for a long moment, Mads prompts me again. “So?” she asks.
“So, what?”
“Are you going?”
I stare out at the field, but I don’t really see the game anymore. “I don’t know,” I admit.
The real question should be,do I want to?
Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer to that question either. It might be relieving to see the asshole put in the ground—to remind myself that he’s dead and gone and he can’t do shit to meanymore. But going to his funeral will also be seen as paying my respects—and I can’t respect a man who only ever wanted to own and control me.
“The police will be there.”
I whip my head to her. “What?”
She blinks at the sudden movement, but nods. “Yeah, it was in the article,” she says. “They didn’t say why—just that there would be a unit of Silverwood deputies in attendance for ‘all of the good Morpheus Calloway donated to the town’.” I grind my jaw as she rattles off what I’m sure is a line from the paper she read. “But I think they’ll be there for another reason,” she confesses.
