The Chopping Block by John Passarella

Author:John Passarella [Passarella, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Urban Fantasy, Fiction
Publisher: Titan Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Monroe dreaded the conversation he needed to have with Rosalee. Not so much for what he had to say but for what he had to leave unsaid. He wandered along an aisle, feigning interest in several jars filled with glittery powders, while she rang up the purchases of an embarrassed young couple who apparently shared some sort of Wesen infection involving hives and sneezing. Judging by their furtive glances around the shop, he figured they needed a few moments of privacy.

After the couple had left the shop clutching their remedies in twin bags, Monroe joined Rosalee behind the counter. Her broad, welcoming smile warmed his heart but made the topic of discussion harder to broach. Of course, she sensed his unease immediately.

“Monroe, what’s wrong?”

He reminded himself to never play poker with her.

“Oh, nothing really…”

“I know your ‘bad news’ look,” she said. “So how bad is it?”

“About tonight…”

“Tonight, I planned to cook dinner for you. I found this recipe for…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned. “You won’t be coming to dinner tonight, will you?”

“It’s just that I, that old friend of mine who dropped by, I sort of promised I’d, you know, cook for him after we…” This time Monroe’s voice faded. He cleared his throat and tried to start again.

Rosalee placed a hand on his chest.

“You haven’t said much about this old friend.”

“No,” Monroe said. “He’s an old friend from, well, an old friend. Someone I never intended to see again.”

“I see,” Rosalee said. And Monroe believed she had intuited just how “old” a friend he meant. Before she’d met Monroe, Rosalee had her own dark period, a time she wasn’t proud of, same as Monroe. They had that in common, so she probably understood better than most what it meant for Monroe to hang around with somebody he knew during his own dark phase. “Monroe, are you…?”

“No, I haven’t done anything,” Monroe said. “I’ve been trying to help him.”

“Help him?”

“Be more like me.”

“He’s a Blutbad?”

Monroe nodded. “Hardcore,” Monroe said. “But he’s trying to change. At least he says he is.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“It’s been a struggle,” Monroe said. “I know I’ve been absent a lot lately, but…”

“Monroe, is it okay for you to be around someone like him?”

“Yes—no—I’m fine,” Monroe said quickly. “I just want to say that after tonight, it’s over.”

“It is?” she asked, doubtful.

“I tried to help him, but tonight’s the last time,” Monroe said. “He is—was—a friend, so I owed him that much, right? But I’ve made up my mind. One last attempt to set him on a good path. Then I’m done. It’s over. I have to admit to myself that I’ve done what I can and the rest is up to him.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” Monroe said, nodding, as if he needed to convince himself again that he’d had a moral obligation to try to help Decker and that he should back away if meditation failed as spectacularly as had Pilates and t’ai chi. “Because, maybe you’re right, you know?”

“Right about what?”

“That it might not be the best idea for me to spend a lot of time with him.

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