ADDICTED

1

Fuck. Rubbing my temple, I turned from the mirror and strode to the door.

Her solemn face greeted me. Though her makeup was flawless, masking the signs of age around her mouth and eyes, her eyes were tinged with pain.

The grief my mother had endured these last months was something no parent should ever have to endure.

Not only had her son died, but he'd been murdered. The case of a murdered socialite had been very public, not just in my family's affluent circles but in the medical community as well.

It wasn't as though my father helped to ease her grief, either. They may have both been shitty parents but at least my mother tried to care.

Our father would rather be putting on a green than here, I did not doubt it. His greatest love in life was success, and his son's death was the greatest failure of all. Although he would never admit it, I knew he believed Jarrod was a disgrace.

His son had committed the ultimate treason by obsessing over some plebeian girl who got him killed.

She might as well have killed him herself.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I answered my mother, folding my darkening thoughts away.

Her eyes welled with tears as she leaned up onto her tiptoes, cupping my cheeks in her papery palms. I closed my eyes to seal off the heartfelt look on her face. I couldn't bear her pain, too.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted a wall inside my mind to protect my already shattered heart.

"Oh, James." She shuddered with a sob. "I don't know when we'll ever be okay again."

I opened my eyes and stooped down to wrap my arms around her.

We stood that way until my father shouted for us in the foyer. My mother and I parted with a knowing look. Aside from me, she probably cared the most for Jarrod, and our anguish bonded us tighter than ever before.

My father waited for us in the foyer with my sister. His suit matched my own and I realized how similar we looked, both tall and lean with severe faces. When our eyes met, the distance in his struck me directly in the chest.

His mouth curved downward as he turned to the door. I glanced at Julia.

Her short black lace dress contrasted the sterile white granite floors and pale cream walls around us. She was always thin, but she appeared truly gaunt now. Her gaze never left the floor.

I hadn't given much thought to Julia's feelings lately, so consumed by my own.

Not too long ago, I had been seated beside her in the hospital while she grieved over the loss of her unborn child. Even Jarrod had come to see her, but he'd been so distracted by that woman that his heart wasn't in it. I thought then that our family was crumbling.

Those were our last days together, all of us. How pitiful that tragedy was the only way to bring us together?

We all followed my father through the front door. A freshly waxed, cream-colored Cadillac waited under the portico for us. We piled in, my father in the passenger seat and the rest of us in the back. Julia chose the middle seat but I noticed how she subtly leaned closer to my side.

As the driver guided us to the cemetery, one of her hands drifted down to palm the side of her stomach. She often touched her belly in some mindless, reminiscent way.

I wondered if she still felt pregnant. Maybe for her, it was like she had lost a limb and now phantom pains haunted her.

Feeling my gaze, Julia lifted her eyes to mine. Her pupils were dark, unreadable.