• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Butch popped a misshapen smile—on account of the crack in his upper lip. “Sorry, buddy, you can’t shake me even if you tried.”

V blinked a couple of times, horrified at what he was about to say. “God, you’re going for sainthood, you know that? You’ve always been there for me. Always. Even when I…”

“Even when you what?”

“You know.”

“What?”

“Fuck. Even when I was in love with you. Or some shit.”

Butch clasped his hands to his chest. “Was? Was? I can’t believe you’ve lost interest.” He threw one arm over his eyes, all Sarah Bernhardt. “My dreams of our future are shattered—”

“Shut it, cop.”

Butch looked out from under his arm. “Are you kidding me? The reality show I had planned was fantastic. Was going to pitch it to VH1. Two Bites Are Better Than One. We were going to make millions.”

“Oh, for the love.”

Butch rolled over on his side and got serious. “Here’s the deal, V. You and me? We’re in this life together, and not just because of my curse. I don’t know if I’m all into divine providence and shit, but there’s a reason why we met. And as for that whole you-being-in-love-with-me thing? It was probably more about you just caring about someone for the first time.”

“Okay, stop right there. You’re giving me hives from this caring/sharing shit.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Fuck you, Dr. Phil.”

“Good, I’m glad we agree.” Butch frowned. “Hey, maybe I could have a talk show, since you aren’t going to be my June Cleaver anymore. I could call it the O’Neal Hour. Sounds important, doesn’t it?”

“First of all, you were going to be June Cleaver—”

“Screw that. No way I’d bottom for you.”

“Whatever. And second, I don’t think there’s much of a market for your particular brand of psychology.”

“So not true.”

“Butch, you and I just beat the crap out of each other.”

“You started it. And actually, it would be perfect for Spike TV. UFC meets Oprah. God, I’m brilliant.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Butch’s laughter was cut off as a gust of wind whipped through the backyard. “Okay, big guy, as much as I’m enjoying this, I don’t think my tan’s improving much, considering it’s pitch dark.”

“You don’t have a tan.”

“See? This is getting me nowhere. So how about we head home?” There was a long pause. “Shit…you’re not coming with me, are you?”

“I don’t feel like killing anyone anymore.”

“Oh. Good. The idea that you might only cripple the guy makes me feel a fuck of a lot better about leaving you here.” Butch sat up with a curse. “Mind if I at least see if he’s left?”

“God, do I really want to know?”

“I’ll be right back.” Butch groaned and got up like he’d been in an accident, all creaky and stiff. “Man, this is gonna hurt for a while.”

“You’re a vampire now. Body’ll be fine and dandy before you know it.”

“Not the point. Marissa is going to kill us both for brawling.”

V winced. “Crap. That’s gonna leave a stain, true?”

“Yup, yup.” Butch hobbled off. “She’s going to knock our heads.”

V glanced up to the condo’s second story and couldn’t decide whether it was a good or a bad sign that there were no lights on. Closing his eyes, he prayed that the Porsche was gone…even though he had no expectation that it would be. Man, Butch was right. Him hanging here was a situation with police tape around it. This needed to be the last time—

“He’s gone,” Butch said.

V exhaled like he was a tire deflating, then realized he’d gotten a reprieve only for tonight. Sooner or later she was going to be with someone else.

Sooner or later she was probably going to be with that other doctor.

V lifted his head, then slammed it back down into the frozen ground. “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can live without her.”

“Do you have a choice?”

Nope, he thought. No choice at all.

Come to think of it, that word shouldn’t be applied to people’s destinies. Ever. Choice should be relegated to TV and meals: You could choose NBC over CBS or steak instead of chicken. But take the concept any further than the stove or the remote control and the word just didn’t apply.

“Go home, Butch. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“Stupider, you mean.”