“What happened after that? Have you spoken to Devon since?” asked Stephen.

Nodding, I replied, “Yeah. I talk to him a couple of times a week. We had to go back to NOLA, but he got in touch with her sister, Ingrid. Once everythin’ was finalized, they decided to have Brigid cremated in Nevada, and he brought her back to Amsterdam.”

“How are you holding up, Phil?” Tara asked, shooting a furtive glance at Kenna.

“Bummed, but no more than expected,” I replied. “I wasn’t close with Brigid anymore. Hadn’t been for a long-ass time. And when we were datin’, I can’t say I was really that involved either.”

“What’s it like in New Orleans?” Stephen thankfully changed the subject.

“Awful,” replied Kenna.

Not that that subject was any better.

Kenna

Stephen and Tara’s apartment was freaking palatial. The elevator, accessed by a key, brought us up to the top floor and opened into a magnificent foyer made of white Italian marble and black walls with at least fifty silver-framed mirrors of varying sizes. It was…different. Certainly posh compared to our style of living.

Through the archway was an open-plan massive living area, dining room, and by the gods, a kitchen of epicness. The same Italian marble graced the floors, but the walls in the living room were a deep dark red. Panoramic windows provided relief from the bold colors with a view of an amazing skyline. Their furniture was plush black leather and chrome.

Wow.

Phil smirked at me, his eyes giving me a sly sort of glance.

“You guys too beat, or do you want to hang out?” asked Tara.

“Yes, and yes,” I replied.

Tara laughed. “Go show them their room, Stephen.”

Stephen led the way down the hall to the right, carrying my small suitcase. He opened the last door on the left, and we entered a huge bedroom that was so purple, I had to blink a couple of times. I supposed it was quite lovely, and it was big with a bathroom en suite. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall showed a sweet view of a glittering Manhattan, once again giving a bit of relief to the severe amount of bold color. The bed was a king, nestled in a wrought-iron four-poster frame with black velvet and white silk drapes, white satin bedspread, and a white shag rug beneath the large bed.

“Damn, man,” said Phil, giving a long, low whistle.

“It’s dark in here now, but the morning light will wake you up just fine. And the windows are mirrored. No one can see in, if you catch my drift.”

Drift caught, I thought dryly.

“And don’t worry about keeping shit tidy or anything. We’ve got a housekeeper.”

Dropping off our stuff, we headed back into the living room and plopped onto the black leather love seat. We hung out, chitchatting and attempting to keep the atmosphere light since the conversation at dinner had nose-dived into the depressing.

In all honesty, I knew Phil was more than bummed about Brigid, and once we were alone in our bedroom, I found the balls to bring it up.

As he tugged off his shirt from back to front, the way I liked, I watched him from my seat on the edge of the bed for a few beats before asking, “Do you want to talk about Brigid?”

Giving me a surprised look, he asked, “Do you?”

I shrugged. “Well…I guess maybe I do. I mean, you lost someone close to you—”

“We weren’t close, Kenna. We hadn’t been for a long time.”

Dismissing that with a wave of my hand, I started untying my boots. “You know what I mean.”

Phil squatted down before me and took over the task of unlacing. “What do you want to know, Baby Girl?”

He tugged off my boots, and I was so engrossed with watching the powerful muscles of his chest that my mouth went dry, and any questions I’d had momentarily dissipated within my brain.

“Kenna?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Heaving a sigh, I said, “It’s just that, when we got back home, with the hurricane and working all the time, I sort of put the whole Brigid situation out of my head. I didn’t have to think about it, and looking back, I realize you didn’t have that luxury.”

Phil stood, towering above me. The Dark God of the Universe kicked off his boots and undid his belt buckle.

“It sucks,” he told me, walking away and removing the rest of his clothes.

Getting up, I started to undress. After I pulled off my sweater, Phil stood before me, stark naked, arms crossed over his huge chest, just watching. His eyes were nearly black, narrowed and contemplative.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I’m wonderin’ how you’re feeling about the whole thing.”

Sighing again, I took off the rest of my clothes and threw them on top of his pile on the black leather armchair in the corner of the room. Then, I turned and crawled into the bed, the satin sheets slippery and cool against my skin. The bed next to me sagged beneath his weight, and I rolled onto my side to face him.

“I’m waitin’,” he said.

“I feel guilty,” I told him. “Not about her dying. I mean, I feel bad about that, too, but about not being there for you. Whether or not you two were close, she was someone special to you, and I…I left you to deal with her death on your own. I think that I insisted on working as hard as I did, so I wouldn’t have to witness you grieving for her.”

Propping his head in his hand, he looked down at me, and I could swear he was judging me. It made me feel all squirmy inside.

“You really think that?”

“In some way…yeah. I didn’t like her. I was insanely jealous of her—”

“I think she was insanely jealous of you.”

“Only because she didn’t have you,” I replied.

His free hand reached out and trailed fingertips softly up my arm. “She never really had me at all. What I feel guilty about is the fact that I never loved her when, apparently, she thought she loved me. After I left, she started hittin’ the needle hard. I can’t help but feel like maybe I was the one who had pushed her into it.”

“Ridiculous,” I scoffed. Yet…if he ever decided to leave me, what would I do in order to cope? Would I search for a way to escape the pain his leaving had caused? I didn’t know, but I could admit, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

“What are you thinkin’ now?”

“That if I ever had to face you leaving me—”

“No, Baby Girl.”

“Hypothetically—”

“Not happenin’. I can hardly stand to spend a few hours away from you,” he said, his voice starting to take on that dangerous quality that did funny things to my female parts. “Let alone even think about leavin’ you.”

“We’re getting off the subject.”

“You started it,” he grunted.

“Well, what I was trying to tell you was that maybe Brigid using heroin wasn’t so ridiculous. Maybe losing you did hurt her enough to want to find a way to dull the pain. I could relate to that, okay? But, in the end, it was her choice, and that sort of blame shouldn’t be laid at your feet.”

“I wonder if I could’ve prevented her from takin’ her own life, like maybe if I had been nicer about the whole thing. I was a bit of a dick—”

“So was she,” I huffed under my breath.

He gave me a lopsided grin. “Yeah, she was. But still…”

“Still, I should’ve realized she was unhinged. I knew that she was using.”

“It’s the worst for Devon,” he said softly.

“I think, when she realized that she wouldn’t be able to just snap her fingers and fix things between them, she just…gave up on everything. She couldn’t have you, she couldn’t have him, and she was fucked in the head from whatever shit she had gone through with the Cannibals.”

Phil nodded, lightly tracing his fingers around the outer curve of my breast and down my rib cage. Scooting closer, he slid his arm around my waist and pulled me into his warmth. Distracted by his thick cock pressing into my abdomen, I automatically pushed into it.