“I don’t need anything from you.”
“I know, but I’m just saying, I’ll make it worth your while somehow. I don’t know how, but—“
“—fine.”
“What?”
“I said fine,” I repeat myself.
“Really?” The hopelessness that was in her voice a moment ago is gone.
“I’ll be home around six tonight,” I say. “I’ll text you my address.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says.
We end the call, and I grab my briefcase and head inside. I’ve never owned so much as a goldfish in my life and now I’m going to be roommates with a depressed, homesick mutt. As much as I’m not looking forward to the next three days, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Jovie again.
Chapter Nineteen
Stone
* * *
Age 21
* * *
“What do you think of that one?” Jude slurs his words, using his beer bottle to point to a scantily-clad redhead on the other side of the bar. It’s not the first time she’s made eyes at him, and I can tell by the smug glint in his eyes that he’s enjoying the ever-loving sin out of the attention. “Should I go talk to her?”
“The hell’s the matter with you?” I want to smack some sense into him, but I doubt he’d feel it.
A week ago, Jude and Jovie got into some fight and he’s been on the prowl ever since. Deep down, I know he’s afraid to be alone. He’s not trying to be a douche on purpose. This is his built-in defense mechanism. He’s always got to have something else lined up just in case, and he’s been this way our whole lives. I’m not saying I agree with it, but Jude is Jude. This is what he does; what he’s always done.
“What?” he asks, tipping the bottle against his lips. “You think she’s sitting at home, waiting for me to call her and apologize?”
I don’t know what she’s doing tonight. I just know our place feels a little less alive without her in it. There’s no music, no flickering candles, no fluffed throw pillows. This morning I found a pair of Jude’s dirty boxers on the bathroom floor as well as a glob of toothpaste hardening in the sink. He hardly qualifies as a neat freak, but at least he was a little less of a slob when she was around.
“Mm kay.” He places his empty beer bottle on our table and pushes himself off the stool. “Wish me luck. I’m going in.”
I grab the back of his shirt in my fist and reel him in.
“Sit your ass back down before you do something you’re going to regret,” I say.
He tries to stand again, but I keep my grip on him.
“At least let me order another round,” he slurs.
By my count, he’s on his eighth beer. I should’ve cut him off a while ago. It’s a miracle he’s upright and conscious.
“I think we better pack it up.” I toss back the rest of my drink. “Wait here. I’m going to go close out my tab.”
When I return a few minutes later, Jude is gone …
And so is the redhead.
Chapter Twenty
Jovie
* * *
“You have arrived at your destination,” my GPS announces over my car speakers. “Route guidance is now finished.”
I pull up to a row of three-story brownstones in the West End, just outside of downtown, and find a parking spot. Climbing out, I grab Domino’s things from my trunk before helping him out of the backseat. He stops to sniff a patch of nearby grass, his eyes alert and his ears perked. I can’t imagine what’s going through his little mind right now, but at least Ida will be home in a few days. All of this relocating business will be over for him soon enough.
I locate house number thirty-seven and steady my bags in my arms before knocking on its glossy black door. This is exactly the kind of place I’d imagine a lawyer living. Everything is neat and manicured, yet the classic colonial architecture lends a feeling of prestige, history, law, and order.
The door opens a second later and Stone’s commanding presence fills the doorway. He leans against the jamb, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and his tie hanging loose around his shoulders.
“Good timing,” he says. “I just got home a few minutes ago. Come on in.”
I take a step across the threshold, only Domino doesn’t follow.
“Come on, buddy,” I say in my most reassuring tone.
He looks to me and then to Stone before sitting on the concrete stoop.
“He’s not used to being around men,” I say. “Maybe he’s intimidated by you? Crouch down a little.”
Stone drags in a loud breath, like he’s inconvenienced by having to stoop down to a dog’s level, but he’ll get over it.
“Now pat the tops of your thighs,” I say. “And smile.”
He shoots me a look.