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“Why?” Miranda asked, staring at Della as if she’d lost her mind. And maybe she had.
“Because,” Della snapped.
“That’s not a reason. You are one of my best friends. Why shouldn’t I listen to you?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” Della spouted out. “If advice comes out of this mouth”—she pointed to her lips—“don’t listen. Don’t just walk away. Run. Fast. Because I don’t know shit about love, or about romance, or about the difference between a bond and love. I’m effing clueless! Clueless!” she repeated.
She took two steps and then swung back around. “And … I’m changing shampoo, so my hair doesn’t smell like this … and … and if Cindy wants his body, she can have it!”
She stormed to her room and slammed her door.
Unfortunately, she slammed it too hard and it fell off its hinges and crashed on the wooden floor.
Growling, she turned around, propped it up against the doorway, then dropped face first onto the bed.
“Who’s Cindy?” she heard Miranda ask.
Della moaned and pulled a pillow over her head.
“Wouldn’t have a clue.” Kylie’s voice still got through the pillow foam.
“Should we try to talk to her?” Miranda asked.
“Nope,” Kylie said. “I think she just needs to stew.”
And as Della lay in bed, that’s exactly what she did for the next few hours.
Stew.
Chapter Thirty-one
She still didn’t trust him. Chase rolled over for about the fifth time and tried to mold the pillow to fit his head. He couldn’t sleep. His pillow smelled like Della and he recalled waking up and seeing her so close. He tossed his pillow to the other side of the room. He rolled over, only to realize the damn mattress smelled like her too. He ran a hand over it, where she’d slept beside him while he’d been unconscious.
Exhaling, he ran a palm over his face, only to realize that even his hand smelled like her.
With clarity he recalled that she’d held it on the walk to his cabin. While her support had felt awesome, the fact that he’d let his emotions get the better of him at the morgue left him feeling weak. And that was the last way he wanted her to see him.
It might be wrong, but he wanted to be strong for her, wanted to be there for her to lean on. Not that Della Tsang did a lot of leaning. But when she did, he wanted it to be on him.
It had been four years since the … morgue. One would think he’d have moved past it.
He closed his eyes and pushed away the images of his family in the cold white room and pulled up the images of them skiing in Colorado. His dad kissing his mother. His mom serving them snickerdoodle cookies. His sister laughing.
Happy times.
Trying to hold on to the good thoughts to chase away the bad, he recalled how it had felt to sign the FRU contract today. A step toward his future. Sitting up, he turned on the light and grabbed the FRU badge Burnett had given him. He needed to get his mind back on the investigation.
Chase snatched his phone. It was midnight. A perfect time to call Leo. He found the guard’s phone number.
“I thought you’d have had enough of Hell’s Pit,” Leo answered.
“But it’s such a charming place,” Chase said with sarcasm.
“Kid, I thought you were a goner. I seriously don’t know how you came out of that room with any of your limbs still attached.”
“I’m fond of my limbs,” Chase said.
“Apparently,” Leo said. “If you’re calling for another shot at Pope, you’re going to be disappointed.”
