Page 117 of Retribution

I blink and stop chewing.

“I thought the cards were just a mockery, like anything they could pick up from the store. I didn’t think they had any actual meaning.” I explain.

“Well, it doesn’t seem that way to me, it seems completely targeted and full of purpose,” he continues.

We order our food and I drink more wine.

“Let me know if you receive any more?” he asks, to which I nod.

Now to get onto the gnarly stuff.

“I didn’t know about Reed’s addiction,” I confess.

“Oh.” is all he says.

“Did you not think I should have been made aware of that? Before I signed the contract?” I challenge him.

He looks up at me through his long lashes and back down at his wine.

“I wasn’t under the impression that you weren’t aware,” he responds.

“Besides, what does it matter now? You’ve fulfilled your contract, you’re free to continue with your life,” he shrugs and drinks from his glass, looking at me whilst doing so.

I don’t know why I feel so uncomfortable about telling him, but something about the way he’s looking at me makes me wish I had nothing to tell.

The server comes over with our food, I opted for a white wine pasta and Harry chose a Hawaiian pizza.

I’m guessing the love for pineapple on pizza runs in the family.

He begins to cut his pizza into slices as I formulate the words in my mouth, but no sound is coming out.

Just say it, Indie. Why are you being so difficult about it?

I press my fingers into my temples and blink a few times before conjuring the bravery to do it.

“I’m staying.”

His knife falls to the plate with a clatter, and he scrambles to pick it up, knocking the wine glass from the table as it clashes to the floor, the red liquid spilling out across the plush flooring.

I cringe as other occupants in the restaurant turn to view the commotion. Rising to my feet, grabbing my napkin, Harry does the same. I get to my knees and begin dotting away at it.

“I’ve got it,” he says.

But, I ignore him and continue absorbing the spill, knowing it was partly my fault.

“I said, I’ve got it!” he shouts, the loudness throwing me backwards onto my bum. I flinch at a sharp pain in my hand and realize I’ve dived backwards onto a shard from the broken glass.

Great.

I climb to my feet to assess the damage in better lighting and a waiter comes over with a sweeping brush and some extra napkins, ushering Harry away and ordering another server to grab him a new glass.

I analyze the large gash in the center of my hand and wince as I attempt to pull out the shard, my bodily instinct not allowing me to do it myself.

“Oh, Indie. Let me see it,” Harry says, swanning around the table to my side.

He drops down onto one knee and takes my hand in his. He licks his lips as he looks at the gash, figuring out the best way to pull it out.

“It’s in there, pretty deep.”

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