Get out of jail, get yet another crappy criminal henchman job, get his hotshot lawyer ex-girlfriend back. Oh yeah -- and get a murderous demon exorcised from his head. Jason Torres has his route back from rock-bottom perfectly planned out, right? Th...
I knew it had to be done, but the thought of deleting all my photos of him had my heart plummeting into Hamish McCloud's cast-off brogues. Maybe in a few weeks' time.
"Hey, Debs. Are you spending Christmas...with Dante?"
"Yeah. Me, Vinnie and Dante always do Christmas together."
"Is he OK?"
Debs let out a tired breath. "No, Jay. He's not OK. He lost Steph, and now you."
But Dante didn't lose me. He escaped me. He dodged a bullet.
"He'll find someone perfect," I whispered, to myself more than to Debs.
"Vinnie keeps saying that too," Debs twisted the tassels of her wheelchair blanket, "but Dante thinks that you were perfect for him."
"Perfect?" I kept my voice low, but it came out like shards of ice all the same. "I tried to kill him."
"I know. Doesn't mean he doesn't miss you. It's like he's grieving again. For you this time." Debs packed up her papers, pretending not to notice as I swatted away tears. "I'll see you in January, Jay. Happy Holidays."
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Clad in one of Hamish McCloud's thicker woolen suits to keep out the frost, I locked up the cat-lady's lair and crossed the street toward the Botanic Gardens. The number of times I thought I'd hit rock bottom over the past four years. Hadn't even been fucking close. This was a new low.
I'd called Rayan to see if he had time for a coffee before his flight. No answer. He'd probably overslept and was doing some frantic last-minute packing. I'd called Robby to see if he wanted an evening of pollo guisado and shitty Christmas movies. No answer. He was probably with Jade, waiting for Santa to come down the chimney. Or tear through the drywall, or whatever Santa did these days.
Totally fucking desperate, I'd called Leila. And of course she was free, and of course she and Yves would love for me to spend Christmas with them, and of course it wasn't any trouble, and of course they couldn't wait to see me.
I'd been pretty fucking impressed to see that Leila's apartment wasn't a penthouse somewhere in the Financial District, or a mansion on Huertas Island. She and Yves lived in one of a long row of unobtrusive Ángel brownstones opposite the Botanic Garden.
A wizened concierge buzzed me up. Leila greeted me at the door with a smile. I'd been a nervous panicking mess all the way to the apartment, but seeing a familiar face again somehow fixed everything. In fact, all my nerves were washed away by Leila's smile. She looking so fucking...radiant, like she had done at Casper Vogel's fundraiser. Like some kinda glowing goddess. I took in all of her.
Oh. So, that's why she looked totally fucking amazing.
Leila had a baby-bump. A truly enormous baby-bump. Like a we-seriously-needed-to-call-the-fucking-hospital baby-bump.
