she would have to be smart, she would have to thoroughly plan, and she’d need a shitload of money. Poor people didn’t get away with vengeance and murder. Poor people were put away, whether innocent or guilty, and nobody paid them any mind.
Luckily, Orion was no longer poor.
Their lawyer was not lying about his ability to earn his salary.
Five million dollars.
Each.
Orion couldn’t fathom that kind of money. She couldn’t spend it in ten lifetimes, which was what had been taken away from her.
April, on the other hand, would do quite well at spending all of it, since it was she who decided Orion’s apartment needed to be . . . Orion’s.
Not that Orion knew who the fuck she was.
April apparently was confident in that. So, Orion had done something uncharacteristic. She trusted the woman who used to be her best friend to tell her who she was, or who she should be.
As the packages arrived, Orion was starting to wonder if April knew her better than she knew herself.
If someone looked at her outwardly, if someone read her story in the newspaper, they’d think dark colors. Hard edges. Cold.
But April saw deeper than that, so there was warmth, earth tones, soft throws, cozy pillows, beautiful art. Vintage rugs.
Orion’s apartment quickly turned into a home. Sure, she had more than enough money to move from the complex to an impressive house with land, with space. April had said as much. But the mere thought of that scared Orion. She liked sharing a wall with a stranger. She liked the houses piled on top of each other, she liked that she was down the hall from where Jaclyn lived—where she used to live. Someone else had moved in quickly, all of her stuff gone like she never existed.
April didn’t push, since she’d already put in enough effort shoving herself into Orion’s life.
“What?” she asked, after losing herself in her thoughts.
April paused the TV, curled up in the plush white armchair that swallowed her small frame. “I mean, I’m not married to my job as a waitress mostly because the tips suck and I’m generally crap at it, but becoming a detective sounds like so much work and I wouldn’t have a chance at maintaining a good manicure. I’ll do it, of course, to get the scoop, but I’d rather not.”
Orion blinked at her, hands sticky. She’d forgotten April had asked her a question. “Huh?”
April smiled. She was enjoying this, teasing her. She was no longer walking on eggshells around Orion. No longer treating her like a victim or an unexploded land mine.
“I mean, what’s going on with you and Maddox? I know he’s teaching you how to drive. I know he takes you out to dinner. I know you saw a movie last week.” April jabbed a finger at her. “A fucking movie, Orion? I’ve begged you to go to the movies with me and you always say you aren’t ready!”
Orion hated that April had found that out. Had gotten the wrong impression. Or maybe the right one.
“I haven’t been ready, but he just makes me feel safe. He’s always looking out for me, and, I don’t know . . . there’s nothing going on or anything like that,” Orion said as quickly and sharply as she could. She had been progressing with April, letting her into the apartment to watch TV every night, cooking for her, giving her free rein to decorate. That was big for Orion. “He just really wanted to see Swiss Army Man.”
“Ew, the one where Harry Potter plays Uncle Bernie?”
“Who’s Uncle Bernie?” Orion looked confused.
April raised her brow. “Listen, I may not be a detective, but I know bullshit when I hear it. A movie is a date, Orion.”
“Why the fuck do you care?” Orion snapped. “You hated the fact that we were . . . whatever we were back then. Before everything.”
April’s eyes softened, her smile disappearing. “Well a lot of things have changed.”
Orion looked down because she couldn’t hold on to her steely stare in front of April’s naked emotion.
“It’s okay, you know,” April said, quieter this time. “To want something good. To want romance. I may hate him sometimes, but Maddox . . . he’s a great fucking guy, Orion. And he has missed you. He’s always missed you. And it’s okay if you missed him too.”
Orion didn’t look up. “It’s not okay. You don’t know what I’ve been through. I’m never going to have good again in this life, April. And I’m sure