Page 71 of L.O.V.E

Jesus fucking Christ, what a fool I’d been.

Veins ice cold, I stared at the wall above his head, unnamable emotions rolling through me. “She emptied our joint bank account twenty-four hours ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“They’ll keep looking for her, right?”

“Of course.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “Most likely, though, the ocean claimed her body.”

“Understood,” I managed to say, though I would never fully comprehend. My best friend. My wife. My child.Fuck.Was the child even mine? Had there even been a child?

I stood and gestured to the door. “Thanks for coming by, but I...I um…” I couldn’t form a thought, my mind and body numb.

“Can I call anyone for you?”

“No. No, I just need a…” I couldn’t finish. My fists curled, the urge to strike someone overwhelming.

He came to my side, braced my shoulder. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll be back around nine. I called your pops. He’s on his way.”

“Appreciate that,” I choked out. And before he stepped outside, I warned, “We need to keep this out of the press.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said.

I closed the door and fell to the floor.

Father Christianson gave his final blessing, and the mass of mourners slowly rose and made their way toward the exit, leaving the gloom of the church behind, the procession mostly silent save a few sniffles.

My body, a thousand pounds of rage, remained glued to the pew. I stared ahead at nothing in particular, the room around me shrouded in a red haze, the pulpit, the cross, the flowers, colorless, lifeless, dead. Like my wife and my best friend.

“Son.” Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

I shrugged him off.

“We’ll give you a few minutes,” he rasped before escorting my mother toward the aisle.

Seething and broken, I had watched Martin’s ceremony from the shadows. Victoria’s service, however, demanded my presence, and despite her betrayal, I set my mask firmly in place and played the grief-stricken widower while burning and churning and boiling over with ugly, vile hatred.

Maybe that hatred would eat me alive. Maybe I could join my friend and lover in Hell. I would enjoy watching them burn.

“Cole.” Natalie’s voice, a lowly whisper, cut through the dark, pernicious haze and sliced me open, demonic fury spilling from the wound.

“Get the fuck out.” My words echoed off the stained-glass windows.

A sharp breath, then silence. Soft footfalls retreated.

Finally, a target for my rage. I rose from the cursed bench and stalked behind, ignoring every well-meaning soul I passed. When Natalie reached her car, I growled, “Why the hell are you here?”

Shoulders bunched, she turned to face me. A black dress covered her body from neck to knees, hiding the seductive curves underneath. Her hair was pulled into a tight knot, not a fucking strand out of place.

Natalie met my eyes. Cleared her throat. “I’m not sure. I just… I…um…I just needed to come.”

She was beauty. I was spite. “To gloat?”

“What?” She hugged her handbag like the black leather would protect her. “No.”

“You hated her.”

“She hated me.”

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