Screw It

by Nicki DeStasi

  “Why’s that?”

  “Did some digging. Guy’s name is Robert Pierce. He’s married. Has a daughter who’s twenty-six. He finally called back, and I got him to come down to the station. He was away on a business trip and just got home this morning. Admitted to having dinner with Sharon, but said it was a business meeting. Seeing as she searches for art talent, and he’s in ads, I asked what kind of business meeting. He said she was thinking about moving to advertising and wanted advice. Considering Paul said she loved her job, I seriously doubt that. Asked how they met, and he said it was at an art show a few months ago. That seems legit. Coroner said Sharon died between midnight and three. Robert was at Logan Airport by one to board a red-eye to London at two thirty. There is a window, but that window is tiny. He also asked after her repeatedly. When I finally informed him that she’d passed, he sounded genuinely upset. I think there’s more to this, but my gut is telling me he’s not involved.”

  Letting all that sink in, I drop my head and put a fist to my hip. “Right. Guy’s fucking around on his wife and doesn’t want that to get out. We should check camera footage to confirm the time he arrived at the airport. Waitress said they left around nine. If Sharon died at midnight, he’d have to be the fastest murderer in history to get to Logan by one, seeing as it takes ’bout an hour to get there. We’ll check the footage. If it confirms the time of arrival, then he’s got an alibi. It’d be a weak one ’cause he could have done it and then hauled ass. We can also check toll times and estimate his speed to make that alibi stronger or weaker. Then, we can go from there.”

  “Knew you were a smart kid.” There’s humor in his tone.

  I smile wide. “Right. See you tomorrow. Might be in a little late ’cause I got shit to take care of tonight.”

  “Date?” His tone is light, teasing.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Gonna expand on that?”

  I smirk. “No.”

  “Right. See ya tomorrow.”

  “Later.”

  I touch the screen on my phone and slide it into my back pocket. Then, I push through the door and set about commencing Operation Daze and Wow.

  Dead

  This is such a clusterfuck.

  “What the hell, Becca?” Brian’s loud voice reaches my ears.

  “Leave.” Zach sounds firm, angry.

  The last call was made, so I’m flying around the bar, but I’m doing it with fear pumping through my head.

  “You said we were good on Friday.” Brian’s voice is heard over the crowd.

  “You need to leave.” Zach’s voice grows closer to livid.

  “You said we were starting something new. Why the hell is this asshole here?”

  I did say that. When Brian caught me on my way home on Saturday, I said we were starting over and needed to go slow, so I could avoid him coming into my apartment.

  “Man, she doesn’t exist to you. She did tell me you’ve been harassing her all—”

  “Fuck off!” Brian shouts.

  “You’re close to getting yourself arrested on harassment charges.”

  “We just had dinner last night, Becca. I think you need to tell me what the hell is going on here.”

  Brian, it turns out, is a private investigator. He told me so when he surprised me at Mario’s, wanting to take me to his house because he’d made dinner for me. I stalled, saying it was too early and maybe we could just stay and eat at Mario’s. He not only knew I worked there, but he also knew everything he could find on me. To say I went from freaked to scared would put that understatement in the running for the understatement of the month. His job also explained why he had a gun. My foster father owned a gun, so guns didn’t bother me unless a crazy person was wielding it.

  “She doesn’t need to tell you shit. You need to leave.”

  “No fucking way. That’s my girl.”

  This is why ice is flowing through my veins, and my hair is standing at attention on my neck. The feeling in my stomach says the crazy I got from Brian on Friday was child’s play compared to what’s coming tonight.

  “Problem here?” Brick, the bouncer, asks.

  “This asshole”—there’s a pause, but I can’t see what’s going on—“won’t fuck off,” Brian says.

  “I’m a detective with the WPD, and this man is harassing your bartender.”

  “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “She’s not.”

  “Becca,” Brick calls.

  I twist my neck in their direction.

  “This man your boyfriend?”

  Glancing at Brian, the color drains from my face. If I wasn’t terrified of Brian’s reaction after Zach walks me home—a walk I know will happen, no matter what I say—I’d tell Brian to fuck off. But I am terrified.

  “Um…” Shit! “Yes?” My voice is shrill—not wanting to say the word, but too scared to say no.

  “See!”

  Brick lifts an eyebrow at Brian. “Sir, that does not look like a woman who wants to be your girlfriend.”

  “She just said she was!”

  “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

  “No way!”

  “Hey, Sue. Detective Moretti. Can you send a unit to Hole?”

  “This is bullshit.” Brian levels me with a glare. “You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  No, I do not want to tell him what the fuck is going on. I want to make a long overdue phone call to Matt—and move to Canada. “Um…”

  “Right. Later.” Zach pockets his phone and addresses Brian, “We’re going outside and waiting on the cruiser. You’ll be arrested and held on harassment charges. Tomorrow, when Becca and I wake up, I’ll bring her down to the station, and she’s gonna file a restraining order.”

  When Becca and I wake up?

  My eyes widen, and I lean back. “Zach—”

  “You’re staying the night at her place?” Brian’s face pales.

  “No!”

  I’m ignored.

  “When I dropped her off on Friday, she was not good with you. So, that tells me you went to her in the middle of the night and made it all good. Judging by the look on my woman’s face, she did not like how you made it all good. You’ll be sitting in a jail cell, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use that one phone call to make tonight uncomfortable for her. I’ll be at her place to make sure she doesn’t feel uncomfortable.”

  I tell myself that the warmth in my belly that formed around the time Zach announced he’s taking care of me is heartburn.

  Brian’s focus shifts to me. He scans my face, and his eyes look troubled. His voice is soft and unbelieving as he asks, “Baby, you really gonna get a restraining order?”

  I hesitate. The look on his face, the tone of his voice, and the way he holds his body loose say he’s not delivering a warning, but he’s genuinely asking.

  My heart thunders, but I nod.

  “Christ.” Brian drops his head. “Fuck.”

  The customers drift away as they get their drinks while Brian looks at his boots.

  This goes on for a full minute before he lifts his head, his eyes drawn and his jaw tight. “I scared you.”

  I hesitate, my eyes tense, before I nod.

  “Jesus.” He looks away before drawing his eyes back to me. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought you were getting there and just fighting it.”

  I bite my lip, but my body relaxes. “I wasn’t feeling anything for you. I told you how it was.”

  “Fuck.” He looks down and takes in a deep breath. When he lifts his head, he runs his gaze to Zach and Brick and then back to me. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t want to scare you. I wanted you, and I thought I had to push my way in because you wanted me, too, but couldn’t admit it. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. If you get a restraining order, it’ll fuck with my business. I’ve spent the last ten years building it from scratch, and I can’t lose that. It’s my livelihood. I’m asking you to trust that you got through to me and not file the restraining order. I promise, this
is the last time you’ll see me.”

  My eyes narrow as they travel across his face, unsure if this is another ploy.

  “I swear, Becca.”

  I lick my lips and take in his soft face and raised brows.

  Aside from the way he uses his cock, I don’t know him well at all. But from what I’ve seen, he wears his heart on his sleeve. I scrape my teeth along the flesh of my bottom lip, biting it, as I consider what he said.

  Finally, I sigh. “Okay.”

  “Becca—” Zach’s voice is low.

  I shoot my eyes to him. “Zach, seriously, this is none of your damn business. I just want this done. He says it’s done, so I’m not wasting my time.”

  “You wanna take that chance and not document this shit? When it happens again—”

  “I said I was stepping down, so I’m stepping down.” Brian moves closer to Zach.

  Zach has maybe half an inch on him and about ten pounds, but both of them would walk away bleeding in a fight.

  “Becca, honey.” The sound of Jenn’s voice draws my attention. “Looks like you have some personal stuff going on. Last call came and went. You go home. Melissa and I got this.”

  My mouth drops. “But—”

  “Work it out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  My stomach flips. “But—”

  She grabs my bicep. “Honey, I’m not mad. Shit happens. Go home, and work it out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sucking in air, I study her face, praying these two dickheads didn’t just get my ass fired. Her face is relaxed, her eyes gentle. She seems sincere, so I nod.

  After I grab my shit and hit the door, Zach’s standing on the sidewalk, his hands tucked into his pockets. Brian is nowhere in sight.

  I cross my arms. “Brian leave?”

  He nods. “Yeah, took off when you went out back. Said to tell you he’s sorry again, and he’ll stay true to his word. I called off the cruiser. Babe, I’m telling you though, you should at least make a statement, so that shit’s on file.”

  My shoulders droop. I roll my eyes and give a slight shake of my head. “I don’t care what you say. He scared me, yes, but he said it’s done. In the short time I’ve known him, he’s always done what he says he’s gonna do. I’ll take him at that. I work fifteen-hour days, and I’m fucking exhausted. I’m not wasting my time.”

  He steps closer, and I take a step back.

  “Not a waste, sweets.”

  I tilt my head back to look at the sky. “I’m talking to a brick wall.”

  “I like you thinking I’m solid.”

  I snap my gaze back to him, and his lip is twitching.

  “You’re such a dick.” My voice is sharp.

  “Glad you remember my dick, too.”

  I blatantly ignore feeling that on my clit.

  “God!” I throw my hands in the air and stomp toward my apartment.

  He falls in step next to me, but thankfully, he doesn’t say a word.

  When we hit my apartment building, I clomp up the steps and open the door to the building. I fully intend on slamming it in his face without a backward glance, but once it’s open, it doesn’t move. I glance behind me, and Zach’s holding the doorframe.

  I clench my teeth and then open my mouth to tell him to go away, but he gets there first. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  My eyes get huge. “No—”

  “Not leaving you alone tonight.”

  My pulse skyrockets, and I glare. “You—”

  “Not after what happened Friday.”

  My eyeballs shoot fire, and the glare I give him still isn’t enough. “I’m not your concern.”

  He purses his lips as he absorbs my glare. Finally, he sighs. “You’ve had a tough day, so I’ll give you this. But I don’t want you to be alone tonight. Call family, a friend, whatever to come over. I’ll wait until whoever it is gets here.”

  My heart clenches at family, squeezes tighter at friend, and convulses at whatever. The fire dies in my eyes as the hollowness drifts in. I try to hold on to the anger. I can’t. It’s gone, smothered to death by the loneliness.

  His eyes narrow, so I look away.

  “Sweetheart.” His voice is low and soft, letting me know he caught what his words did to me. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

  I shake my head, the loneliness throbbing. The past four days are beating down on me. I have nothing and no one. I have no one to take my back when I might not be safe. I won’t call Matt, not at two in the morning and not when I didn’t tell him about Brian. Matt would be here in a heartbeat, but he’d also hit the roof.

  “You’re alone.”

  My only response to Zach stating the heartrending truth is my sharp intake of air.

  “Let me look out for you tonight.”

  I shake my head. “Zach, no. No way.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll sleep in the hall then.”

  My head snaps back. “What?”

  “I’ll sleep in the hall outside your apartment.”

  “Are you serious?” My tone is harder.

  “Yes.”

  “Zach, seriously, I’ll be fine.”

  “I know ’cause I’m gonna make sure you are.”

  I search his eyes. I ignore that hearing those words—even from him, even if it’s horseshit—makes my belly warm. From the way his face is set, I know I’m not talking him out of it. And on the off chance that Brian comes, it would be good to have someone to take the heat. The heat on Friday was hot, and if Brian does come, that heat will be volcanic.

  On top of those two valid points, there’s no more in me to argue. Brian’s crazy shit, Zach’s pushy shit, finding the time to buy a truck, land permits, perfect recipes—all of it is piling up, and something’s got to give.

  “You know what? Fine. You want to sleep on the dirty floor outside my apartment, have at it. No skin off my nose.”

  His lips press together, fighting a smirk, and he waves a hand for me to go ahead.

  I sigh and do it loudly.

  My heart stops. I can’t breathe.

  The paramedics are wheeling a gurney out past the living room, which would bring me relief if the sheet wasn’t covering her entire body and even her face. I’ve watched enough TV shows to know that can only mean she’s dead.

  My mama is dead.

  “Mama!” I screech at the top of my lungs and take off in a sprint, adrenaline pumping through my body. Tears blur my vision.

  Officer Bradley catches me around the waist and stops me from getting to my mother.

  Denial claws up my throat. I scream and kick at air. “No!”

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs.

  My red curls fly across my face, and I thrash wildly, frantically, desperately.

  This isn’t happening.

  If I can just see her, she’ll open her eyes. She’ll smile at me and say, “Hey, pretty girl.” She will. I know she will because my mama can’t be dead.

  The longer I struggle, the farther away they wheel her. Desperation crawls from the inside out, taking over my body. I knee Officer Bradley in the nuts—hard. He wheezes and loosens his grip on me just enough for me to slip from his arms.

  I sprint out of the house and to the sidewalk where they’re pushing the gurney toward the ambulance. A crowd has gathered, but I barely register the faceless people in my mission to get to my mama.

  Before anyone can stop me, I reach out and pull the sheet from my mama’s body. Reality slaps me so hard that I fall backward and land hard on my butt. I shake my head because I can’t understand how my mother’s beautiful face went from slightly too pale to a white-blue tinge in a few hours.

  She doesn’t look sick anymore.

  She looks dead.

  It starts low in my stomach—building, swirling, churning, burning, tearing my insides out—until finally, the scream rips out of me. A bloodcurdling shriek fills my apartment, and I shoot up in bed, drenched in sweat. My mind is a chaoti
c disarray, fighting to shut down and block the memory out.

  She doesn’t look sick anymore.

  The piercing cries end when my stomach rolls. I cover my mouth with my hand and dash to the bathroom. Lifting the lid, I purge the memory.

  She looks dead.

  Sweating, shaking, puking, and dry-heaving, my tears stream down my face and into the toilet. My body aches from my trembling muscles.

  Dead.

  Memories flash.

  Mama’s dead.

  Can’t hear anything but white noise.

  Dead.

  Can’t smell anything but my mama’s vomit.

  Mama’s dead.

  Can’t feel anything but the thump on my ass when it hits the ground.

  Dead.

  I can’t see anything but her cold, lifeless body.

  Dead.

  Leaning against the wall, my eyes shut, and I finally fall asleep. What feels like seconds later, a head-splitting scream jolts me awake. Looking around, I remember I’m sitting outside Becca’s place. After I get my bearings, it sinks in that the scream is coming from inside her apartment.

  “What the fuck?”

  I jump to my feet, wondering if that shit-brick got past me. The shrieking finally stops. With my senses zoned in, I grab the doorknob, try it, and find it locked.

  Blood surges through my system as I bang on the door. “Becca!”

  Nothing.

  “Jesus Christ. Fucking fuck.” I bang again, wired right the fuck out. “Becca!”

  Still nothing.

  I lift a boot and kick the door hard.

  Crack.

  Fractures form where the locks are.

  Another kick, and I throw everything I have into it. The door swings open on its hinges, and splinters fly everywhere as the door smashes against the wall. I hit the light switch on the wall next to the door. Light floods the apartment, but other than the mussed bedsheets, the entire place is spotless.

  No Becca.

  Retching comes from the bathroom, so I move to it. Standing in the doorway, I let out a breath, my muscles relaxing. Almost as soon as the panic seeps out, my chest compresses. Becca’s kneeling in front of the toilet, and her red hair is everywhere—down her back, fanning around her, in the toilet. Sobs and fucking heaving fill the small place. Her whole body shakes as her back moves up and down. From the lack of anything hitting the water, she’s already gotten it out, and all she’s doing is dry-heaving.