Broken Songbird (Vicious Games #2)

8. Chapter 8

I hear Del before I see her car turn into the parking lot of my apartment building.

She pulls her new ride to a stop at the curb where I’m standing, and I hear the doors unlock. Enzo wanted to buy Del a car as a Christmas gift, and after multiple arguments, Del eventually picked a sensibly priced one. In classic Enzo fashion, he went and bought her a high-end compact SUV that cost a small fortune instead.

Metal music blasts out of the car as I put my bag into the back and then slide into the front passenger seat.

“Good morning, Angel Face,” Del beams as she turns the music down only slightly and drives out of the parking lot.

“It’s too fucking early,” I grumble, switching the music playlist to something less angry for six-forty-five.

“You’re the one with early classes,” she points out.

“It should be a crime to have classes before ten,” I grumble.

Del and I both did well enough in our exams to get into our first choices for both programs and schools for university. While I’m following Dad’s footsteps into the medical field, to Mum’s absolute joy, Del decided to go into law.

Even though we’re now going to different schools and no longer live together, we still maintain our café breakfast ritual on Thursdays when both of us have similar class times. I love seeing Del every week, but I still hate mornings.

“Is that cat still showing up on your balcony every night?” Del asks.

“He is. His name is Mr. Freckles. I found out his owners live down the hall.”

After everything with Matteo, and a very tense conversation with Mum about my brush with the underworld, I needed time away to just be .

Del and Enzo were more than fine with me moving into the Herrington mansion, but I lasted less than a dinner without feeling the crushing absence of Matteo in that house, so I ended up renting a small apartment close by.

It’s a decent-sized, one-bedroom, eighth floor apartment with a private balcony and all the amenities in the building you could need, but it’s still been a learning experience in the last four months living alone, especially coming from the privileges I was granted growing up in the Sakura house. But I have yet to flood the apartment or burn it down, so I call it a success so far.

“Mr. Freckles is a weird name for an all-black cat,” Del comments as we slowly make our way through early morning traffic.

“I’m going to assume the owner’s little boy named him.”

“And that cute neighbour?” Del asks in a devious tone.

I sigh solemnly. “He’s moving out next week.”

“Farewell bang?”

I whack Del on the arm, and she laughs. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

She snorts. “My mind runs the gutter.”

“I’m not fucking my neighbour.”

“You should,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“You’re the one who’s decided to become a kept woman so young. Don’t try to live vicariously through me. I’m not going to throw myself at every attractive person in my path.”

“Just hot bikies, then?” she asks.

I whack her again.

“So violent,” Del laughs, rubbing her arm. “ Have you slept with anyone since?”

“I’ve been busy.” I have been, truly.

“No wonder you’re such a grouch,” Del comments. “Go get laid, Angel Face.”

“When did you become such a sex fiend?”

“You know what they say: A screw a day keeps the voices at bay.”

We dissolve into laughter as we finally make it to our favourite breakfast spot near my school. Del finds a parking spot in the nearest side street and we walk back to the cafe.

The scent of freshly baked goods wraps around me as we step into the quiet shop. There’s a large counter and display, showcasing the crazy amount of deliciousness they sell to the left, a small amount of cozy seating spots filling the space on the right, and the top half of the back wall is glass, showing the kitchen beyond.

The young woman we see every Thursday is at the coffee machine. She recognises us and smiles. “Good morning! Take a seat. I’ll be right over with your coffees.”

As it’s seven and they’ve just opened, we have the pick of tables. Del and I sit at our favourite spot—the one in the corner with two comfy armchairs in front of the bookshelf—and wave to the baker who’s in the kitchen.

She gives us a small nod as she continues to knead the dough in front of her. The barista appears with two lattes, setting them down in front of us.

“Same food as usual?” she asks, pulling a small notepad out from the pocket in her apron.

“Please, and an extra almond croissant today as well,” I say, adding sugar into my latte.

“I need a dozen assorted croissants as we leave too, please,” Del adds.

I eagerly take a sip of my drink and almost groan. “You’re my favourite mistress of caffeine.”

The barista laughs. “Thank you. Your goods will be boxed for you at the front when you’re ready to leave.”

“So, Claudine called me,” Del announces as soon as the barista is out of earshot.

I groan. “I definitely don’t have enough caffeine in my system for this conversation.”

“Why are you avoiding her?”

“Because every time she calls me, we argue about the same thing.”

Del gives me an enquiring look as she takes a sip of her coffee.

“She wants me to move back home.”

“Maybe she’s right—”

“She also wants me to talk to you about delaying your wedding more than you already have.”

Along with a lovely event manager named Stacey, Del and I are planning a wedding fit for the Herrington name. Thank the universe , Enzo hired Stacey because Del has hated every moment so far; she doesn’t want a big, expensive wedding, and especially doesn’t want to be the centre of attention.

After I pointed out that she’s marrying a Herrington so being in the spotlight is a given, but also, she’s marrying a Herrington, so she can do whatever she wants, she eventually chose a date—August of next year.

When we were home for our monthly dinner almost three weeks ago, Del and I were combing through the huge potential guest list, and Mum pulled me aside to, once again, voice her concerns about this wedding.

“She thinks you should reconsider your relationship with Enzo all together,” I mutter into my coffee.

Del puts her coffee down a little too hard as outrage flares in her clear green eyes. “She what? ”

I reach across the table and take Del’s hand, admiring the sparkle of her engagement ring. “She’s shaken up by the… events of last year. She knows what kind of business Enzo is involved in and the risks.” I squeeze her fingers, looking back at her. “She’s scared to lose us.”

Del squeezes my hand in return and sits back with a dejected sigh. “I get it. With, A—” she falters at the name, “ Adrian still around, Enzo freaks any time I leave the house on my own.” She looks at me, concern creasing her brow. “He worries about you, too.”

I lift my coffee to my lips. “Why would he care about me ?”

“Because I worry about you. You never talk about Mat—”

This time I put my coffee down hard, the warm liquid sloshing on to my hand. “I deal with it how I want to.”

“Did you call the psych like I told you?”

I drop my gaze, taking some napkins out of the holder on the table and wipe up my mess. I could lie to her, but then she’d ask more questions.

“I didn’t,” I say eventually.

“Scar—”

I look up at pitying eyes, anger heating my chest. “I never questioned how you dealt with your shit, Del, so don’t question how I deal with mine.”

We both turn away from each other. I tried to call that psychiatrist so many times, but the thought of talking about him, the missed possibilities, hurt my heart. And I know it would have eventually ended up being sessions about my childhood, and I don’t want to revisit any of that, again .

Instead of therapy, I looked into other methods for dealing with grief, and tried a handful of things—partying, drinking, meditation, a support group. I even considered religion, but none of it helped.

The internet eventually convinced me that exercise may do the trick, so I joined a gym.

“I started boxing classes,” I say, picking up my coffee again. There’s a couple more people in the shop now, waiting for food or coffee, and another worker at the counter.

“Is it helping?” Del asks tentatively.

“Throwing my anger and sorrow into beating the shit out of a bag is extremely cathartic.”

The barista appears at our table again, serving our food—avocado toast with hash browns on the side for Del, bircher muesli with berries and almond croissant for me, and a fruit platter to share.

We thank her, then eat in tense silence for a minute before Del sighs and puts her cutlery down. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

She reaches over and grabs my hand. “You are okay, though?”

I consider lying again. “I… I’m not,” I say truthfully. “But I need to sort it out my way.”

“I know,” Del whispers with a sad, knowing smile.

She pulls away and we go back to eating, the silence now comfortable. We finish our individual dishes and stack the plates before picking our way through the fruit plate.

“Not to piss you off again,” Del starts as she stabs a piece of watermelon. “But this weekend we’re having a dinner at Seduzione , and I would love for you to consider coming.”

“What’s the occasion?” I ask absently, picking up a passionfruit half and a teaspoon.

“Matteo’s birthday,” Del says softly.

I freeze, my chest hollowing out. His birthday. March twenty-sixth. He was supposed to age. Be celebrated that he’s grown older and, being Teo, probably not much wiser. We’re supposed to be getting into some crazy shenanigans while laughing together.

He should be here.

“He was supposed to be twenty-eight on Saturday,” I say softly, digging the teaspoon into the passionfruit, scraping the pulp off the skin.

“Just consider it,” Del reiterates gently. “We’ll save you a spot.”

I give her a small nod and scoop the passionfruit pulp into my mouth, the usual sweet and sour taste bitter on my tongue.

“Have you booked in for your driving test?” Del asks, clearly moving the conversation on to something else.

I swallow the food in my mouth with a cringe and set down my spoon. “Uh, no. Not yet.”

“Have you been taking lessons?” she prods.

“Also, no.”

She gives me an exasperated look.

I fiddle with my cutlery, heat rising in my cheeks. “The last time I had a lesson, I drove into the gutter and popped a tyre.”

A loud laugh bursts from Del before she covers her mouth.

I throw a napkin at her as she shakes with barely contained laughter. “It’s not funny, you asshole.”

“It kind of is.”

“Don’t make me use my new boxing skills on you.”

“Such violence, Angel Face,” Del jests.

“Something you seem to forget.”

Her smile dims slightly and her brow creases. “Is there something I can help with in terms of the driving?”

I sigh, pushing the last blueberry around on the plate. “The last instructor, before she quit, said it’s all confidence and practice. Now I just have to find someone to practice with who won’t think I’m going to kill them.”

Del picks up her phone. “I could ask—shit, we have to go or I’m going to be late for my classes.”

We stand from my seat quickly and head over to the counter, pay for breakfast, and the barista hands Del her boxed-up goods. “See you next week.”

As we exit the cafe, I look up and halt in my escape. Phantom and another biker stand next to five Harleys parked right out front. Phantom’s reading a book and the other guy is looking at his phone. How didn’t we hear them arrive?

“Phantom,” Del says, drawing his attention.

He pushes his glasses up his nose and tips his chin in greeting at us; the other guy doesn’t look up at all.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Business,” he says evenly.

“Who’s with you?” she asks. The question seems innocent, but I know exactly what she’s doing.

“We have to go,” I blurt out, gripping Del’s arm hard and dragging her toward her car.

“Your nails are digging into me,” Del grumbles as she pulls out of my grip as soon as we turn into the side street.

I blow out a breath. “You said you were running late. No time for chatting.”

Del grins. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”

“Phantom? What? No,” I splutter.

“Then why were you being so weird?”

I narrow my eyes. “You know why.”

She arches a brow at me.

“ ‘Who’s with you?’ ” I parrot. “You know Creed is with them. Don’t play Cupid. We didn’t exactly end on good terms.”

“Oh, yeah, your little ‘thief in the morning’ routine,” Del muses. “I still don’t get why you did that.”

I groan, covering my face with my hands. “I was ashamed! We’d just said goodbye to…” I drop my hands and pace. “Creed probably never wants to see me again after that exit. Ink judges me for it. I know he does. God, can you imagine the stories they tell about me?”

Del stops my pacing. “Scar, take a breath.”

I do as she instructs, taking a controlled breath, settling my frantic heart. Del loops my arm around her and we continue walking to her car.

“You’ve never cared about someone else’s opinion of you,” Del says as a statement, not a question, as we arrive at her car.

“I don’t want people to think that I don’t…”

“That you don’t mourn Matteo?” Del asks. Her expression softens. “No one thinks that Scar.”

“My behaviour didn’t reflect that at the time.”

Del scoffs, putting the box down in the backseat of her car. “Weren’t you just telling me you deal with your shit your own way?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

She grabs my biceps, her face serious. “There are no rules for handling this shit the proper way. You do whatever or whomever you want. But there are ways that are harmful.” She squeezes my arms. “Call me before you think about those ways, okay?”

I pull her into a tight hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Tears prick the back of my eyes as I squeeze her tighter. I don’t know what I’d do without her in my life. Before I become a blubbering mess, I pull out of our embrace.

“Well,” Del breathes, blinking away watery eyes. “If you didn’t have a reputation now for fleeing the scene before, you definitely do now.”

I flick her arm as she laughs and turns to her car, pulling my bag out of the backseat and handing it to me.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was running late. I have to go past Enzo’s office before class.”

“Don’t make me walk,” I beg.

“It’s less than five minutes.”

“Del,” I groan. “What if they’re still there?”

She shrugs with a shit-eating grin. “Just make out with Phantom. Or Creed. Or both .”

I shove her arm. “Menace.”

“You love it.”

I shake my head, backing away as she rounds the car. “I think you need to visit a church again.”

“I’m definitely due for confession,” she calls.

I laugh. “Heathen.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Meet you at hell’s gate?”

She blows me a kiss. “I’ll bring marshmallows.”