"Yes." He raked his eyes over her, and not in the way she remembered. "Why did you leave rehab? At least when you’re there, he doesn’t have to worry about you and can focus on more important things. I am not a babysitter. You are a grown woman, Sylvia."
"I don’t need your lecture, okay? I don’t need to be in rehab. I am sober, and I plan on staying sober." Sylvia’s eyes flared with defiance.
Joey didn’t bother getting comfortable. He didn’t even remove his coat. He strode into the house. He yanked open the fridge, scanning every corner, then his gaze slid toward the bar in the corner of the room.
"Do you think if I was going to sneak in alcohol, I would leave it in plain sight?" she snapped, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, forcing herself to stand taller.
Joey closed the fridge with a slam and looked back at her. "Do I need to turn the house inside out?"
"I promise, Joey. I do not have any contraband hiding anywhere." She spread her arms wide.
"You’ve made me promises before." He leaned against the counter. "Why should I take you seriously now?" This text is hosted at novel·fıre·net
Her throat tightened. She knew what he meant. "Because losing you was the biggest wake-up call I needed."
"You lost me two years ago, Syl. And you’ve still been drowning yourself since. Don’t make pathetic excuses that don’t hold up."
"Can we not do this?" she whispered. "Let’s just... have a conversation." She took a breath, her lips quirking in a sad attempt at normalcy. "You want some coffee?"
"How is the wife?" Sylvia asked. She leaned against the counter, fingers curling around her coffee mug, hiding the tremor in her hands.
"She stayed back in the Maldives. It was an emergency—Winn needed me." He took the mug she handed him. "She should be back this weekend."
Sylvia forced a smile. "So, what’s a second honeymoon like?" The attempt at casual conversation came out jagged.
"I don’t think that’s what you want to talk about."
"What are your plans moving forward now?"
"Well," she began, her eyes flicking toward the floor, "once Winn trusts me enough, I plan on getting a job or starting up a catering business. Keep my mind busy." It felt vulnerable to say it aloud. For so long, people had written her off as the addict, the mess, the sister who couldn’t hold herself together. But she wanted more now. She needed more.
"You still love to cook, huh?"
"It is art, in its own way." She smiled, this one genuine, her eyes lighting up.
"Right." He took a sip of the coffee then, the silence stretching between them.
"So, what do you think about this issue with Winn?" Sylvia finally broke the quiet, tilting her head.
"Well, I think your brother should grow a pair and just get married."
Sylvia chuckled, surprised at how much she needed that laugh. "You too?"
"Irene is gone. It’s time to look for another."
"It’s not so easy falling in love again. I would know." Her fingers toyed with the rim of her coffee cup, nails tapping a restless rhythm.
Joey leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes steady on hers. "Syl... you need to let it go."
"I cannot." Her hand trembled as she set her cup down. "I have always and will always love you. Nothing is going to change that."
Joey sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Someday, someone just around the corner is going to come and sweep you off your feet."
Sylvia sighed, her heart aching at the irony. Only one man had ever swept her off her feet, and he was sitting right in front of her, close enough to touch but galaxies away. She wanted to kiss him, make him feel the storm raging inside her. Instead, she just nodded, lips pressed into a fragile smile.
It was Ivy’s last day of work. She had cleared her desk, organized the files Joey left behind, and even typed up the final notice for her replacement. It would have been nice to say goodbye to Mr. Kane.
Her salary had been paid into her account, and she allowed herself a small luxury: pizza. Greasy, cheesy, guilt-free comfort food. If she was going back to reality then she damn well deserved a send-off.
She arrived home, kicked off her heels by the door, and collapsed on her worn-out sofa. While waiting for her pizza, she opened her laptop and began the ritual she hated most—sorting through bills. First, she sent her mother’s monthly board bill to the nursing home, a responsibility that made her chest ache but also gave her purpose. Then she split the rest in half, chipping away at her father’s lingering loans, the numbers dwindling fast.
Just as she sighed, resigning herself to another month of scraping by, there was a loud, piercing knock on her door.
She jerked up at the knock, pulse hammering. She swung open the door, standing there was her father’s bookie, Flick.
"It’s the end of the month, pretty. Time to pay up." Flick always called her "pretty," not as a compliment but as a reminder—a woman’s face was a currency too, and he wanted her to know.
Ivy tightened her grip on the doorframe, her spine straightening. "You didn’t have to come all the way. I was just working on forwarding it to you."
Flick chuckled. "I wish your father was just as religious in paying his debt before he died. You wouldn’t be in this position."
"You’ll get it in a couple of minutes."
"Make sure I do. Have a good night, pretty." He tipped two fingers against his forehead mockingly before swaggering away.
Ivy sighed as she shut the door, leaning her forehead against the wood for a moment. If she could land another job that paid even half as much as the House of Kane gig, she could finally get ahead of the debts. A couple of months, maybe less, and she’d be free of her father’s chains.