Chasing Luck Read Online Free PDF Page B

Queen

    “ Y ou need to give me some freaking space,” I say to Billy on the day he brings me home from the hospital.
    “You should be resting. The doctors said you’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit the subclavian artery. ” He frowns at my laptop on the dining room table and walks behind me to look over my shoulder.
    I pivot the screen away from him. “I’m recording my monthly cycle in my journal. Want to talk tampons and cramping?” I look behind me and repress a smile at the tightening of his mouth.
    Billy turns to leave but pauses in the doorway. “Half an hour until you take your pills again.”
    His comment makes me grind my teeth. I’d welcome the throbbing ache in my shoulder over the fuzzy haze of painkillers.
    I’ve always said you can find anyone on the Internet. This is entirely true unless you live off-the-grid or your name is Ace Sloan. I only know the last name because of a police report. It takes me a seriously long time to come up with a phone number tied to a business license on a government website.
    No Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, or Tumblr account. How does this guy expect to succeed in his business if he's not on social media?
    The phone rings twice before he picks up, his voice that husky, cocky tone I remember.
    "Hello."
    "You have my present. You have to give it to me." I blurt it out like a demanding kid, but I'm nervous and talking with him makes me think about the restaurant. That present is the last thing I’ll ever have from JT and I want it.
    He doesn't answer right away. For a minute I'm afraid he's hung up on me. "No. I don't."
    I exhale the breath I've held. "What do you mean you don't?"
    "I mean the bag is no longer in my possession. The guy … there was an old guy who was at the hospital. He said—"
    "Well, he didn't. And I trusted you to keep it for me." Once the inappropriate, accusatory statements come out of my mouth, I cringe. I'm usually so polite. All the time. Most of the time. Okay, definitely not this time.
    More silence weights the line. “The man has it. Unless he left it at the hospital."
    He sounds certain Billy has it. He's waiting for me to respond. Traffic noises buzz in the background and a horn honks twice. A female voice says something and I can't tell if someone’s with him or if someone is standing close. I imagine him holding up one finger to a girlfriend or a wife. He didn't look married, but I'm not sure how married people look. More responsible? Less like a male model for sexy body spray?
    "I'll check with him," I say because I need to hang up. I know Billy didn't leave it. The man never makes mistakes. It's been his job to remember every detail, every task, every part of mine and JT's lives.
    "Listen, I'm sorry about your unc—"
    "Thanks. Really. Sorry to bother you." I press the END key.
    Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes and try to imagine where my present could be in the house. Where would Billy put it?
    My cell phone jitters on the surface of the table and I open my eyes, stare at the display for two seconds, and press the button. "Hello?"
    "I wasn't finished." Ace's irritated voice comes across the now quiet background and stuns me.
    My mouth drops. "I … umm … what were you…"
    "I was offering my condolences."
    We sit there, sharing air on the phone line, playing a conversation game of chicken.
    He breaks. "That's all I wanted to say."
    My throat tightens. "Yeah, well, thanks." I sound like a real bitch. I don't want that hateful voice, but the alternative is crying.
    "You're not the first one to ever lose someone. It will get better. Things like this take time."
    I hone in on one word. "Lose? Like misplaced? Or do you mean I'm not the first one to watch someone they love gunned down and bleeding. Is that what you mean?"
    "No. And you sound like you need to talk to someone."
    The nerve. “Like I'm going to listen to advice from a stranger.”
    "But I'm still sorry. I wish I could say the right thing, but I'm no good at this,"