Page 84 of L.O.V.E

Jesus. Fuck. He knew. “Yes! Yes! They were!” My guts coiled. I was not ready for this conversation. I rolled to hands and knees. Pushed to a stand. “I miss them. I really fucking miss them. But, God, I fucking hate them.” The ice pack hit the wall with a disappointing thud. “They were fucking behind my back. Now they’re dead. End of story.”

“Cole.”

I made for the locker room.

“Wait, goddammit!”

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, and everything inside of me turned red hot, molten, boiling over. I twisted free of his grip. Turned. Landed one on his jaw.

My beast of a best friend barely flinched, and I hadn’t held back.

Eyes liquid and red, he growled, “Do it again.”

So I did. I gave him everything I had. A left jab. A straight right to the gut.

Ellis stumbled back but didn’t bow. “Again!”

“No!” Came an angry voice from behind. “Ellis Keaton Chambers. Go get yourself cleaned up right this second,” Lacey whisper-yelled, holding the baby tight to her chest.

The change was comical—beast to teddy bear in a blink.

Shaking his head, he shoved past me, grumbled, “You’re gonna have to talk to me eventually,” and disappeared.

“And you.” Lacey aimed a pointed finger my way. “Get your shit together. He’s given you time to grieve, but he’s hurting, too. He lost someone, too.” She stepped closer, smelling sweet but sounding bitter. “You still have each other, so help each other.”

The firecracker dropped a blue bag at my feet, mumbling under her breath. “Puta madre. Acting like stupid little boys.” Again with a finger in my face. “I’m late to pick up Natalie, and you’re in here fighting like scrapyard dogs.” More words in Spanish.

Slowly, I registered that she’d mentioned Natalie’s name. Like a scolded child, I stood absorbing her ire. Then, she shoved the chubby, bundled baby into my sweaty arms. “Linda is waiting for me in the car. I have to go. Tell Ellis I’ll be home in a couple of hours. There are bottles in the diaper bag.” She turned to leave, then turned back, kissed her son on the forehead. More Spanish. A glare. “If I come home and my husband’s face looks anything like yours does right now, I’m going to hurt you, Cole Adams.”

With that, she stormed out the front door.

Leon’s face scrunched, then he let out a mighty wail. I got busy with the hush, hush, rock, rock. When that didn’t work, I hollered for Ellis. He didn’t come. I remembered finding Natalie singing to him on the day of the baptism. She’d looked every bit the goddess, and a natural. I’d stood in the doorway, imagined her singing to our baby, and that thought had damn near killed me.

Leon continued to cry. When Ellis finally came out from the locker room, showered and dressed, he found me, ass to the floor, crying right along with his son.

There were no words for the loss we both suffered. Regardless, I confessed. “I’m so fucking tired of hating them.”

Ellis took his son. I couldn’t look him in the eye, but I clapped his shoulder and made my way upstairs.

Under the heavy spray of hot water, I cussed and screamed and yelled. Then, I fell to my knees and gave every vile, hateful thought to God because I wasn’t strong enough to hold them anymore.

“You’re coming by later, right?” Ellis asked, his voice hopeful but unsteady over the phone.

What Ellis asked seemed impossible, but I wanted nothing more than to get away from the barrage of condolences.How are you holding up, son?I’m sorry for your loss.Holidays are always the hardest.

I’d heard them all fucking day.

“I’m not sure.”

He released a breath. “Listen. Got a bottle of whiskey from Dad. Cards are ready.”

That was the kicker. Thanksgiving tradition dictated we ended our evenings with Cubans, whiskey, and a game of poker. Me, Ellis, and Martin. For the past six years.

I stuck my fork into my second slice of apple pie.

As if reading my mind, he said, “C’mon, man. Don’t make me do this alone.”

“Yeah. Right. Sorry. I’ll be there.”

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