Those words were said in my voice because they came from my mouth.
Ham, still bent over the desk, tipped only his head back to look at me.
“What?” he asked.
I’d started it. I didn’t mean to. I had other things to say. Other things to ask.
But I’d done it because I wanted to know. I’d wanted to know for a while. So I had to go with it.
“We never got done talkin’ the other night at The Rooster. You didn’t get to the part about February Owens.”
Ham didn’t move, body nor eyes, when he asked, “What about her?”
This wasn’t new, awesomer, forthcoming Ham. This was don’t-ask, don’t-tell Ham and him going back to that, especially on this particular topic, sent a chill spreading over my skin.
Even so, I carried on.
“I don’t think it’ll come as a surprise, darlin’, that after that went down, I didn’t avoid it. They had a special report on what happened with Dennis Lowe, an hour long, on one of the channels and I watched it. They said all the men who got killed were her”—I paused before I said—“lovers. Even her ex-husband got it.”
“And?”
That was it?
I couldn’t say I knew what I wanted to get. His confirmation they were lovers coupled with a firm declaration it was over, he was over it, and he’d moved on would be good. What would be better would be his firm declaration he’d moved on because he’d realized he’d always been in love with me.
What wasn’t good was
“Were you her lover?” I pushed.
“Yes,” he answered.
I waited.
He said no more and went back to scribbling something.
I had no idea how to take this except badly.
“Ham?” I called.
“Yeah,” he said to the desk, not looking at me.
That chill on my skin grew colder.
Then I looked to the side. This was not the right time. I was tired. It was after three in the morning. And Ham obviously wasn’t in the mood.
I should never have said anything.
“Zara, you got somethin’ to say?” Ham asked and I looked at him to see him again looking at me.
I shook my head. “No.”
Ham nodded and went back to doing the shit he had to do to finish the night at the bar.
It wasn’t until we were in the truck that either of us spoke again and it was Ham who did it.
“Care about her,” he declared.
I looked to him, seeing his face illuminated only by the lights of the dash so I couldn’t read it, and I asked, “What?”
“Feb,” he answered. “Care about her. Always will.”
It was then I knew I
It was not a surprise he cared about her or always would. He was that kind of guy. He was also the kind of guy who was honest. I’d asked. He gave me the truth.
I still found this unsettling and I figured this was mostly because his declaration was present tense, which wasn’t bad, as such. It was just that nothing came after it.
I looked out the side window.
“She’s got a man, babe. She’s havin’ a baby. She might already have had it.”
In other words, beautiful February Owens was very taken.
So what did that mean? Was I the consolation prize? Ham rethought his life after getting literally axed by an ax murderer, his first choice was shacked up so he turned to Gnaw Bone?
I thought this.
I said nothing.
“Care about you, too, cookie,” he said softly.
He cared about me.
That I knew. I’d always known.
But that didn’t mean shit when you were planning on building a life with a man. Suing for fucking custody of your nephew with him.
Getting Zander was Ham’s idea in the first place and, by the way, what was
He wanted kids. He’d wanted them since his bitch ex-wife, Rachel, aborted the two he could have given to her. Decades, he’d wanted kids.
So was Zander his shot for getting one and quick?
“Zara, you’re quiet,” Ham observed.
“I’m tired,” I semi-lied.
“Next time that old man wants to drag you up a mountain, I’m keepin’ you in bed with me,” he replied.
I again said nothing.
We went the rest of the way home in silence and, once there, I wasted no time going to the bathroom and getting ready for bed. I didn’t look up at Ham as I passed him when I left the bathroom and he was on his way to it. I just climbed into bed, turned my back to Ham’s side, and curled up under the covers.
Minutes later, Ham joined me. Seconds later, his hands were on me, attempting to roll me into a cuddle.
I resisted, pulling away and muttering, “I’m not in the mood tonight, darlin’.”
I felt Ham still before I felt him retreat.
The light went out and the bed moved with Ham settling then there was nothing.
Not until he said into the dark room, “Before, you were flippin’ me out. Now, you’re pissin’ me off.”
“Why?” I asked.
“This shit you’re pullin’,” he answered.
This shit I was pulling?
I decided not to rise to the bait. “I’m just tired, Ham. I’m not pullin’ any shit.”
“You are, and you’re full of shit, too.”
That, I couldn’t let slide so I lifted up on a forearm and twisted my head to look in his direction. “How am I full of shit? I went to bed last night at three thirty in the morning and got out of it at seven thirty. I’ve had four hours of sleep.”
Ham, being all I knew that was Ham, didn’t hesitate to lay it out honestly.
“You asked that shit about Feb, didn’t like my answers, now you’re pouting.”
Unfortunately, although this was somewhat close to the truth, now I was pissed off.
“I’m not pouting,” I snapped.
“Tell me when we have ever shared the same bed and, even if we didn’t fuck, you didn’t sleep the whole goddamned night somehow cuddled into me.”
I had no reply mostly because there was never a time, not once, when we shared the same bed where I didn’t sleep snuggled close to Ham.
“Yeah,” he stated, knowing from my nonresponse that he’d made his point.
With no other retort open to me, and angrier because of it, I repeated, “I’m not pouting, Ham.”
“You weren’t my first, babe, but you’re gonna be my last,” he declared.
Unthinking, too ticked to think, I shot back, “Lucky me Feb was taken, or I wouldn’t get that.”
After I finished speaking, I noted the air in the room instantly got heavy, and not the good, warm, safe kind. The bad, dangerous, suffocating kind.
And I didn’t care.
