“Yes,” I snapped, then tried to get him onto a subject I wanted to talk about, namely him leaving, but I didn’t get the chance.
He kept talking.
“All that went down last night?”
“Yes!”
My voice was rising because I did remember all that went down last night. And how I felt when I woke up that morning. But mostly I remembered the name he called me when I was lying there, thinking he was my one, and he was lying there holding on to a substitute body that, since he had no shot with the real one, was just going to have to do.
“So tell me, honey, if you weren’t hammered and you remember all that went down last night, why did I wake up to an empty bed this morning?” he asked.
“I had shit to do,” I answered, and it wasn’t totally a lie. I always had shit to do. I was a busy girl.
“You had shit to do,” he said low, and his eyes were a tad bit scary.
But I didn’t scare easily.
“Yep,” I replied.
“And it was so pressing you couldn’t wake me and tell me you had to go?”
“Yep, it was that pressing.” Now, that was totally a lie.
“And it was so pressing you couldn’t find a minute to jot down a note?”
Okay, suffice it to say, I was done with this bullshit. If he needed someone to give it to him regular while he waited for Ava, and to continue to give it to him regular when he realized that he’d never get Ava, he’d have to find someone else.
In order to communicate that to him, I stated, “Dude, we hooked up. That’s it. Or that’s all I remember. But maybe I was drunker than I thought. Did I miss the part where you slid a ring on my finger?”
This was the wrong thing to say, and I knew it when the room filled with something so oppressive, it was stifling. No joke. I literally couldn’t breathe.
As I mentioned, I didn’t scare easily.
But the truth of it was, I didn’t get scared. There wasn’t a situation that I remember ever being in where I didn’t feel in control or think I could find a way to regain control. I also had the gene passed down through my family where I could sense when things were going bad in a way that I would lose control and not get it back, and I was smart enough to get the f**k out of Dodge when I found myself in those kinds of situations.
But right then, feeling suffocated by the sheer force of Lorenzo Zano’s anger, I felt a hint of genuine fear.
Then his anger dissipated.
Vanished.
It did this instantly when he said, “I get it. You’re a Nightingale.”
My back snapped straight at his tone, which said it all about his implication. I just didn’t know for certain what he was implying, just that it was no good.
So I asked, “What does that mean?”
“That means both your brothers laid waste to most of the talented pu**y in Denver. Took what they wanted, walked away and never looked back. Not surprising, you a Nightingale, that’s your thing. Except you collect cock.”
And on that very effective parting shot, he turned, jerked open the door and slammed it behind him.
Standing in my apartment in the dead of night staring at the door, I didn’t feel my heart squeeze.
I felt it shrivel up and die.
* * * * *
Not surprisingly, in the coming days as Ava’s drama (that partly had to do with her courtship with Luke, but mostly had to do with the fact that the Rock Chicks were magnets for trouble) played out, I saw Ren again.