Conclave (Devil's Night, #3.5)

by Penelope Douglas

I went down the elevator and made my way outside, the balmy August air thick and heavy on my skin as I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. I breathed in the smell of hot asphalt and fresh bread from the bakery down the street and dialed Will, but it went straight to voicemail. I shook my head. I almost hung up, but then a rush of sudden anger made me lash out. “You knew my kid was coming this month,” I snapped. “Why aren’t you here? You missed it. You know, you’re just really fucking…” But I stopped and hung up, grinding my teeth together, because I didn’t know what to say. Asshole. But after a moment, I felt bad. I had no right to lose my temper with him. I dialed him back, waiting for voicemail to pick up again. “I miss you,” I said. “We all miss you. We need you, okay? My son needs you. You’re his favorite. I know it already. Just…” I shook my head again and hung up. I shouldn’t be angry. I’d done my fair share of shit I thought I needed to do. This was just important. I wanted him part of this memory.