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Chapter 8

Suzi sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she gripped the letter. The words blurred, her brain struggling to process them through the haze of tears stinging her eyes. Four times she read it—four fucking times—and still, the weight of it crushed her.

Her sweet, old friend John wasn’t John at all. The kind, storytelling man who’d regaled her with tales of war and camaraderie was a fucking fraud. A liar.

“Goddammit, John,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she hurled the letter onto the bed. No, not John. Robert.

The bed creaked under her as she leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands. Land in Colorado. An unknown investment portfolio. Some ancient fucking artifact. It all sounded like something out of a goddamn spy movie.

Her eyes darted to the ring of keys lying on the bedspread. John—or Robert—mentioned three keys in the letter. But there were four. She picked them up, flipping through them like they might whisper their secrets if she stared long enough. The ancient green one was obvious, its tarnished surface catching the light. The safe deposit box key was labeled, but the other two? Footlocker, maybe. The last one? No clue.

Her fingers brushed the golden ring on the bed, and she picked it up. It felt heavier than it should have, though it had no markings. No engravings. Just smooth, gleaming gold, bright and flawless like it had been forged yesterday despite John’s claim that it was at least twenty-five years old, and Judas’ claim that it was older than time.

She turned it over and over between her fingers, half expecting it to burn her or spark with some celestial magic.

Nothing.

She did not get mesmerized as she had with Miraleth’s Pellet or even get the surge of strength as she had with Rogziel’s Blade.

“This is it?” she muttered, slipping it onto her right hand. The damn thing was huge, loose enough to fit two of her fingers at once. “Some magical relic, huh?”

She let it sit there, staring at her hand, willing it to do something. She remembered Judas’ words about its power and muttered the name under her breath. “Ring of Eae.”

The ring shimmered, dissolving into her skin like it had melted straight into her bloodstream.

“At least you still work,” she said dryly, flexing her fingers. No surge of power. No divine clarity. Just a cold pit in her stomach and an ache in her leg from her fight the night before.

She pulled the stack of papers from the envelope and started sifting through them. Stocks, dividends, portfolios—shit she didn’t understand and had no patience for. The numbers blended together on the page, but she managed to jot down the contact information for the firm listed. Someone there would explain it, she hoped.

The clock read 6:15 a.m. Still dark out, but she needed to move.

Her leg twinged as she stood, the bandaged gash on her foot throbbing. She unwrapped it gingerly, checking the healing wound. Red and raw, but less angry than last night.

“Alexa, add Pink Doc Martens to my shopping list,” she muttered. She was going to need sturdier boots for the shitstorm ahead.

Her first stop was the hospital. Aiden.

The nurses greeted her with weary familiarity, their smiles tired but warm. They promised, like they did yesterday, to move him to the ICU as soon as a room opened. Suzi barely nodded, her attention fixed on the window separating her from her husband. She pressed her forehead against the glass, her breath fogging the surface. He looked so goddamn fragile under those casts and machines.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She stayed until the silence became unbearable, then left for work.

By 8 a.m., she was alone at the funeral home, save for the half-assembled skull of Mr. Conway. The 3D printer had finished overnight, and she pulled the fresh piece from the machine. The faint smell of resin clung to it as she set it on the table, ready to begin reconstructing his face.

She called Nick from the front desk.

“This is Nick,” he answered.

“Nick, It’s Suzi. Where is everyone?”

“Didn’t you get my texts?”

“No. I—my phone—it broke last night,” she quickly lied.

“Livi, Gracie, and I are going to the oncologist’s office this morning to discuss a plan for dealing with my cancer. We’ll all be in this afternoon. Doyle called out sick.”

“Wow. Okay. Good luck. Jo and I will hold down the fort.”

“Put Jo on the phones, and you can call PJ at Chicago West if you get overwhelmed.”

“We’ll manage. Thanks, Nick. Take care.”

She then called the firm that provided John McGillicuddy with his investment portfolio but had to leave a voicemail.

Jo showed up at 8:30, and Suzi immediately knew something was off.

The girl was quiet—too quiet. Her usual chipper energy was replaced by a nervous, haunted look.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“What’s going on with you?” Suzi asked, not looking up from the skull.

Jo hesitated, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve. “Nothing,” she said, her voice too high, too forced.

Suzi glanced up. “Bullshit.”

Jo flinched.

“Spit it out, Jo.” Suzi straightened, pulling off her gloves. “What the hell happened?”

Tears welled in Jo’s eyes, and she looked down at her shoes. “You’re gonna be mad,” she whispered.

Suzi crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “Try me.”

Jo’s voice cracked as she started to talk, the words tumbling out in a rush. Dinner. Drinks. Doyle.

Suzi’s stomach twisted as Jo described the night—the fancy seafood restaurant, the walk in the park, Doyle’s chivalrous bullshit.

“We sat there and talked for hours. Did you know his family is really wealthy? Doyle wants to start his own Funeral Home business, like Nick.”

“I’ve heard. Go on,” Suzi replied.

“Well, we left the restaurant, and we held hands.”

Suzi closed her eyes again and fought down a gag reflex.

“Doyle said someone was following us,” Jo continued, her voice trembling. “He said his dad had ties to the mob, and we needed to hide.”

“Jesus Christ, Jo,” Suzi muttered, rubbing her temples.

“So, he got us a hotel room,” Jo said. “And… and…”

Suzi’s heart pounded, anger bubbling to the surface. “And what?”

Jo looked down, her face red. “We kissed.”

Suzi clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “That’s it, right? Just kissing?”

Jo hesitated.

“Jo,” Suzi growled.

Jo started crying, her words barely coherent. “I… I told him I liked him, and we started… you know. I didn’t know how to stop it!”

A red haze clouded Suzi’s vision. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay calm.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Jo shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No! He was sweet. He stopped when I said no. But…”

“But what?”

Jo’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I think he loves me.”

Suzi stared at her, her mind racing. Doyle was a fucking predator, and Jo… Jo was too naive to see it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Suzi muttered under her breath.

Jo looked up at her, eyes wide and pleading. “What do I do?”

Suzi took a deep breath, her hands shaking. “You stay the hell away from him, that’s what. And if he so much as looks at you wrong, you tell me. I’ll deal with it.”

Jo nodded, sniffling.

Suzi’s jaw tightened. Doyle was going to pay.

Jo’s naïveté was going to give Suzi a heart attack. She could feel her pulse pounding in her temples as Jo’s words sunk in.

“I hugged him and kissed him again, and things sort of led to me getting out of my clothes.”

“GRACIE JO! NO! Please tell me you didn’t—” Suzi shot to her feet, Jo’s hands slipping from her own. She turned away, running her fingers through her hair and trying to push down the wave of frustration and dread.

“Well, I would ask him to stop, then he would cry, and things would start again.”

Suzi spun back, staring at the girl. “Gracie. Honey, he played you.” She sat down heavily, leaning forward to meet Jo’s gaze. “He took advantage of you.”

Jo’s lip quivered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think I know that now. But I have a question. If he never put his thing into mine, does it count as s-e-x—” her voice dropped lower, “—and if it does, do I have to marry him now?”

“Wait—what? You guys didn’t have sex?” Suzi’s eyes widened, her tone sharp.

“I don’t know,” Jo pouted, looking down. “I was naked and on the bed. He took his pants off and climbed on top of me. I closed my eyes, and he grunted and moaned, and a second later, stuff went all over my leg and knee.”

Suzi bit the inside of her cheek hard, stifling a laugh that bubbled up despite herself.

“He ran to the bathroom, and a few minutes later, he came out and dressed. He didn’t say anything to me after that. He brought me back here so I could get my car, and that was it. I’m so confused.”

“Well, the good news is that it doesn’t sound like you’ve done anything you need to confess to your priest,” Suzi said, leaning back and exhaling a long breath. “Your innocence might be a bit… tarnished, but you didn’t have sex. And no, you don’t have to marry him. That also explains why he called out sick this morning.”

“I made him sick?” Jo’s big eyes brimmed with guilt.

“Well, no,” Suzi replied. “Doyle’s been sick for a while. But he embarrassed himself and probably didn’t want to face you. I still wish you hadn’t been so hurried to get kissed. And I really wish it hadn’t been Doyle.”

“What do I do now?” Jo asked, her voice small, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

“Normally?” Suzi said, leaning forward again. “We girls do what they call the ‘Walk of Shame.’ Usually, it’s us walking away while the guys wear it like a badge of honor. But in this case, you can totally flip it. If you wanted to, you could make Doyle squirm. You have the upper hand. Or you could just let it go.” She paused. “Either way, it’ll be awkward for a while. He’ll probably avoid you. But eventually, you’ll get back to a working relationship. And I doubt he’ll ever hit on you again.”

Jo shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to be mean to him. He might be just as confused as I am.”

Suzi studied her, warmth stirring beneath her irritation. Jo’s innocence was maddening but kind of sweet, too. “I know you don’t. There’s not a mean bone in your body. It’ll be okay. Just… lesson learned. Don’t date someone you work with. Don’t mix business with pleasure. And next time, get to know the person better. Maybe hang out with your friends. Go on dates with people they trust.”

“I don’t have any friends,” Jo said, her voice cracking. “I was homeschooled, and all the kids at church thought I was weird. I had one friend, but she got pregnant at 17, and my parents wouldn’t let me see her anymore. I felt stupid. I thought I’d get pregnant just from being around her. I didn’t even know how babies were made until college.”

Suzi’s chest ached at Jo’s words. Without thinking, she pulled the girl into a hug. “I get it. I don’t have much of a social life either.” An idea struck her, and she leaned back, holding Jo by the shoulders. “Hey! I have this thing to go to tomorrow night. You could come. Meet some of my friends. They’re closer to my age, but it’s a start. It’s an art show at my stepbrother’s gallery.”

Jo’s face lit up. “That sounds like fun! I’d love to!”

Suzi smiled despite herself. “Well, there’ll be alcohol and food. Ricky’s an artist, but he’s not exactly Van Gogh. Just… don’t expect too much.”

They spent the rest of the morning finishing Mr. Conway’s reconstruction. Suzi felt a surge of pride as she inspected their work. Jo was learning fast. After making the final adjustments, Suzi called the family to schedule the visitation.

Nick and Gracie Lynn arrived shortly after noon, bringing the heavy air of bad news, letting Livi continue on to her ‘shopping therapy.’

“There are some experimental treatments, but it’s as expected: I will not live out the new year,” Nick told Suzi in his office.

Suzi, unable to keep the question inside. “Nick,” she began, her voice uncertain, “I think I can help.”

He tilted his head, his expression a mix of amusement and exhaustion. “You’ve discovered how to 3D-print a cure for brain cancer?” he quipped, flopping into his oversized red leather chair.

“No.” Suzi closed the door softly, the click of the latch loud in the sudden stillness. She turned back to him, her expression deadly serious. “I can ask an angel for a favor.”

Nick stared at her, his face frozen somewhere between disbelief and annoyance. “I’m glad you found your spiritual connection, Suzi, but the power of prayer isn’t exactly cutting-edge medicine.”

“Nick,” Suzi said, leaning forward, her heart pounding. “How’s your heart?”

His brow furrowed. “What? My heart’s fine.”

“Good,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Because what I’m about to tell you is going to shock you. And you probably won’t believe me.”