Page 353 of Hell Hath No Fury
Doubling over, I wrapped my hands around my middle praying I could hold back my grief. My hair fell around my face,the strands sticking to my lips as I sucked back giant gasps of air, struggling against my devastation.
For the last fifteen years, Jen had been my best friend. We were closer than sisters, building a life that we knew would always include each other.
She'd promised me she'd live. For the first time in our friendship—she'd become a liar.
"Fuck!" The curse ripped from my throat, my fury a monster that could no longer be denied. "Fuck!"
The scream tore from me, escaping to fill the night with a terrible howl—I no longer sounded human. I no longer was human. I was an animal, a monster writhing with untold pain.
"Jules?" The gruff, familiar voice broke through my haze of grief.
I shot upright, searching the dusty back dock. "Ben?"
Despite being couched in shadows, I'd have recognised Jen's stepbrother anywhere–with his scruffy blond hair and piercing blue eyes, he’d always reminded me of a Hollywood actor, playing the roles others had set for him. Or at least he had–until the night he’d left.
The Ben I knew had been boyish and lanky, gorgeous but still on the cusp of manhood. Even in the dark I could see he had a new roughness about him–gone was the boy and in his place stood a man.
"It's Pope now," he corrected, watching me from where he leaned against the side of the bar.
I swiped at a stray tear, too disconcerted by his presence to be embarrassed that he'd witnessed my breakdown. "Really?"
I heard his quiet chuckle. "Yeah, really."
if anyone had asked, I'd have called him Lucifer rather than Pope, for he had led many women astray when I'd known him. And seeing him now, I had no doubt he'd continue to do so.
"You okay?" he asked, remaining in the shadow of the building.
"I—" Words failed me.
"Yeah." His bitter laugh cut through the night. "Me either."
"You didn't come to the funeral."
Pope flinched at my accusation, my sharp tone biting deep.
He ran a hand over his face. "I couldn't. I just… couldn't."
"And the wake?" I jerked my head toward the door behind me. "Couldn't face that either, I suppose?"
"You angry with me, little girl?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
"Yes," I admitted. "And no. I'm—" I shook my head helplessly, fighting the tears that clogged my throat and blurred the edge of my vision. "She should behere. Not buried under six feet of dirt."
"I know."
My nails bit into the palm of my skin. "She was twenty-five, Pope. The whole world was waiting for her, her whole life ready for the energy and love she had to bring. She—" I pressed hands to my mouth to stop the screams that threatened to pour from me. If I started, I worried I'd never stop.
Pope pushed away from the wall, tilting his head in invitation. "Come on."
"What?"
He paused, his back to me. "I said, come on."
"Where?"
He shrugged as he walked away from the bar, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "Does it matter?"
I hesitated, glancing back at the bar. Someone had turned on the jukebox, Jen's favourite song weaving its way weakly to us. Pain radiated from the hole where my heart had once been, the song yet another reminder of the loss of a friend I called sister.
