making threats here.”
"This is about Henry, isn't it? You are jealous.”
No point in forcing her to face the truth if he didn't. "You're god-damned right I'm jealous of Henry! I don't want to share that much of you with anyone else. Especially not with someone who . . . who . . .” Mike Celluci didn't have the words to explain how he felt about Henry Fitzroy and even if he had, it was none of Vicki's business. The edge of his hand chopped off the thought. "We're not talking about Henry, we're talking about us.”
"There's nothing wrong with us ." She looked everywhere but at the man standing across the room. "Why can't we just go on the way we have been?”
"Because we're not going anywhere!”
She jerked at each staccato word.
"Vicki, I'm tired of being nothing more than your buddy. You've got to realize that I . . .”
"Shut up!" Her hands had curled into fists.
"Oh, no." He shook his head. "You're going to hear it this time.”
"This is my apartment. I don't have to hear anything .”
"Oh, yes you do." He crossed to stand directly in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet, his hands a careful distance away.
As much as he wanted to grab her and shake her, he didn't want to deal with the return violence he knew would follow. A quick game of Who's more macho? would add nothing to the situation. "This isn't going to be the last time I say this, Vicki, so you'd better get used to it. I love you. I want a future with you. Why is it so hard for you to accept that?”
"Why can't you just accept me, us, the way I am. We are." The words were forced out through clenched teeth.
He shoved the lock of hair back off his forehead and unsuccessfully tried to calm his breathing. "I've spent five fucking years accepting you and us . It's time you met me halfway.”
"Get out.”
"What?”
"Get out of my apartment! NOW!”
Trembling with the need to hold himself in check, he pushed past her and grabbed his coat off the hook by the door. Jabbing his arms into the sleeves, he turned. His own anger made it impossible for him to read her expression. "Just one more thing, Vicki. I am not your fucking father.”
The door closed behind him with enough force to shake the building.
A heartbeat later it opened again.
"And don't forget to call your mother!”
The coffee mug exploded into a thousand pieces against the wood.
"And did you?”
"Did I what?" Vicki snapped. Giving Henry the gist of the fight had put her in nearly as bad a mood as the fight had. It didn't help that she knew she should've kept her mouth shut but when Henry had asked what was bothering her, she couldn't seem to stop a repeat of the whole infuriating conversation from pouring out.
"Did you call your mother?"
"No. I didn't." She turned to face the window, jabbed at her glasses, and glared out at the darkness. "I wasn't exactly in the mood to talk to my mother. I went down to Missing Persons and nailed Mr. Simmons/O'Conner to the wall instead."
"Did that make you feel better?"
"No. Although it might have if they'd let me use real nails.”
A facetious comment spoken with complete and utter sincerity. Even from across the room Henry could feel pulsing waves of anger radiating off of her. He wished now that he hadn't asked, that he'd ignored her mood and never been subjected to Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci's all-too-accurate analysis of Vicki's inability to commit. But now that he'd heard it, he couldn't let it rest. Vicki would continue to think about what Celluci had said, had obviously been thinking of little else since Celluci had slammed out of her apartment, and, now that her nose had been rubbed in it, would in time see it for the truth. At which point she would have to choose.
He wouldn't lose her. If that meant taking the day as well as the night, his love gave him a right equal to Celluci's to assert a claim.
You raised the stakes, mortal, he told the other man silently. Remember that.
He stood
"This is about Henry, isn't it? You are jealous.”
No point in forcing her to face the truth if he didn't. "You're god-damned right I'm jealous of Henry! I don't want to share that much of you with anyone else. Especially not with someone who . . . who . . .” Mike Celluci didn't have the words to explain how he felt about Henry Fitzroy and even if he had, it was none of Vicki's business. The edge of his hand chopped off the thought. "We're not talking about Henry, we're talking about us.”
"There's nothing wrong with us ." She looked everywhere but at the man standing across the room. "Why can't we just go on the way we have been?”
"Because we're not going anywhere!”
She jerked at each staccato word.
"Vicki, I'm tired of being nothing more than your buddy. You've got to realize that I . . .”
"Shut up!" Her hands had curled into fists.
"Oh, no." He shook his head. "You're going to hear it this time.”
"This is my apartment. I don't have to hear anything .”
"Oh, yes you do." He crossed to stand directly in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet, his hands a careful distance away.
As much as he wanted to grab her and shake her, he didn't want to deal with the return violence he knew would follow. A quick game of Who's more macho? would add nothing to the situation. "This isn't going to be the last time I say this, Vicki, so you'd better get used to it. I love you. I want a future with you. Why is it so hard for you to accept that?”
"Why can't you just accept me, us, the way I am. We are." The words were forced out through clenched teeth.
He shoved the lock of hair back off his forehead and unsuccessfully tried to calm his breathing. "I've spent five fucking years accepting you and us . It's time you met me halfway.”
"Get out.”
"What?”
"Get out of my apartment! NOW!”
Trembling with the need to hold himself in check, he pushed past her and grabbed his coat off the hook by the door. Jabbing his arms into the sleeves, he turned. His own anger made it impossible for him to read her expression. "Just one more thing, Vicki. I am not your fucking father.”
The door closed behind him with enough force to shake the building.
A heartbeat later it opened again.
"And don't forget to call your mother!”
The coffee mug exploded into a thousand pieces against the wood.
"And did you?”
"Did I what?" Vicki snapped. Giving Henry the gist of the fight had put her in nearly as bad a mood as the fight had. It didn't help that she knew she should've kept her mouth shut but when Henry had asked what was bothering her, she couldn't seem to stop a repeat of the whole infuriating conversation from pouring out.
"Did you call your mother?"
"No. I didn't." She turned to face the window, jabbed at her glasses, and glared out at the darkness. "I wasn't exactly in the mood to talk to my mother. I went down to Missing Persons and nailed Mr. Simmons/O'Conner to the wall instead."
"Did that make you feel better?"
"No. Although it might have if they'd let me use real nails.”
A facetious comment spoken with complete and utter sincerity. Even from across the room Henry could feel pulsing waves of anger radiating off of her. He wished now that he hadn't asked, that he'd ignored her mood and never been subjected to Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci's all-too-accurate analysis of Vicki's inability to commit. But now that he'd heard it, he couldn't let it rest. Vicki would continue to think about what Celluci had said, had obviously been thinking of little else since Celluci had slammed out of her apartment, and, now that her nose had been rubbed in it, would in time see it for the truth. At which point she would have to choose.
He wouldn't lose her. If that meant taking the day as well as the night, his love gave him a right equal to Celluci's to assert a claim.
You raised the stakes, mortal, he told the other man silently. Remember that.
He stood
Similar Books
Woman Walks into a Bar
Rowan Coleman
Gunship
J. J. Snow
The Portable William Blake
William Blake
Lady of Fire
Anita Mills
Under the Gun (CEP Book 3)
Harper Bentley
Inner Diva
Laurie Larsen
State of Wonder
Ann Patchett
The Cape Ann
Faith Sullivan
Bombshell (AN FBI THRILLER)
Catherine Coulter
The Wrong Sister
Kris Pearson