by Marni Mann
There was emotion in her eyes when she said, “You’re so good to me.”
I moved my hand to her chin, my thumb brushing along the bottom of her smile.
She deserved it.
She was just as good to me.
“I’ll send you what she put together,” I said. “And you can tell me if it works or not.” The light turned green, and I looked back toward the road.
“Thank you.”
“Of course, baby.”
“I love when you call me that.”
While I drove, I kept my hand on her face, fingers spread across her cheek and the dip of her neck, my thumb still grazing small patches of her skin. I got the sense she needed the comfort.
Alix, when are you going to tell me what happened to you?
Maybe what she needed was to see Roxbury from my point of view. To look at the different places and experience them through my eyes, my descriptions, my tumultuous memories.
It wouldn’t be easy to bring her there.
But I had to do it.
I had to let her into that world, or she’d never fully understand me.
Reluctantly, when we reached the valet, I pulled away from her face and got out of the car. I met Alix on the sidewalk and wrapped my hand around hers, and she led me toward the outside seating area.
I saw Rose before we even got to her table. I could tell it was her by the way she was looking at us.
The differences between the two women immediately stood out.
I knew that from Rose’s stare alone, from her posture, how she put herself together.
It was everything I had expected.
The girls hugged, and then Alix moved back and stood between us.
“Rose, this is him,” she said.
The announcement almost sounded like a continuation of a conversation they’d had earlier, as though meeting me tied everything together.
Rose stuck her hand out for me to shake. “Hi, him.”
I laughed. “It’s nice to meet you, Rose.”
We sat at the round table, and my hand found Alix’s leg again, my thumb skimming the outside of her knee. Her smile was the reason I left it there and didn’t pull it away.
A waitress came right over and asked if we wanted drinks.
“Three shots of Fireball,” I told her.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Three waters,” I said.
The waitress looked at Alix, who said nothing, and then at Rose.
“I won’t argue with that order,” Rose said.
“It’ll help get the awkwardness out of the way,” I explained once the server left our table.
“I like how you roll,” Rose admitted.
“Wait until I tell you about Lake Tahoe,” Alix said, putting her hand on Rose’s arm. “He’s taking me there.”
Rose’s stare shifted over to me. “I’m impressed.”
“That’s not why I did it.” My fingers slid to the inside of Alix’s thigh. “You and I are on the same team; we only want what’s best for this girl.” I gazed at Alix as I spoke even though my words were intended for Rose. But what I was about to say needed to be spoken directly to her, so I caught her eyes and said, “I won’t ever hurt her; you’ve got my word.”
Rose leaned into the edge of the table. “Just so you know, the man before you said the same thing.”
“Rose,” Alix hissed.
It was a warning.
One I hadn’t missed.
“All I’m saying is, you’re making me a promise that you might not be able to keep,” Rose added.
I didn’t care who had been in Alix’s life prior to me.
I didn’t care what he had promised.
He wasn’t the man I was.
My stare intensified. The seriousness of what I was about to say took hold of my voice, and I gave her all the honesty I had when I said, “I want to be her sunny day.”
There was a change in Rose’s expression.
A softness.
Most wouldn’t have seen it, but I had.
Slowly, she turned her attention to Alix and said, “I like him.”
Maybe she didn’t completely believe me.
But she would.
Because I was going to prove it to her.
Forty-Two
Alix
Present Day
About a week after we’d had dinner with Rose, which became the evening Smith had officially won over my best friend, he invited me to his office for lunch.
It hadn’t been that long since I saw him.
I’d been to his place just two nights before, and I had stayed until the next morning.
Since Rose had mentioned the last man I’d been with hurt me, I expected Smith to ask about him. If he did, I wanted to be prepared with a story that was convincing, especially to someone who was used to dissecting lies for a living.
Telling him the truth wasn’t an option.
Not if I wanted things to continue the way they were.
But what was reinforced even more during the days that followed was, Smith wasn’t anything like Dylan. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask too many questions. He let me open at my own pace, and his patience was the reason I was letting him in deeper.
As for him, the moment I arrived at his office, I learned he was throwing me right into the darkness of his past when he looked up from his desk and said, “Are you up for having lunch in Roxbury?”
I circled my hands around the armrest of the chair and squeezed.
He was trusting me with his secrets.
It was a lot to process.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“That’s really what I should be asking you,” he said.
I no longer had to think about the answer to that question.
My feelings for Smith were so present, even on the nights I spent with Dylan.
“Yes,” I said, “it’s what I want.”
He got up from the desk and waited for me to grab his hand before we walked through the reception area. We took the elevator to the parking garage and climbed into his car. He turned the music on low, the air-conditioning on high.
“Let me know if you get cold,” he said, leaving the garage and turning onto the road.
“I won’t.” I looked at him. “You know that.”
His expression told me he hadn’t forgotten how much I loved the cold.
He was just being considerate.
Because he was the kind of man who was constantly concerned with what I needed.
And he proved that to me every time I was with him.
I reached across the seat and rested my hand on top of his.
I didn’t bring attention to what I was doing.
I didn’t say anything.
I just wanted him to know I was here.
To allow his thoughts to get where they needed to be, I stayed silent for most of the drive. I was so familiar with the route to Roxbury, so I knew how close we were getting. I’d taken this trip countless times, behind the wheel of an ambulance and as a passenger.
When we were a few blocks away, the environment began to change. There was more graffiti on the buildings, more trash piled on the sides of the street. People were camped out on the sidewalks, a grocery cart holding their belongings.
As we got off the main road and into the thickness of the neighborhood, I began to recognize many of the front doors. That was something I never forgot—the color, the handle, the style of the cutouts.
It was where medics would wait before we were let inside, what we stared at until it swung open.
“That’s where I went to high school.”
I looked at the brick building he was pointing at and read the sign that was engraved by the entrance.
It was one of the roughest high schools in Massachusetts.
I never would have guessed this gentle man had graduated from there.
“That was my first job,” he said after he pulled back onto the street, and we were passing a
convenience store. “I stocked the shelves. Three to six every morning with longer shifts on the weekends.”
I knew the store well. I’d worked on several patients in the parking lot.
He turned left at an upcoming Stop sign, and after two blocks, he pulled over again.
He was silent.
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t want to give him that kind of pressure.
He’d talk once he was ready.
And, from experience, I knew how long that could take.
A heaviness filled the car.
I could feel the emotion every time I inhaled.
Not even the cold was helping.
The anxiousness was making my palms clammy, but I still clung to Smith’s hand, refusing to let go.
“Right there.”
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he last said something.
Minutes probably.
But his voice was now haunted.
Gritty.
Hoarse.
Sounds I’d never heard from him before.
I followed his eyes to a duplex.
It was white. One story.
There were several other identical tenements next to it.
“We lived there the longest.” His lids narrowed. “The window on the right was the room I shared with Star.”
The glass was broken.
There was duct tape holding it together.
“There used to be a set of bloody handprints on the side of the rotted windowsill.” His voice softened. “I’m sure they’ve lightened a lot, but I bet they’re still there.”
I stopped myself from asking questions.
He didn’t need my inquiries.
Not at this moment.
Because, even though it was a clear day, it was raining inside his head.
The clouds were darkening.
It was on the verge of thundering.
“That’s where it happened—the night my whole life changed.”
I folded my fingers around his, waiting for him to continue.
“It was around three or four in the morning. I wasn’t supposed to work a double, but I couldn’t turn down the money when they asked me.” The intensity in his gaze was harrowing. “The door to our room was locked when I got home. That wasn’t unusual. I’d bought a lock with my very first paycheck, and I’d install it every time we moved. I didn’t trust the junkies who were always at our place, shooting up with my mother.” His hand had moved to the steering wheel, gripping it so hard that his fingers were almost white. “I didn’t want to wake up Star by banging on the door, so I went outside to go in through the window. I was standing out there with my hands on the glass when I saw movement in the room.” He breathed loudly, and the noise made me ache for him. “I don’t think I even realized in that moment what he was doing to her. All I saw was Star. Her eyes. The way they were looking at me through the glass.”
“Oh my God.” I slapped my hand over my mouth, so I wouldn’t say another word.
It was so hard to be silent.
So difficult not to wrap my arms around him and try to take some of his pain away.
I was a healer. I’d been one since I was a kid.
But nothing I said, nothing I did would repair him.
“I didn’t even try to get the window open. I just balled up my fist and punched straight into the glass.” I gazed at his knuckles and saw small scars marring his skin. “I tried to kill him, Alix.” He looked at me, and I almost gasped from the torture in his eyes. “I put my hands around that motherfucker’s throat, and I squeezed as hard as I could.”
“He deserved it.”
“He didn’t die.” He turned, gazing back at the house. “My sister screamed when she saw the blood all over me, and it woke a few of the guys who had been passed out in the living room. One of them ripped me off that motherfucker’s throat. Back then, I wasn’t strong enough to fight all three of them at the same time. But I did everything I could to get them out of my house.” He turned my hand over, putting it palm side up, and placed it on my leg. Slowly, his fingers rested on top of mine. “If those guys hadn’t come in, I would have killed him.” Our eyes locked. “I would have done anything to stop him from raping my sister.”
“Did he go to jail?”
He shook his head. “Once they left, I never saw any of them again.”
There wasn’t a sound in the car.
I couldn’t even hear us breathing.
We both just stared at the broken window.
It felt like someone had reached inside my chest and was strangling my heart.
I couldn’t even imagine how Smith felt.
“I think about that moment every single day,” he said. “What I could have done differently, what would have happened if I hadn’t worked the double shift. If I had purchased a more expensive lock that couldn’t be jimmied with a fucking roach clip.”
God, I knew that feeling.
The things I asked myself were different yet so similar.
“It’s all part of the precipitation—the wind, rain, the dark clouds,” I told him. “Those questions all lead up to the storm.”
“It won’t ever stop.”
“No.”
“It won’t lighten.”
I shook my head. “No, it won’t.”
“I’m just going to have to face the thunder for the rest of my life.”
At least he was facing it.
I was not.
“Has my past made you want to run?”
It was the most honest thing he’d asked since we got in his car.
I knew the story he’d just told wasn’t his only demon.
I was sure the list of things he’d experienced was terrifyingly long.
That didn’t make him a broken man.
It made him a hero.
Using both hands, I squeezed his palm and looked up. “No, I don’t want to run. Unless it’s toward you, and then my answer is yes.”
Forty-Three
Smith
Present Day
“No, I don’t want to run. Unless it’s toward you, and then my answer is yes.”
I stared at Alix while she sat in the passenger seat of my car, her words echoing inside my head.
By bringing her to Roxbury, I’d shown her a part of my storm.
But there was so much more.
I’d spent eighteen years in that hell. Every day was a war, another memory that would haunt me for the rest of my life. And each one had left me with scars. Time had lightened some. The rest were as dark as the black tar my mother shot into her veins.
Eventually, I would open my wounds and tell Alix the story behind them.
But, for now, I needed to clear my head.
I shifted into drive and put my hand on her thigh. “Do you have to work tonight?”
“No.”
“I know I told you we were going to have lunch in Roxbury, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to get the hell out of here.”
She reached across the seat and put her hand behind my head, her fingers running through the back of my hair. “I get it. You don’t have to explain.”
I appreciated that about her.
“You want to go to my place?” I asked.
“Don’t you have to go back to work?”
I shook my head. “I had my assistant clear my schedule.”
She smiled.
Fuck, I needed that.
“Then, yes, I would love to.”
We passed the bakery I had gone to as a kid, but I didn’t point it out to Alix. She’d want to stop, and I had other plans for dessert.
My idea was probably stupid.
But, the other day, I’d gone to the store and purchased everything I needed to make a cake. I didn’t know what had caused me to grab the ingredients. I just knew I had been on my way home from Roxbury, and I’d needed something mindless to get my mother out of my head.
The same way I needed it right now.
I got us through the traffic and par
ked in my driveway, clinging my fingers around Alix’s hand as I led us toward my front door. Once we were inside the kitchen, I lifted her into my arms and set her on top of the island.
She laughed as my hands moved to her knees. “It feels like you’re about to feed me.”
“I am.” I slid her legs open and stepped between them. “But we have to make something first.” I leaned forward, my lips gently pressing against hers.
“I’m starving,” she said, her voice turning darker.
She wasn’t just talking about food.
I fucking loved that.
“Let’s get started.” I went into the pantry, lifting the bags off the bottom shelf. On my way back, I took the milk and eggs out of the fridge and placed it all beside Alix.
I watched her look at the ingredients as I spread them over the counter and then again when I set the pan and mixer down as well.
“What is this all going to turn into?”
“A cake that can hopefully rival the ones you’ve had.”
Her smile was so beautiful as I handed her the measuring cup and a bag of flour.
“I need two cups dumped in here.” I pointed at the mixer.
“I’ll ruin it.”
She didn’t cook.
She didn’t bake either.
But she was going to learn, and I wanted to be the one to teach her.
“You’re better than you think you are.” Before she tried to protest, I added, “Trust me.”
She looked away, and as she filled the cup, I dragged a knife across the top of the flour to even it out. Then, she dropped it into the mixer. Just as she began to refill again, the sun came through the window. It shined across the top of her hand, showing the tiny specks of flour that had stuck to her skin.
“Don’t move.”
She froze, her eyes questioning my command.
I took out my phone, snapping several pictures of her hand. I scrolled through the collection and picked the best one. “Look,” I said, showing her the screen.
As she gazed at the phone, I dipped my finger into the flour and touched it to her palm, the same place I had just taken a picture of. My touch caused her to glance up, and she stared as I drew an S across her skin.