“Steve’s broken—uh, the seat.” I reach for the chair back, but I can’t help her fix it since I’m driving. Mel gives me a look, so I explain, “Yeah, I named him Steve the Seat. He does all the way up or all the way down. That chair isn’t really into foreplay—no in the middle. He’s an all or nothing kind of chair.”

She laughs and spews spittle all over the dashboard. “Oh my God. You’ve been hanging out with me way too long! You’ve turned your passenger seat into a personified pervert.”

“Steve thanks you for sitting on him. He hasn’t had this much action since Sean used a screwdriver on his little bits. Steve likes things rough.” Grinning, I look out the windshield and change lanes to take the Tunnel.

Mel cracks up and before too long we’re on the Turnpike, headed straight for Cherry Hill. Peter gave me the information last time I saw him. It’s weird, but I like Sean’s family. Normally, I feel like I don’t fit in—like at all—but Peter was easy to talk to. I didn’t feel like he was looking down at me, even though he knows what I do. Gotta admit, that’s weird—and awesome. Especially since he didn’t proposition me later.

Mel chatters about nothing for a long time, keeping my mind off of Sean, but whenever a lull works its way into the conversation, there he is—Sean Ferro. Mel’s question prompted another one in my mind. It’s not that I can’t accept Sean’s past, it’s more a question of whether or not I can handle what it means for the future. Will his dark side get darker? Will Sean still need the different faces of nameless women to control to forget what he lost? Sean said he doesn’t want that anymore, but what if that need comes back? What happens when I’m not enough? I don’t expect to overshadow his past, and there’s no way to just walk away and forget about it. If that were true, neither of us would be hanging out in graveyards, talking to the dead.

Can I handle Sean day in and out? Do I want to? A guy like Marty—a normal guy, with normal problems—would give me a normal life. Isn’t that what I wanted—normal—as in a little Cape Cod with pansies on the porch and kids under foot? Sean isn’t that guy, so it washes that future away and I can’t picture what my life will be or who will be in it with that footing removed.

How do you pull someone out of hell anyway? Is it even possible? Growing up, I’d heard to never reach out. If a person slips off a ledge, the only way to help them is to throw down a rope or something. If you reach out, they pull you down with them. I’m terrified that I’m reaching out, that there’s no rope, and it’ll destroy us both. Maybe Sean knows that. Maybe that’s why he left.

But he wants you. He sexted with you. Sean wouldn’t have done that if we were making a clean break, would he?

I feel the wedding band I picked out for him in the pocket of my jeans. I guess it’s more of an engagement ring than a wedding band. I wanted something different, and I found it. The ring is white gold with a Celtic pattern carved into the band. A single blood red stone is woven into the pattern and sits on the top of the ring. It’s exactly what I wanted, Old World looking, but still a band—a circle—the symbol that means eternity.

Mel tries to put Steve back into an erect position, and comments on it. “Dude has issues getting a boner, doesn’t he?”

I laugh. “Yeah, you gotta rub him just right or he doesn’t stay up.”

“We’re both going straight to Hell. You know that, right? Damn, we’re sick. Sick, I tell you!” She’s laughing, trying to get the seatback to stay up, but Steve isn’t feeling it. “Well, now what?”

“Rub him harder?”

Mel bursts out laughing. “You’re so fucked up. You know that right? I think you had this mentality for messed up shit before I brought you to Black. As much as I regret that, it’s nice to see you acting out on your… uh, whatever the hell is wrong with you.”

“Oh, shut up. There’s duct tape in the glove box. Tape him up.”

Mel gives me a weird look and then does it. She runs a piece of tape behind her chair, after pulling it up and ties it around mine and her door. She leans back gingerly, expecting to topple over, but it holds. “Viagra for the challenged chair.” She holds up the duct tape and nods, before stuffing it back in the glove box. “So, how do we find him?”

“Peter said Sean’s been around. I guess we go into stalker mode and play ‘spot the biker’ until we find Sean.”

“You don’t have an address?”

“It’s not like it’s the City,” by which I mean Manhattan. “Besides, if that doesn’t work, we can try hotels. There are only a few here and I doubt they’re all having biker conventions this weekend.”

“Fine, but you gotta buy me some pancakes when we’re done here. I feel the need to spread the urban legend of the IHOP blow job into the TriState Area.” She smirks at me and nods, while tucking her hands behind her head like she’s too awesome for words. The movement makes the tape slip and her seat falls back.

I nearly crash the car because I’m laughing so hard. Tears sting my eyes by the time we take the exit, and it’s strange to be laughing so hard when I’m about to do something that scares me to death. My emotions never respond the right way at the right time, but I’ll take any laughter when and where I can get it. Life’s been too damn hard lately and a fit of giggles is good for the soul.

CHAPTER 8

We pull off the road and fix Mel’s seat so that she isn’t duct taped to the door anymore. When Steve fell over, all the tape went down too. Some of it sprung back and stuck to her hair. Talk about words I thought I’d never hear. Mel gave me an earful and threatened to castrate the seat (although I’m not sure if that’s possible).

“Avery, this isn’t going to work.” Mel groans. Half a second later, she cocks her head like a terrier. “Well, I’ll be damned. There it is.” Mel holds up a finger and points at the shiny bike Sean bought with me on Long Island. It’s parked out back at a hotel, right next to the back door.

I hesitate. “Should I go in and look for him?”

“They probably won’t give you his room number, but I could get it for you. What do you want to do?”

“Follow him around and see what he’s doing. How creepy does that sound?” I glance over at her, knowing it’s past creepy, but I’m curious about what was so urgent that he had to run off.

Mel shrugs. “Fine by me, but I need some food. There’s a Wag-a-Bag back there. Let’s grab something and stalk him the right way.”

We load up on carbs and soda and sit across the street. My car isn’t really noticeable in a parking lot, but if Sean spots it, he’ll know it’s me. I mean, how many old Capris are still running around?

I park the car at the convenience store, facing the street, so we can see his bike and sit back to wait. Mel opens a bag of Bugles and puts the cone-shaped chips on her fingertips. “I’ll get you and your little dog too, my pretty little call girl.” Her voice is a perfect witch’s imitation.

“You’re not quite green enough to pull that off.” I snatch a Bugle from her fingertip and pop it in my mouth.

Shifting back to Mel’s normal don’t-screw-with-me voice, she sways her head and waves a finger in my face. “Don’t you go saying nothing about the color of my skin. I could make a perfectly perfect nasty witch—”

“I know.”

“Hey!”

“Mel, you walked right into that one. What’s with you lately?” Mel seems distracted. That’s the best word for it. It’s like she’s here, but her mind is somewhere else. Grinning at her, I elbow her side. “So, who is he?” It was a wild stab in the dark, but by the way she turns her claws on me, I know I guessed right.

“What the fuck makes you think there has to be some—” Her hackles are raised and I brace for impact, but at the same second, I see Sean walk out of the hotel across the street.

Lifting my hand, I point. “It’s him.”

Mel slaps me. “Put that down. If he looks over here, he’ll see you wagging your finger at him. Slip down into your seat. I’ll see which way he goes and then we can follow.”

“He’s not going to see me. We’re all the way across the street. Besides, look at him—he’s totally spaced out.” Sean is the kind of guy who usually soaks up the details of everything around him with a flick of his eyes, but today, his gaze is downcast. The warm weather and the sun doesn’t melt the frost that’s formed on his shoulders, either. Sean looks every bit as dangerous as he did going head to head with Henry. Cringe, that was the worst mistake ever, Henry, I mean.

It’s really strange thinking about it, but Henry seemed like a nice guy on the outside. Meanwhile, Sean seems like he’s actively looking for a puppy to kick because it would amuse him. All this time I thought the happy-go-lucky people were the ones carrying their hearts on their sleeves, but I don’t think that’s true anymore. It’s the people with that ferocious I’ll-eat-you-alive look—the folks that scare the bejesus out of old ladies—those are the people with their heart on their sleeves. The barbs in their vacant stares aren’t animosity or hatred, but pain and brokenness. At some point it becomes impossible to hide how many pieces they’ve shattered into and you get this charred outer shell that’s brittle as hell, and impossible to fix.

When I look at Sean, that’s what I see. What looks like a bitter, arrogant man is actually just another guy trying to hold it together. Dad used to say that when things got rough, having Mom around was like having a brace. Even if they both tipped to the side, if they leaned toward each other, they wouldn’t fall down. Being alone means falling flat on my face.

Sean must sense someone is looking at him, because his gaze lifts and searches the parking lot, his face slowly scanning the people.