Page 42 of Twisted Roses

She gets up with our bowls in hand and walks them to the sink in the kitchen. The air changes between us. Any playfulness is long gone. The toxic feelings reemerge as a distinct mood, no longer on pause.

I sigh, aware of what I have to do. In my lifetime, I’ve done bad things. I’m not a good guy. I’m possibly the most selfish asshole alive.

But I don’t like hurting Delphine. If it’s necessary, I’ll do what I have to, but it’s never been something I look forward to. I discovered this when I was seventeen, the first time I broke up with her. Her tears were so unbearable, I couldn’t drive off fast enough.

There’s one recent thing that hurt her I do regret.

She’s washing the bowls out when I approach the counter. I reach over and twist off the faucet. The bowls I take and set down. I want her undivided attention. Thrown by what I’ve done, her expression is plain and simple.

What do you want?

“I said something I shouldn’t have. You’re right—it was a punishment. I was pissed and spiteful so I tried to hurt you. It felt good in the moment. But then the guilt came. For once, I felt bad about something I said. Probably because it’s not true and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Salvatore…” She shakes her head to ward off whatever it is I’m about to say. “I wasn’t expecting an apology.”

“I don’t care if you weren’t expecting it. I’m giving it. I don’t think you’re fucked up, Phi. It’s the opposite—the world’s fucked up and you’re too good for it. But you keep fighting for it, even though it’s hopeless. You try anyway. I respect that about you. Always have.”

The softness returns to her face. “I appreciate you saying that.”

“But I’m never going to apologize for getting rid of Mr. Investment Banker,” I go on, taking a risk with the grin that slants across my lips. “He was a prick and you know it.”

“You are truly one of a kind.” She laughs in disbelief.

Just like that, the playfulness returns and the pause is back on. Delphine makes sure I take my medication and rest up some more. The only reason I agree to either is because I use the time to tease the hell out of her.

She pretends it’s beneath her, but I catch the secret smiles when she thinks I’m no longer watching. She’s enjoying this situation as much as I am. So much so, she ends up spending the night.

* * *

The sprained shoulder’s nothing. I don’t even plan on wearing my sling when Delphine’s gone. The broken ribs are more inconvenient than anything. Sharp twinges of pain if I move the wrong way. The bruises and scrapes don’t matter at all.

Surprisingly, it’s the concussion doing the most damage. It prevents me from thinking straight. It makes me dizzy when taking steps and even lying down. The headaches don’t help and I find sleep fitful.

When I wake the next morning, the room’s spinning. The light hurts my eyes. I scowl and squint and turn my head away. Getting up out of bed is equally unpleasant. My body aches and my head pounds. I feel like shit.

The door opens and Delphine hurries over when she sees me. Pressed into my side, she tries to help me to the bathroom.

“Phi, I got it.”

“It’s okay to accept help.”

She brings me a light breakfast on a tray once I’m settled again.

“You’ve done enough. Don’t you have a campaign to run?”

“Today’s Sunday. I don’t have any events on my schedule. The mini break’s been nice. Did you hear about what happened to Brett Gannon?” she asks, sitting down on my side of the bed. “He owed thirteen million in taxes.”

“I saw an alert about that. It doesn’t surprise me Gannon would be such a coward. If he was going down, so were his wife and kids.”

A contemplative expression comes to Delphine’s face. “Brett was a member of the Neptune Society.”

“So are many people. So is your father.”

She blinks out of her thoughtful air. “I’d prefer if you not bring him up. My point was that it all seems to be connected. My attacker and the guy whose sending me—”

She falls silent, realizing she’s blurted out something she didn’t mean to.

“What guy who’s been sending you what?”

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