Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,110

kicking up a storm, having a little boxing match inside me. A beep comes from my phone as I rub my belly. I look down at it expecting to see the indicator telling me a voicemail is waiting for me, but instead there’s a text there. As I pull up to a stop sign, I grab the phone and hold it up in front of me.

Lucky: Where r u? We need to talk. I’m sorry.

Dammit. I was hoping to avoid this. I could ignore the text, but I don’t want him to call out a posse and come find me. They could easily track my phone; we all have the app loaded onto our cells for safety reasons. I quickly type out a response before I leave the stop sign.

Me: I’m stopping at the store. Be home soon. We’ll talk then.

I feel positively ill. Facing the mother of the man I killed could never be easy. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but Eunice deserves this. I owe it to her.

When I reach the edge of Eunice’s neighborhood, my heart rate picks up. I’m not exactly panicking, but I wouldn’t say I’m cool either. The concept of talking to Eunice and apologizing sounded great when I played it out in my head, but now that I’m just a few driveways away from her front door, it’s all getting bigger and scarier in my mind. I’m almost ready to turn around and race the hell out of there when I see a car approaching from the other direction, which then pulls into her driveway.

It’s her. Eunice is home, and I’ve timed my arrival perfectly, or so it seems. I speed up before any of my doubts work to dissuade me, and roll up to the curb in front of her house.

She pauses as she walks up her front porch steps and squints at my car over her shoulder. This is not the same vehicle I was driving when I knew Charlie, so she doesn’t know it’s me yet.

I turn off the engine and undo my seatbelt, taking a couple deep breaths before throwing the door open. Seeing her standing there reminds me strongly of Charlie . . . more than I imagined it would. Charlie will never be truly gone for me, but for Eunice, he always will be. And that’s why I’m here.

I get out of the car and smooth down my pants, resisting the urge to pull up the elastic pouch over the babies. I wore a big shirt today so she wouldn’t see that I’m pregnant. The last thing I want to do is rub the idea of a baby in her face. She’s already been hurt enough by me.

As I walk across her lawn, I see recognition blooming in her eyes. First her lids widen and then they narrow. She turns to face me more fully, her purse sliding off her shoulder down to the crook of her elbow. She’s wearing purple polyester pants and an orange, purple, and black top.

I stop ten feet away, ankle-deep in her thick, loamy-smelling crabgrass lawn.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks, her voice sounding frog-like from all the cigarette smoke she’s inhaled over the years.

It’s a fair question. I don’t take offense at her tone of disgust. At least I know now how she’ll react to seeing me. Not well.

“I came by to talk to you.”

She sneers at me. “I ain’t got nothing to say to you.”

I take another tentative step forward. “I know you don’t, and I don’t expect you to say anything to me. I was just hoping that you’d hear me out, that’s all.”

She cocks her hip and jabs a finger out at me. “You got a lot of nerve, hussy, comin’ here to my house after what you did.”

I nod. “I know. I know this is bold and probably really stupid, but I had to do it.”

“Why?”

I can’t look at her face anymore. The pure unadulterated hate in her expression is making me feel like something is shriveling up inside me. The babies flip around like they’re doing gymnastics. I focus on her shoulder as I speak.

“I’ve felt terrible about what I did for a long time, but I realized that I never did the right thing after; I never apologized directly to you. I should’ve done that before now, and I’m really sorry I waited. I’m sorry for everything . . . for taking Charlie from you and for not understanding