The Peyton Brooks' Mysteries Box Set, page 176
“Benihana’s?” complained Maria. “I thought we were going somewhere really nice.”
“I said nice and fun, fun being the operative word,” said Abe.
They were shown to their seats and the demonstration began. Abe ordered sake and made sure the entire staff knew it was Peyton’s birthday. She was squeezed in between Abe and Jake with Marco at the other end of the circular table. In order to talk to him, she’d have to shout, but he gave her a shrug and an understanding smile.
With the whirl of the knives, the laughter of everyone at the table, a photographer who kept snapping pictures, and the continual flow of sake, Peyton found her head spinning by the time they brought her a dish of green tea ice cream with a candle in it. The entire restaurant sang her happy birthday, making her blush, and then they were out the door again and into the limousine where Abe opened a bottle of champagne and passed it around.
Once again, she found herself on the opposite end of the limo from her partner. She wasn’t sure she should drink any more champagne, but Abe was making ridiculous toasts, so she didn’t have much choice.
“As the good Irish are so fond of saying, in all this world, why I do think there are five reasons why we drink: good friends, good wine…” He made a face. “Lest we be dry and any other reason why.”
They all laughed and drank.
“Or this one –there are several good reasons for drinking and one has just entered my head. If a man can’t drink when he’s living, then how the heck can he drink when he is dead.”
“Enough,” said Peyton. “Where are we going now?”
“That, my darling,” he said, touching the tip of her nose with his long finger, “is a surprise.”
She glanced over at Marco and he mouthed, Abnormally large cake. She laughed and tried to cover her glass as Abe filled it again. “No strippers, Abe.”
“Don’t you worry your purty head now, sweets.”
She settled back and listened to them all laughing, coming up with some more really bad toasts. Their levity was infectious and she realized she was having a good time, but a part of her wouldn’t have minded a much quieter night.
Which was something she was not going to get.
They wound up on Folsom at the Cat Club, an 80s retro nightclub. Abe bounded out of the limo and nearly dragged Peyton to the door. Before they even made it inside, she could hear the boom of an 80s rock anthem. Stepping inside, she found herself in a crazy amalgamation of rockers in leather and chains, Goths in heavy eyeliner and black spandex, and men in drag.
A particularly beautiful drag queen wearing nine inch heels and a hot pink mini-dress caught sight of Marco and ran his hand up Marco’s arm, blowing a kiss at him. Marco closed his eyes and gave a tense nod before sidling away.
Abe peeled off into laughter, wrapping his arm around Marco’s shoulders and pulling him close. “He’s mine,” he told the drag queen.
The other man rolled his eyes and wandered into the crowd.
“I got you, Angel,” Abe said, patting his chest.
“Thank you,” said Marco with a tight smile.
Somehow Abe managed to wrangle a table in the midst of the blaring music and the pulsating lights. Peyton was intrigued by the massive disco ball rotating on the main dance floor. Marco took a seat at the table and glowered at anyone who appeared like they might approach him – male and female alike.
Peyton wanted to sit with him a moment and just people watch, but Abe dragged her to the bar to order drinks for everyone. She really didn’t need to drink anymore, but Abe was undeterred. She found herself transfixed by the woman gyrating in a go-go cage wearing a collection of black strips over her unmentionables.
Abe placed something in her hand and she looked down to see it glowing a fluorescent green with a splash of blood red in the middle of it. “What is it?” she shouted.
He said something in return, but she couldn’t hear him. He made a drinking motion with his hand and she took a sip. The blast of astringent alcohol hit her palate and she tugged on Abe’s sleeve, rising on tiptoes to shout in his ear.
“What is it?”
“It’s called a Wolf Bite.”
“And what’s in it?”
“Absinthe and Midori.”
“What is the red?”
“Grenadine.”
“Isn’t absinthe the stuff that makes you go blind?”
“And hallucinate.”
“Wonderful. Always felt fortunate to keep my sight until 30.”
He placed another drink in her hand and motioned back to the table. “It doesn’t have that much absinthe in it.” He carried three more drinks in his long fingers with a beer under his arm.
“Can I have the beer?”
“That’s for Angel’D. I figured there was no way he’d try a Wolf Bite, although it looks like half the club is angling for a bite of our boy.”
Peyton glanced over and saw a pretty blond leaning down to talk in his ear, giving him a flash of cleavage, which was straining out of a sequined halter dress. Jake sat beside him, listening to the conversation and studying her assets, while Cho was trying to look anywhere else.
Peyton felt annoyance rise inside of her and took a gulp of her Wolf Bite, shuddering at it blazed down her esophagus. She deliberately angled into the table near the blond. “Excuse me,” she said, forcing her to back up.
She gave Peyton a glare, but Peyton turned her back, settling the drinks on the table.
Abe passed Marco the beer, then gave the blond a wave of his fingers. “Scat,” he said, shooing her off. “This is a private party.”
She threw back her hair and wandered into the crowd. Peyton could have kissed Abe at that moment. Before she could settle herself at the table, Abe grabbed her hand, reaching over to take Jake’s wrist.
“Dancing first!” he shouted, then dragged them into the pulsating, throbbing crowd of half-dressed people. Cho and Maria followed, but looking over her shoulder, Peyton noted that Marco didn’t and as soon as they left the table, the blond was back, taking a seat next to him and leaning against his arm.
* * *
“So, what’s with the gay guy and the tiny chick with the big hair?” said the blond.
Marco shook his head, lifting the beer to his mouth. “Nothing.”
“I’m Zephyr.” She held out her hand.
Marco sighed, and shook it briefly. Not long ago, her blatant come-on would have been enough, but the Zephyrs and Ambers of the world were starting to bore him. He’d actually been glad when Abe shooed her away and he wished she’d stayed shooed.
“So, don’t you love this club? I come here every weekend. I’m all about the 80s.”
Marco started to say something, then stopped himself. How could you be all about the 80s when you’d never even saw the decade? “Yep.”
“What’s your name?”
“Herman.”
She made a face. “Wow, so doesn’t fit you.”
“Yep.”
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“Nope.”
“That’s okay. I’m not much interested in talking, if you know what I mean, Herman?”
Oh, he knew. She announced it to every male in the place. Unfortunately looking around, he guessed there weren’t a lot of prospects. A guy in black leather freak-danced right in front of him, his greasy hair flying about his head, his face covered in tattoos and piercings. A few people over from him was the drag queen towering above everyone in his heels. A guy with spikes on his hands wandered through, his eyes completely rimmed in black eye liner, which wept down onto his cheeks.
Besides Marco himself, the only non-homicidal looking men in the room were Cho, who was obviously taken, and Jake, who looked like a dork doing his white boy bounce next to Abe and Peyton.
Marco’s gaze fixed on Peyton. She was dancing with her arms in the air, shaking that cute little body of hers, her hair flowing down her back. He couldn’t help but smile, especially when Abe picked her up and spun her around, her head thrown back as she laughed. Where other women seemed pale and plastic, she seemed to glow with life and vitality.
“Do you want to dance?”
Marco blinked and looked over at Zephyr. “Sorry. No.” He grabbed the beer and rose to his feet, walking away from the table. He found a spot at the end of the bar and took a seat on a barstool. Bracing his arms on the bar’s surface, he twirled the beer, keeping his back to the room. The blare of the music enveloped him, cutting him off from the people on all sides. It was true. There was nothing lonelier than being in a crowd.
He sat, staring at the beer label for a while, thinking about everything that had happened in the last few months and wondering what he was going to do. Nothing was the same, everything was changing, and the life he thought he wanted, that he fought so hard to maintain, seemed empty and shallow now.
A hand touched his back and he looked over his shoulder.
Peyton smiled at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He motioned to the bar stool next to him.
She perched on it, her legs hardly touching the bottom rung. “Dinner was fun, but this isn’t really what I wanted to do tonight.”
He looked out, spotting Abe dancing through the crowd, zig-zagging back and forth. “Abe’s having a blast.”
She looked at him as well and laughed. “Yeah, he is.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the present he had for her, setting it on the bar. He couldn’t believe how nervous he was, giving it to her, and he was grateful everyone else was occupied.
She glanced down at it. “What’s this?”
He shrugged.
“You weren’t supposed to get me anything.”
“Neither were you, but that didn’t stop you.”
She smiled and picked up the gift, carefully starting on the end. He watched her slowly open it, then lifted his eyes to her face as she studied the velvet box, reaching for the lid. She opened it, then gasped when she saw the locket nestled in the silk.
“Marco.”
“Open it.”
She carefully lifted it out of the box and pressed on the latch. Her eyes filled with tears and she clutched it close. “How did you get this picture of Pickles?”
He exhaled. “It wasn’t easy. Little shit hardly sits still when you have a camera.”
She lifted her eyes to him. “Thank you. I love it. It means the world to me.”
He reached out and brushed a tear from beneath her eye. “I’m glad.”
She caught his hand and placed a kiss in his palm, then she came forward and kissed his cheek, lingering. He closed his eyes and breathed in the lilac scent of her hair. Shit, he was no better than Stan when it came to her.
She drew away slowly. “Help me put it on.”
He took the locket from her hands and she turned, lifting her hair. He slid the chain around her neck and clasped it, then he smoothed her hair around her shoulders when she let it fall again. He wanted to sink his fingers into it, he wanted to run his lips up the back of her neck, he wanted to pull her against him and hold her for just a moment, but he forced himself to turn back to the bar and grab his beer, downing the remainder.
Maria suddenly appeared behind her. “Come on, Brooks. They’re starting a dance contest.” She grabbed Peyton’s arm and pulled her toward the dance floor.
Peyton looked back at him.
He nodded for her to go and gave her a smile.
It was nearly one in the morning before Abe had enough of the nightclub. They tumbled into the limo, all much drunker than Marco was, still he was grateful for Abe’s foresight in getting someone else to drive.
For the first time all night, Peyton found a spot next to him. Quiet descended in the vehicle as they made their way back to her house. Halfway through the ride, Marco felt Peyton’s head rest against his shoulder. He looked down at her and could see her eyes were closed, her breathing even. She’d fallen asleep. The others were also dozing, except Jake, who gave him a speculative look with a lift of his brows.
Marco ignored him and pressed his cheek to the top of Peyton’s head, closing his eyes as well and reveling in the moment.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispered to her.
CHAPTER 17
Peyton sat with her back against her headboard, her knees tented under her covers, holding the picture Jake had given her braced against her thighs. Pickles lay on his back next to her, letting her scratch his belly with her free hand.
It was such a remarkable picture, artistic, capturing both of them in a moment of pure happiness, the sky erupting behind them in brilliant swatches of light. But it had captured something more -- her complete joy in this one person. Who else made her feel the way Marco did?
She lifted her hand and ran her fingers across the locket he’d given her. It was a simple gift -- a picture of her dog. She knew she shouldn’t read anything more into it. He knew what mattered to her and he’d been thoughtful enough to respond to that. It didn’t mean anything else. She was letting her emotions get away from her.
Losing him as her partner coupled with her own loneliness was making her see things where there was nothing. Marco viewed her as his best friend. He’d never given any indication, said anything to make her think otherwise. If he felt differently, he wouldn’t have paraded so many women past her over the years.
And the truth was, she wasn’t like any of the women he usually dated. How many times had he told her he liked things simple, uncomplicated and God knew, she was anything but uncomplicated.
She traced her fingers over his profile in the picture. She wished she knew if her recent feelings were getting confused with their partnership ending. Still, when she thought about it, she realized she’d always hated the women he saw, she always hated the way he bounced from bed to bed. Maybe it was more than just moral outrage. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe she hated those women because they had a part of him she didn’t.
She braced her head with her hand. She’d drank too much the previous night and a headache hammered in her temples, making thinking hurt. Anyway she looked at this situation, it didn’t end well. If she told him what she was feeling and he rejected her, she’d lose him forever. If she didn’t tell him what she was feeling, she would wonder for the rest of her life. And somewhere in the last few days, she’d come to a realization.
No man would ever measure up to him in her mind.
It was why her relationship with Devan failed. It was why she would never seriously consider anything with a man like Stan. When she looked at the men in her life, she couldn’t help but compare them to him, and they always came away wanting something.
A knock sounded at the door.
She quickly shoved the picture under the covers and smoothed her hair. “Come in,” she said.
The door opened and Marco stuck his head inside. “You okay?”
She ran a hand over her ponytail again. Just the very person she didn’t want to see right now. “Yeah, just a little hung-over.”
He opened the door wider and stood in the entrance. “I was getting a little worried. You didn’t even come out for coffee this morning.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I know better than to drink Abe’s concoctions.”
“Can I bring you anything?”
“No, Pickles and I are just going to have a lazy day, I think.”
Pickles rolled over at his name and placed his head on his paws as if he had a hangover as well.
Marco nodded. “Vinnie just called. He’s got tickets to the Raiders’ game. Then we’re all going over to Mom’s for Sunday dinner. You feel up for a little football?”
“He has enough tickets for me to come?”
“Yeah, his boss gave him a bunch of them.”
“I don’t feel like going all the way to Oakland, Marco, but you go. I’m just gonna stay in bed today, I think.”
“I can stay if you need me.”
“No, go. Tell Mama D’ that I’m sorry I didn’t come.”
“I will.” He hesitated. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, Marco, I’m fine.”
“How ‘bout I bring you something to eat? You know she’d love putting together a plate for you.”
“That sounds really good.”
“Okay.” He started to leave.
“Marco?”
He looked back, his features silhouetted against the light from the outer room.
“We need to talk about your promotion.”
He gave a brief inclination of his head. “We’ll see. Only if you’re feeling better. Get some rest, okay?”
“I will.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him. Peyton listened until she heard the front door close, then she scrunched down in the bed and rolled to her side, hugging Pickles against her. The tears came then, hot and wrenching, tearing up from inside of her. She gave over to them, pressing her face into the pillow as she sobbed.
Once the wave was over, she dozed a little, only to be awakened by the buzz of her cell phone on the nightstand. She brushed her fingers over her eyes and rolled to her back, reaching for it. Devan’s name flashed across the screen, followed by a texting icon.
She ran her thumb over the display and the text opened on the screen.
Jury came back yesterday. Didn’t want to ruin your birthday. O’Shannahan acquitted of all charges. Sorry.
She sat staring at the message for a moment, her mind unable to comprehend what she was reading. O’Shannahan acquitted? How the hell could that happen? The bastard admitted to disposing of the murder weapon.
All of their work, all of their time spent on that case, and the jury acquitted him. Rage spiraled through her and she reached for the phone, beginning to text back, but she stopped herself. Devan couldn’t do anything about it. The judge couldn’t do anything about it.
She was giving up her life for a job that didn’t matter, where justice wasn’t served, where men like Jedediah O’Shannahan walked free. For a moment, she simply stared at the phone, wanting to cry again, but she was sick of crying, sick of feeling miserable.
Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and changed into her running clothes. If she didn’t do something with this negative energy, she was liable to hurt someone. She wasn’t a person who wallowed in self-misery for long. The pity-party was over.
“I said nice and fun, fun being the operative word,” said Abe.
They were shown to their seats and the demonstration began. Abe ordered sake and made sure the entire staff knew it was Peyton’s birthday. She was squeezed in between Abe and Jake with Marco at the other end of the circular table. In order to talk to him, she’d have to shout, but he gave her a shrug and an understanding smile.
With the whirl of the knives, the laughter of everyone at the table, a photographer who kept snapping pictures, and the continual flow of sake, Peyton found her head spinning by the time they brought her a dish of green tea ice cream with a candle in it. The entire restaurant sang her happy birthday, making her blush, and then they were out the door again and into the limousine where Abe opened a bottle of champagne and passed it around.
Once again, she found herself on the opposite end of the limo from her partner. She wasn’t sure she should drink any more champagne, but Abe was making ridiculous toasts, so she didn’t have much choice.
“As the good Irish are so fond of saying, in all this world, why I do think there are five reasons why we drink: good friends, good wine…” He made a face. “Lest we be dry and any other reason why.”
They all laughed and drank.
“Or this one –there are several good reasons for drinking and one has just entered my head. If a man can’t drink when he’s living, then how the heck can he drink when he is dead.”
“Enough,” said Peyton. “Where are we going now?”
“That, my darling,” he said, touching the tip of her nose with his long finger, “is a surprise.”
She glanced over at Marco and he mouthed, Abnormally large cake. She laughed and tried to cover her glass as Abe filled it again. “No strippers, Abe.”
“Don’t you worry your purty head now, sweets.”
She settled back and listened to them all laughing, coming up with some more really bad toasts. Their levity was infectious and she realized she was having a good time, but a part of her wouldn’t have minded a much quieter night.
Which was something she was not going to get.
They wound up on Folsom at the Cat Club, an 80s retro nightclub. Abe bounded out of the limo and nearly dragged Peyton to the door. Before they even made it inside, she could hear the boom of an 80s rock anthem. Stepping inside, she found herself in a crazy amalgamation of rockers in leather and chains, Goths in heavy eyeliner and black spandex, and men in drag.
A particularly beautiful drag queen wearing nine inch heels and a hot pink mini-dress caught sight of Marco and ran his hand up Marco’s arm, blowing a kiss at him. Marco closed his eyes and gave a tense nod before sidling away.
Abe peeled off into laughter, wrapping his arm around Marco’s shoulders and pulling him close. “He’s mine,” he told the drag queen.
The other man rolled his eyes and wandered into the crowd.
“I got you, Angel,” Abe said, patting his chest.
“Thank you,” said Marco with a tight smile.
Somehow Abe managed to wrangle a table in the midst of the blaring music and the pulsating lights. Peyton was intrigued by the massive disco ball rotating on the main dance floor. Marco took a seat at the table and glowered at anyone who appeared like they might approach him – male and female alike.
Peyton wanted to sit with him a moment and just people watch, but Abe dragged her to the bar to order drinks for everyone. She really didn’t need to drink anymore, but Abe was undeterred. She found herself transfixed by the woman gyrating in a go-go cage wearing a collection of black strips over her unmentionables.
Abe placed something in her hand and she looked down to see it glowing a fluorescent green with a splash of blood red in the middle of it. “What is it?” she shouted.
He said something in return, but she couldn’t hear him. He made a drinking motion with his hand and she took a sip. The blast of astringent alcohol hit her palate and she tugged on Abe’s sleeve, rising on tiptoes to shout in his ear.
“What is it?”
“It’s called a Wolf Bite.”
“And what’s in it?”
“Absinthe and Midori.”
“What is the red?”
“Grenadine.”
“Isn’t absinthe the stuff that makes you go blind?”
“And hallucinate.”
“Wonderful. Always felt fortunate to keep my sight until 30.”
He placed another drink in her hand and motioned back to the table. “It doesn’t have that much absinthe in it.” He carried three more drinks in his long fingers with a beer under his arm.
“Can I have the beer?”
“That’s for Angel’D. I figured there was no way he’d try a Wolf Bite, although it looks like half the club is angling for a bite of our boy.”
Peyton glanced over and saw a pretty blond leaning down to talk in his ear, giving him a flash of cleavage, which was straining out of a sequined halter dress. Jake sat beside him, listening to the conversation and studying her assets, while Cho was trying to look anywhere else.
Peyton felt annoyance rise inside of her and took a gulp of her Wolf Bite, shuddering at it blazed down her esophagus. She deliberately angled into the table near the blond. “Excuse me,” she said, forcing her to back up.
She gave Peyton a glare, but Peyton turned her back, settling the drinks on the table.
Abe passed Marco the beer, then gave the blond a wave of his fingers. “Scat,” he said, shooing her off. “This is a private party.”
She threw back her hair and wandered into the crowd. Peyton could have kissed Abe at that moment. Before she could settle herself at the table, Abe grabbed her hand, reaching over to take Jake’s wrist.
“Dancing first!” he shouted, then dragged them into the pulsating, throbbing crowd of half-dressed people. Cho and Maria followed, but looking over her shoulder, Peyton noted that Marco didn’t and as soon as they left the table, the blond was back, taking a seat next to him and leaning against his arm.
* * *
“So, what’s with the gay guy and the tiny chick with the big hair?” said the blond.
Marco shook his head, lifting the beer to his mouth. “Nothing.”
“I’m Zephyr.” She held out her hand.
Marco sighed, and shook it briefly. Not long ago, her blatant come-on would have been enough, but the Zephyrs and Ambers of the world were starting to bore him. He’d actually been glad when Abe shooed her away and he wished she’d stayed shooed.
“So, don’t you love this club? I come here every weekend. I’m all about the 80s.”
Marco started to say something, then stopped himself. How could you be all about the 80s when you’d never even saw the decade? “Yep.”
“What’s your name?”
“Herman.”
She made a face. “Wow, so doesn’t fit you.”
“Yep.”
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“Nope.”
“That’s okay. I’m not much interested in talking, if you know what I mean, Herman?”
Oh, he knew. She announced it to every male in the place. Unfortunately looking around, he guessed there weren’t a lot of prospects. A guy in black leather freak-danced right in front of him, his greasy hair flying about his head, his face covered in tattoos and piercings. A few people over from him was the drag queen towering above everyone in his heels. A guy with spikes on his hands wandered through, his eyes completely rimmed in black eye liner, which wept down onto his cheeks.
Besides Marco himself, the only non-homicidal looking men in the room were Cho, who was obviously taken, and Jake, who looked like a dork doing his white boy bounce next to Abe and Peyton.
Marco’s gaze fixed on Peyton. She was dancing with her arms in the air, shaking that cute little body of hers, her hair flowing down her back. He couldn’t help but smile, especially when Abe picked her up and spun her around, her head thrown back as she laughed. Where other women seemed pale and plastic, she seemed to glow with life and vitality.
“Do you want to dance?”
Marco blinked and looked over at Zephyr. “Sorry. No.” He grabbed the beer and rose to his feet, walking away from the table. He found a spot at the end of the bar and took a seat on a barstool. Bracing his arms on the bar’s surface, he twirled the beer, keeping his back to the room. The blare of the music enveloped him, cutting him off from the people on all sides. It was true. There was nothing lonelier than being in a crowd.
He sat, staring at the beer label for a while, thinking about everything that had happened in the last few months and wondering what he was going to do. Nothing was the same, everything was changing, and the life he thought he wanted, that he fought so hard to maintain, seemed empty and shallow now.
A hand touched his back and he looked over his shoulder.
Peyton smiled at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He motioned to the bar stool next to him.
She perched on it, her legs hardly touching the bottom rung. “Dinner was fun, but this isn’t really what I wanted to do tonight.”
He looked out, spotting Abe dancing through the crowd, zig-zagging back and forth. “Abe’s having a blast.”
She looked at him as well and laughed. “Yeah, he is.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the present he had for her, setting it on the bar. He couldn’t believe how nervous he was, giving it to her, and he was grateful everyone else was occupied.
She glanced down at it. “What’s this?”
He shrugged.
“You weren’t supposed to get me anything.”
“Neither were you, but that didn’t stop you.”
She smiled and picked up the gift, carefully starting on the end. He watched her slowly open it, then lifted his eyes to her face as she studied the velvet box, reaching for the lid. She opened it, then gasped when she saw the locket nestled in the silk.
“Marco.”
“Open it.”
She carefully lifted it out of the box and pressed on the latch. Her eyes filled with tears and she clutched it close. “How did you get this picture of Pickles?”
He exhaled. “It wasn’t easy. Little shit hardly sits still when you have a camera.”
She lifted her eyes to him. “Thank you. I love it. It means the world to me.”
He reached out and brushed a tear from beneath her eye. “I’m glad.”
She caught his hand and placed a kiss in his palm, then she came forward and kissed his cheek, lingering. He closed his eyes and breathed in the lilac scent of her hair. Shit, he was no better than Stan when it came to her.
She drew away slowly. “Help me put it on.”
He took the locket from her hands and she turned, lifting her hair. He slid the chain around her neck and clasped it, then he smoothed her hair around her shoulders when she let it fall again. He wanted to sink his fingers into it, he wanted to run his lips up the back of her neck, he wanted to pull her against him and hold her for just a moment, but he forced himself to turn back to the bar and grab his beer, downing the remainder.
Maria suddenly appeared behind her. “Come on, Brooks. They’re starting a dance contest.” She grabbed Peyton’s arm and pulled her toward the dance floor.
Peyton looked back at him.
He nodded for her to go and gave her a smile.
It was nearly one in the morning before Abe had enough of the nightclub. They tumbled into the limo, all much drunker than Marco was, still he was grateful for Abe’s foresight in getting someone else to drive.
For the first time all night, Peyton found a spot next to him. Quiet descended in the vehicle as they made their way back to her house. Halfway through the ride, Marco felt Peyton’s head rest against his shoulder. He looked down at her and could see her eyes were closed, her breathing even. She’d fallen asleep. The others were also dozing, except Jake, who gave him a speculative look with a lift of his brows.
Marco ignored him and pressed his cheek to the top of Peyton’s head, closing his eyes as well and reveling in the moment.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispered to her.
CHAPTER 17
Peyton sat with her back against her headboard, her knees tented under her covers, holding the picture Jake had given her braced against her thighs. Pickles lay on his back next to her, letting her scratch his belly with her free hand.
It was such a remarkable picture, artistic, capturing both of them in a moment of pure happiness, the sky erupting behind them in brilliant swatches of light. But it had captured something more -- her complete joy in this one person. Who else made her feel the way Marco did?
She lifted her hand and ran her fingers across the locket he’d given her. It was a simple gift -- a picture of her dog. She knew she shouldn’t read anything more into it. He knew what mattered to her and he’d been thoughtful enough to respond to that. It didn’t mean anything else. She was letting her emotions get away from her.
Losing him as her partner coupled with her own loneliness was making her see things where there was nothing. Marco viewed her as his best friend. He’d never given any indication, said anything to make her think otherwise. If he felt differently, he wouldn’t have paraded so many women past her over the years.
And the truth was, she wasn’t like any of the women he usually dated. How many times had he told her he liked things simple, uncomplicated and God knew, she was anything but uncomplicated.
She traced her fingers over his profile in the picture. She wished she knew if her recent feelings were getting confused with their partnership ending. Still, when she thought about it, she realized she’d always hated the women he saw, she always hated the way he bounced from bed to bed. Maybe it was more than just moral outrage. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe she hated those women because they had a part of him she didn’t.
She braced her head with her hand. She’d drank too much the previous night and a headache hammered in her temples, making thinking hurt. Anyway she looked at this situation, it didn’t end well. If she told him what she was feeling and he rejected her, she’d lose him forever. If she didn’t tell him what she was feeling, she would wonder for the rest of her life. And somewhere in the last few days, she’d come to a realization.
No man would ever measure up to him in her mind.
It was why her relationship with Devan failed. It was why she would never seriously consider anything with a man like Stan. When she looked at the men in her life, she couldn’t help but compare them to him, and they always came away wanting something.
A knock sounded at the door.
She quickly shoved the picture under the covers and smoothed her hair. “Come in,” she said.
The door opened and Marco stuck his head inside. “You okay?”
She ran a hand over her ponytail again. Just the very person she didn’t want to see right now. “Yeah, just a little hung-over.”
He opened the door wider and stood in the entrance. “I was getting a little worried. You didn’t even come out for coffee this morning.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I know better than to drink Abe’s concoctions.”
“Can I bring you anything?”
“No, Pickles and I are just going to have a lazy day, I think.”
Pickles rolled over at his name and placed his head on his paws as if he had a hangover as well.
Marco nodded. “Vinnie just called. He’s got tickets to the Raiders’ game. Then we’re all going over to Mom’s for Sunday dinner. You feel up for a little football?”
“He has enough tickets for me to come?”
“Yeah, his boss gave him a bunch of them.”
“I don’t feel like going all the way to Oakland, Marco, but you go. I’m just gonna stay in bed today, I think.”
“I can stay if you need me.”
“No, go. Tell Mama D’ that I’m sorry I didn’t come.”
“I will.” He hesitated. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, Marco, I’m fine.”
“How ‘bout I bring you something to eat? You know she’d love putting together a plate for you.”
“That sounds really good.”
“Okay.” He started to leave.
“Marco?”
He looked back, his features silhouetted against the light from the outer room.
“We need to talk about your promotion.”
He gave a brief inclination of his head. “We’ll see. Only if you’re feeling better. Get some rest, okay?”
“I will.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him. Peyton listened until she heard the front door close, then she scrunched down in the bed and rolled to her side, hugging Pickles against her. The tears came then, hot and wrenching, tearing up from inside of her. She gave over to them, pressing her face into the pillow as she sobbed.
Once the wave was over, she dozed a little, only to be awakened by the buzz of her cell phone on the nightstand. She brushed her fingers over her eyes and rolled to her back, reaching for it. Devan’s name flashed across the screen, followed by a texting icon.
She ran her thumb over the display and the text opened on the screen.
Jury came back yesterday. Didn’t want to ruin your birthday. O’Shannahan acquitted of all charges. Sorry.
She sat staring at the message for a moment, her mind unable to comprehend what she was reading. O’Shannahan acquitted? How the hell could that happen? The bastard admitted to disposing of the murder weapon.
All of their work, all of their time spent on that case, and the jury acquitted him. Rage spiraled through her and she reached for the phone, beginning to text back, but she stopped herself. Devan couldn’t do anything about it. The judge couldn’t do anything about it.
She was giving up her life for a job that didn’t matter, where justice wasn’t served, where men like Jedediah O’Shannahan walked free. For a moment, she simply stared at the phone, wanting to cry again, but she was sick of crying, sick of feeling miserable.
Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and changed into her running clothes. If she didn’t do something with this negative energy, she was liable to hurt someone. She wasn’t a person who wallowed in self-misery for long. The pity-party was over.
