Page 187 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

“Aight, good. I ain’t know how I was finna save this picture of Deucey.”

“Dumbass.” In no time we’re out the way we came, in my whip, pulling off the street.

“Can you drop me off at Paradise? Ty act like ‘cause he married he can’t manage it no more, so I gotta see wassup. I’ma have Pay come get me after she get off from the hospital.”

“I’ll post up witchu. Then we can go see about the in-laws.” Pulling off my gloves, I turn my phone back on and scroll to my favorite song right now. Windchimes blow into my speakers before a bassline, but it’s not until the Stylistics begin to croon that Turk barks out laughter.

“Yo ass really on cloud nine about that shit huh?”

Pulling off my mask I ain’t even use, I shrug. Traffic’s light, and on the expressway toward Paradise, I turn my music up louder as I accelerate.

“It’s the circle of life, Dub. People really make the world go ‘round!” I punctuate my point by throwing up the Birch.

Wyn

Rico

Your parents are dead .

Up here w Turk now . I’ll swing thru soon

DONT COME UP HERE

Te amo mi nieve

Why that couldn’t have been a phone call, I don’t know. Maybe because he would have been too giddy to play it off like he’s not the one who did this.

The whole morning, I’ve been conflicted. Ever since waking up to that message. No tears. No aching sadness at now being an orphan. But no joy either. No relief, what I thought I would feel.

Nothing beyond the usual fatigue and minor pain from having brain surgery.

Pilar helps me to the living room once I’m dressed. The blinds are pulled, drenching the space in natural light. We sit at the window, eating yogurt bowls and look out into Downtown, into other units with their curtains pulled, then out farther, to the harbor and the ocean.

“Are you okay?” she asks, taking my half-eaten bowl from me.

I lean back onto the side of my couch and shrug. “I don’t know. Does that make me a bad daughter?”

“Not if they were bad parents.” She sets both bowls aside and then scoots toward me. Resting her head on one of her knees, she regards me curiously. “Your grief is your own, Wynter Snow. There’s no right or wrong thing to feel or way to feel it. It’s okay to mourn bad parents, just like it’s okay to feel relief that they’re gone.”

“Are your parents still alive?”

“Evil doesn’t die, so I’m sure Big Mary and whoever had the displeasure of tasting her pussy are still alive and well. But if they aren’t, then the world keeps going.”

“Yeah,” I breathe. My body gears up for a headache, though nothing comes. The headaches are gone, like the seizures.

“How…” I start, before the words fizzle. How deep can I get with her? Would Rico be mad?

But then again, she’s Pooh’s girl. She’s not green.

Licking my lips, I continue. “How would you feel if Pooh was the one who killed them?”

Her lips pull. Long eyelashes flutter as she holds my gaze.

“Are you blushing?!” I accuse, before she erupts into giggles.

“I’m sorry, that’s just so romantic. I’d never sic him on anyone from my past, but if he took the time to find them and avenge me, I probably would get down on my knees… you think Rico–”

“I know it was him,” I sigh. “As soon as my mom started up in front of him, I knew they wouldn’t be making it to next year. I’m so angry at him, Pilar. I could have just cut them off. Death is so… permanent.”