51

RONAN

ALBERT HELD THE BANKER BY his collar and punched him in the face. Blood and spittle flew through the air. Leaning back in my desk chair, my eyes caught and narrowed on a blonde hair on my shirt sleeve. My first instinct was to pluck the strand off as if it carried a flesh-eating strain of bacteria. The hair was yellow. And these days, the color made my chest feel ridiculously tight.

The sensation was karma.

I knew it would catch up with me. And here it was, making me feel awkward as fuck with a single strand of Mila’s hair. She clung to me when she wasn’t even present. Her summery smell, the feel of her legs wrapped around me, the sound of her laugh . . . All of it had burrowed beneath my skin deeper than claws.

Albert’s fist flew. The banker’s jawbone cracked, and a tooth skidded across my desk.

Karma could have given me something easier to deal with—like an impending atom bomb or a nuclear disaster. But no, the comeuppance karma had dealt me was feelings. What a cunt.

Albert k