“Hi, honey, I’m home,” I called out, throwing my purse on the ground. All I wanted was something to eat, perhaps a roll in a hay, and a hot shower. I went into the living room where Matt was staring at the television. Though he had it on the Sox game, he wasn’t really watching. “You hungry? I’m going to order a pizza. You want in?” No answer. “Hey, Matt, what’s wrong?” No sooner did the words leave my lips then I knew. “Oh, Matt. It’s not Shawn, is it? He’s not…worse, is he?”
“He’s dead,” Matt said, his voice empty. “He flat-lined while I was there late this afternoon.”
“Oh, baby,” I said, pizza forgotten. I sat next to him and put my arms around him, wishing desperately I could take the pain away. Again, I didn’t say anything as I knew there was nothing to say.
“He was only fifteen, Scar. Fifteen! What the hell am I doing?” Matt’s voice cracked on the last word, and that broke the floodgates. Putting his head in his hands, he started sobbing. I rocked him back and forth best I could, my own eyes filling with tears. “I saw him die, Scar. I can’t fucking take this any more.”
“Bea, you’re running late,” Antoinette said in a bossy tone as I dressed for work Monday morning. I ignored her as she was not the boss of me, no matter what she seemed to think.
A huge yawn escaped from me before I could swallow it. Rafe and I hadn’t gone to bed until well after two in the morning, and as it was now eight o’clock, I was bushed. Gone were the days when I could skate by on four or five hours of sleep. Now, if I didn’t get a solid seven hours, I was a basket case. It was worth it, though. A smile crept on my face as I recalled some of the more creative positions in which Rafe and I had found ourselves in last night. One of them gave me fierce cramps in both legs, but I had been past the point of caring by then. By the time we were through, we had each had four orgasms in two hours. Not bad for a night’s work.
“Phillip wants to talk to you at some point today,” Antoinette said, primping in the mirror.
“What for?” I asked sharply. I didn’t relish the new boss breathing down my neck, especially if he was anything like his dead brother.
“He wants to get to know his employees,” Antoinette said, her voice reproachful. “He’s a real hands-on type of guy.” I refrained from supplying the obvious retort and pulled on the giant duck head.
“Hey, where’s the mouse head?” I asked casually, trying to make it sound as if I were just making conversation. “I thought the police were returning it,” I added lightly.