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Chapter Thirty-Seven
Phoebe
“Cappuccino or latte?”
I held tightly to the pink pacifier in my hands and studied the mint green colored Formica table pattern.
“Pheebs?” Faith’s gentle voice jolted me as she pointed to the menu board.
“Yeah?” I stared through her, my voice flat and lifeless.
“Do you want a cappuccino or a latte?”
Memories bombarded my head as she waved a hand in my face. I could never get enough coffee flavored anything in my second trimester with Iris. I’d sent Julian out at all hours of the night for gallons of coffee flavored ice cream.
Iris.
I didn’t have the energy to shake my head, so I just blinked. “No.”
“No, you don’t want a cappuccino, or no, you don’t want a latte?”
“No, I don’t want to be here.” I swallowed the words through a dry throat. There were no tears left. I’d cried them all. I’d screamed all the screams to be heard. I’d prayed all the prayers.
Faith’s mouth turned down as she slipped across from me into the booth and shoved a mug of creamy coffee under my nose. It’d been almost two weeks since Iris had been taken. I didn’t want to drink coffee. I didn’t want to leave the house. I didn’t want to eat, or laugh, or sleep.
I just wanted my daughter back.
The smell hit me, and I almost threw up. I threw up daily thinking about my baby with that man. Was she in pain? What was he doing to her? God, was she feeling the same strike of his hand I did as a child?
“Pheebs, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just wanted you to get some air.” She entwined our hands like she used to do when we were in college. With his tattooed hand holding his own mug, Zane slid in beside her, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“It’s not you.” I pushed the mug far away from me. “I can’t stop thinking about her. How will I go on?” I turned away. The coffee shop bustled with fresh and lively Hollywood energy. High-fashioned teenagers sat across from high-powered agents and actors without so much as a side glance of interest.
Not one of them cared that my life was over.
Zane slammed his mug down. “Stop it! Stop talking like that. The police are going to find her.”
I wanted to believe him, but my memory made me believe otherwise.
“Zane, my father tried to kill me. Faith found me almost dead, for Christ’s sake.” Instinctively, I grabbed the stomach that once housed the two things he had in his possession: his blade and my child. “The man is inhuman. Do you think he wouldn’t do the same to Iris just because she’s his blood?”
“But she’s a baby,” Faith protested as a tear slipped from her eye. Her bruised face healed, thank god. Zane refused to let her go back to Armando’s, which kept her on edge.
Watching him slide closer and squeeze her thigh, a little piece of me died. Julian and I hadn’t spoken since he’d moved out. Our once powerful and passionate connection had been reduced to sparse, one-word texts. His touch grounded me, and I needed him to pull me back from my mindless state. Without him, I was falling.
“He broke two of my bones before I was seven,” I blurted out, staring off into space. I wished to hell he’d killed me almost four years ago. But that sick son of a bitch had planned a fate worse than death. Stealing my baby would kill me forever. It was a lifetime win for him.
The ultimate checkmate.
Faith grimaced, her eyes riveted to her mug. After saving me from my father’s attack in college, I was sure she’d tried to block out all thoughts of my family. I would’ve.
Zane cursed under his breath as he tried to inconspicuously type on his phone underneath the table. Hope sprung in my chest.
“Is that Julian?” I asked, studying his every move.
Zane stroked his long beard, a worn expression pulling at the corners of his eyes. He turned the phone over in his lap and placed both hands on the table. “He’s acting like a fucking idiot, Phoebe. He doesn’t know how to handle this. He’ll come around.”
“What’s he saying?” As badly as he’d hurt me, I knew he felt just as destroyed and handled it alone.
