Page 53 of Trusting You

“Is this what you do when you’re in pain?” she asks quietly. “Lash out at people?”

“You don’t know me.”

“You’re right about that,” she says.

We hear Lily’s cries at the same time, and Carter’s hand drops from her work. “I’ll get her. And take her for a walk. It’ll give you time to…rest.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“Great,” she parrots and goes across the room. She disappears behind Lily’s door.

I remain splayed out on the couch, and I’m not happy about it. Asher got to me. The painting got to me. Carter’s fucking getting to me. And I’m pissed off at all of it.

My phone buzzes in my jeans pocket. I finagle it out after a few grunts and answer. “What.”

“Jeez. I haven’t even said anything, and already you’re down my throat.”

My head falls back against the pillow. “What else do you have to say, Astor?”

“Well, I was going to apologize for how I acted with Carter. I know I was rude. Couldn’t help it. But seeing you with Lily…I can see she’s been helping you through a tough time.”

“At least someone can.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Anything else?”

Astor goes quiet on the other end. She’s dealt with my moods before. “I wanted to ask you if it was okay to take Carter out.”

“Out where?”

“Drinks. Dinner. Socializing, Locke.” Astor loses all hesitation. “Poor thing is cooped up in there with you, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Can’t be good for her health. I thought I’d show her some city nightlife.”

I pause. When Astor offers to do something, it’s never for the recipient’s benefit. Usually, she needs a favor. Or is looking for leverage.

I stare at the wall, where on the other side, Carter is changing and crooning to Lily, maybe singing that lilting, addictive song of hers, and I can’t help but agree with my sister.

I hate agreeing with my sister.

Carter doesn’t have anyone here, save for a baby who only speaks in babble and a roommate with a lame leg. She deserves some fun, and if my sister can give her some, who am I to stop it?

I don’t define it as guilt over my current behavior.

“I’ll ask her,” I say to Astor.

“Good. Let me know. Or give her my number, whatever you want. Tomorrow night, in Manhattan.”

“Sure. I’ll tell her.”

Astor’s likely rolling her eyes on the other end. “Thanks, oh benevolent one.”

“You’re welcome. Talk later.”

“Go take a nap with your daughter.”

I click off and let the phone topple to the floor, angry that I can’t roll over, face the couch cushions, and get lost in the dark.