And I am more than happy to oblige.
It might be dangerous, risky even, but this is the happiest I have felt in so long, I’m afraid it might just be real.
7
LIGHTNING RIPS THROUGHthe sky, and everything inside me freezes—my heart seizes, my lungs lock, my limbs go limp. I can’t scream; I can’t move. It’s as if the bolt reached in and cut every wire in my body. Memories of Lillian—her laughing face, her bright hair—lash through my mind, and I’m a prisoner of terror. No matter how many years pass, nothing changes.
It takes me a minute to gather myself, to get out of my car, to pull myself together. I do, just barely. Then, I slip into Chief’s compound and see Travis right away, leaning against a railing in the yard. He catches my eye, offers that award-winning grin, and I can’t help but return it. Chief is sitting in a lawn chair with Jaq straddling his lap, her lipstick-slick mouth grazing his neck.
I scowl. “Ugh, get a room.”
Chief lifts his head, flashing that patented dazzling smile. “Sorry, baby.”
I walk over, leaning down and hugging him, purposefully shoving Jaq out of the way as I do. She mutters something, which only makes me grin.
“Hi, Daddy,” I say before pulling back.
“Always good to see you, darlin’. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I force a smile and meet his eyes.
He knows what this weather does to me, but he’ll never say anything in front of people.
He turns to Travis and changes the subject. “Phoenix, where’s your usual lineup of beauties?”
“Taking the night off,” Travis says, raising his hands. “A man’s gotta breathe.”
“Rena,” Chief calls. “Show our boy a good time. He’s losing his touch.”
Rena, one of the clubs sweetbutts, sashays over in impossibly high heels. Travis straightens and puts a hand up, stopping her. “Not tonight.”
Rena pouts.
“You good, brother?” Chief asks.
Travis nods, raising his beer. “I’m good.”
Chief ushers Jaq off his lap and pats the empty seat next to him. “So, Mischief, what’s new?”
“Nothing much,” I say, sinking into the plastic chair and cracking open a beer. “Work’s busy.”
A crack of lightning—sharp, deafening—splinters the night. It is so close it catches me off guard, the sheer sound of it is enough to bring me to my knees. My beer bottle slips from my fingers, shatters on the ground beneath me. I can’t breathe. Chief is on his feet in a heartbeat, pulling me to my feet. He has experienced the worst of my trauma, and he knows what it does to me.
“Inside, baby,” he murmurs, curling an arm around me and leading me in through the side door.
I stay like a statue, vision flooded by Lillian’s face, until another thunderclap shakes the house.
Chief whispers over and over, “It’s not your fault. It’s over now.”
He takes me to my room, where it’s darker, safer, and we sit on the side of the bed. I drop my head, tears falling down my cheeks and onto the floor.
“It wasn’t your fault, baby,” Chief murmurs. “You know it wasn’t.”
It doesn’t matter what he says.
I’ll never believe it.
“I need to be alone,” I say, softly, as soft as my voice will allow.