“What have I done?” I whisper.
Chonk licks my face, immediately attuned to my shift in demeanor and mood. Most women would immediately blame the man. That’s for the weak, for those that have no control over their own lives and choices. This is my mistake—for letting him in. For letting Turner in and believing this would be different than anything that came before it. Another mistake, Maeve—another blunder, a sin I’ll atone for. Closing my eyes, the pain slides from my stomach and reaches my eyes in the form of tears. It makes sense though, when you love someone so much you’d die for them, be prepared to burn for them instead.
Thick emotion clogs my throat as I push Chonk away and pick the phone up to torture myself. It’s stupid, but I try to come up with a plausible explanation. I can’t see Lincoln’s face clearly, but he definitely isn’t pushing her away, nor does he seem perturbed by her attention. After the shock wears off, I text the unknown number back. Who is this?
Pacing out of my bedroom, I go into the office and close the door behind me. I couldn’t control the tears even if I wanted to, so I let them fall. Everything I fight for is under attack. The insecurity and feeling of never being good enough begins to creep back into awareness. No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough. My misplaced love will endlessly and horrendously be at the core of my self-destruction. The urge to call Ramona is squelched when I see what time it is, so instead, I pull up my messages and find a new message from Aria.
Maeve,
You will never believe what I found out! We have a notoriously famous family member! She asked to not be listed in the matching database, so this is totally private knowledge you can’t repeat. You’re bound by blood, hear me? Hah! Remember that insane weather lady that was all over the news a while ago? She’s like an aunt or something? My contact wouldn’t tell me specific details unless I, well, that doesn’t matter, but I have a boyfriend right now and can’t do what he’s asking, and I thought it was cool enough to know I’m related to her somehow. We’re not going to be able to get any more information from my contact though because he’s a loser who only thinks with his pecker. Anyway, I wonder if she’ll give a jailhouse interview. Would we be allowed to visit her as blood relatives? God, how creepy and cool would that be? Anyway, I’m thinking about flying out to see you. What do you think?
Yours in felonious blood,
Aria
Well, I can count on my new cousin to distract me completely from my splintering heart. Except something about what she’s told me gives me pause. That weather lady is a psychopath and I’m related to her. Great. Now it makes sense. They made a movie about her life and crime spree because it was freaking... obscure. What the hell does that make me? Doesn’t that kind of crazy run in the blood? To think, I wanted to find out about my heritage, and get told I have direct lineage to a murdering, pathological liar instead. Even this insanity can’t hold my attention for long because the images of Lincoln refuse to scrub from my mind. Against my better judgment, I call Lincoln. Twice. Then I text him several times. As I suspected, he’s done with me and doesn’t respond. Except I realize I do have the upper hand in a way I know he can’t ignore.
I send the final message. If you don’t care about me, maybe you’ll care about Turner. Want to talk about him? After I send it, I realize it sounds threatening and that was not my intention. I wanted it to evoke the sadness he’s causing, playing on the one thing I know for a fact he cares about.
My phone rings almost immediately and instead of feeling relief, I glower at Lincoln’s name flashing on the phone. “How can you do this to me?” I say, wincing against the hurt. “Lincoln, I thought we had something. I mean, I guess we did have something, but I didn’t realize it didn’t mean anything.”
“Maeve.” His voice cracks and he says my name weird. “Please. Not right now.”
“Don’t say please to me. Don’t say anything to me. I had to mention Turner’s name to get you to talk to me. What are you doing right now? Someone texted me photos of you and her.”
He sniffles, and I narrow my eyes in suspicion.
“Who are you doing, Lincoln? Are you with her right now?”
“What are you talking about?” He slurs every word in the statement, confirming what I guessed from the second he picked up his phone. He is drunk. Drunker than I’ve ever seen him, for sure.
“Let me get this straight, you’re too drunk to pick up my calls or answer my texts until I mention Turner’s name? How’s that make any sense unless you’re with another woman right now. Don’t you dare lie to me. Don’t you dare. I don’t deserve this.”
“I, I, I, was in the bathroom and didn’t have my phone. Maeve, please.”
I can’t help it, I scream, “Maeve please what?”
He breathes on the other end. “Is Turner okay?”
I close my eyes and let the tear roll down my cheek. “He’s fine.” I’d never play Turner against him. I love Turner too much to do that. It’s not his fault his father fucked up, though he’ll surely pay the price when I can’t see him as much. “He’s fine. He’s sleeping.” I give him more of what he wants. “We had a great day. He’s happy and loving. He’s perfect.” My voice cracks on the last
