by Shay Stone
“What if it’s more than one? What if your whole life is a series of mistakes you can’t take back?”
“Then you have to own them. Most people waste their time blaming someone else for the things they’ve done. It’s easier that way. But the truth is, there’s a crossroad at the beginning of every decision where you have the opportunity to choose your path. Once you accept that you and you alone are responsible for your actions and reactions, you take back the power from whoever or whatever you’re giving it to—a person, an illness, a circumstance. That’s when you can break the cycle and stop being a victim.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
His words affect me. I’ve spent my life blaming Sheila for who I am. But she left when I was eighteen. I’m the one who accepted I had to work for Vito. Maybe that wasn’t the only option. We could have moved away at any point and started over somewhere else. Chances are, if Vito went looking for anyone, it would have been her, not us.
“Memphis, we all have a past. You can’t let it define you. What’s done is done. The only thing you can do is learn from it. It’s up to you to decide your future and the man you want to be. Woo! There we go! Come on boys!” he hollers, clapping when a line drive scores a run for our team. “I’m glad you’re dating my daughter. I think you’re good for her, and I think she’s good for you.”
“Thank you. I think so, too.”
“Maybe you can help each other conquer those demons neither of you seem to be able to let go of.”
We watch the rest of the game chatting about stats and trivial things, which is good because my mind is still thinking about our previous conversation. On the ride home, my phone buzzes and I open it to find a picture of Nyla blowing me a kiss with a text that reads:
Miss you.
I can feel the grin spread across my face. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I miss not being with her tonight. I’m not looking forward to sleeping alone. I type out a quick response and return my phone to my pocket.
“Nyla?” Edward asks.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“You’re kidding, right? You light up at the mention of her name like she does at the mention of yours. This is the most I’ve seen her smile in a long time. She’s quite taken with you.”
“I’m quite taken with her, too.”
“Good. I could use someone on my side at these games,” he jests. “Maybe someday, if your father is up for it, we can bring him along, if you think he’d like that?”
“He’d love it. No matter how much his mind slips, he never seems to forget that he’s a Red Sox fan.”
“Oh, that reminds me!” He fishes into his pocket digging out a cream business card with gold lettering and hands it to me. It reads:
Dr. Ramesh Chahal
Neurologist
“Ramesh is one of the top neurologists in the world. He took care of my wife. He’s also one of my golfing buddies. I mentioned your father to him when we were on the course Wednesday. He said he’d be happy to take a look at his file to see if there was anything he could suggest.”
I’m fixated on the business card trying to think of something to say that could possibly convey my gratitude. First Max. Now Edward. Who are these people? I can’t believe they’d do something like this for a virtual stranger.
“Memphis? I hope I wasn’t out of line,” he worries, making me aware that I still haven’t spoken.
“No, not at all,” I manage to utter as we pull up in front of my building. “It’s just that … no one’s ever done anything like this for me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m not saying he’ll be able to help, but if there’s anything new on the market that might, he’ll know about it.”
“Thank you,” I say again, opening the door and climbing out. “And thank you for tonight. I had a great time.”
“Minus the whole Harrison-hooker thing?” he jokes.
“Yeah, minus that.” I laugh.
“And remember if Nyla asks …”
“You ate tofu dogs.”
He points and winks, pulling the door closed. I stand on the sidewalk staring down at the business card in my hand for several minutes after he leaves before tucking it away. The idea that someone would do this for me without wanting anything in return still has me dumbfounded. It goes against everything Sheila has ever taught me and everything I’ve ever encountered.
I slide my phone from my back pocket and watch the video of Harrison again. It’s perfect. His face can be seen clear as day and the woman calls him by name several times, leaving no question that it’s him. If I showed it to Edward, I could walk away with millions and be done with it. I’d have all the money I need to take care of Mason and my dad and never have to pull another con again. But then I’d be hurting Edward and Nyla and walking away from the friends I’ve made and the life I’m building. The video is a sure thing. A life with Nyla where she never finds out about the kind of man I am and the things I’ve done is not.
Fuck. I scrub my hand over my head and let out a frustrated groan. “Don’t be stupid,” I tell myself over and over. And then I do the stupidest thing I possibly can.
I delete the video.
My phone rings and Nyla’s beautiful face pops up on FaceTime. I plaster on a smile to hide the war that’s going on inside my brain. “Hey, angel.”
“Hey, baby. I was just calling to say, ‘goodnight.’”
“Are you and Alex having fun?”
“Yeah, but I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
We make small talk for a few minutes. I tell her about the game, and she seems pleased Edward and I spent time together.
“You know he really likes you.”
“I like him too.”
“Yeah, he’s the best,” she says absentmindedly, chewing her lip like it’s been dipped in sugar.
“Hey, go easy on that lip. If anyone is going to gnaw it off, it’s gonna be me.” That earns me a weak smile. “What’s on your mind, angel?”
“I want to tell you something, but I’m nervous about it.”
“Sounds serious,” I reply, sitting on the stoop. “You sure you don’t want to wait until we’re together?”
“No, if I don’t tell you now, I might lose my nerve.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
She sucks in a long breath and blows out a quick one psyching herself up. Her eyes squeeze shut as she blurts it out. “I stole underwear.”
I chuckle, leaning closer to the phone like that’s going to help me hear better. “I’m sorry. Did you say you stole underwear?”
She cradles her head in her hand to shield her face. “Yes.”
“Like tonight? Did you and Alex go on a panty raid or something?”
“No,” she replies, dropping her hand and glaring at me like I’m an idiot.
“Okay, because I definitely would’ve wanted to be a part of that. I’m betting Colin would, too.”
She stifles a giggle, doing her best to put on a straight face. “Memphis, I’m being serious. It’s not funny. This is hard for me to tell you.”
I tuck my lips together to keep from laughing, but it’s not working. “Okay, so tell me when you stole this underwear. And what kind are we talking? Lacy? Thong? Red? Black? I want to get an image.”
“Will you stop? And technically it wasn’t underwear. It was bras.”
“Okay, tell me why you stole these bras.”
“You know my mom died when I was twelve.”
“Right.”
“Well, I didn’t have these things yet,” she says, motioning to her ample bosom. “I was still built like a little girl. Then the next summer, BAM! These babies came out of nowhere.”
“Yes, and I’m glad they did. It worked out well for me. Remind me to thank them properly later.”
She rolls her eyes continuing, “I was too embarrassed to go to my dad and tell him I needed bras. My aunt Christine lived in California, and my aunt Wendy, Harrison’s wife, was going th
rough a bad depression and had her hands full with Katie. I didn’t want to bother anyone, so I took a taxi to a department store and … I stole some.”
There’s so much shame in her voice. The laughter is gone, and her eyes fill with tears. She lowers her head and part of me wonders if we’re talking about more than bras.
The night we picked Harrison up from the bar she was on the phone promising someone they’d get their money. I know Nyla has a trust fund and Edward bought her townhouse, but she also said he wanted her to know the value of a dollar and made her work for everything else she had. Maybe she doesn’t have millions in the bank. Maybe something happened and she was too embarrassed to go to Edward about it and that’s why she’s embezzling. Or maybe she really is that remorseful about stealing some stupid bras, which means she could never do what Mike claims. I don’t know what to believe anymore.
“Hey, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. Whatever you did, I’m sure you thought you had to do it at the time. Wait. Is that why you were arrested?”
Her head snaps up. “How did you know I was arrested? Let me guess. Harrison.”
I nod. “He mentioned it.”
“Of course, he did. He’ll never let me live it down. Every time something goes missing, the first thing he does is blame me,” she sniffles, wiping her eyes. “You know I wasn’t actually arrested. Well, I was, but after my dad came down and explained the situation, they didn’t press charges. It was so embarrassing.”
“I can imagine. I can’t believe they were going to press charges on a kid your age.”
“Yeah, well apparently I had expensive taste. The bras I took were La Perla. They cost a couple hundred dollars each. I didn’t know. I never looked at the price tag. I just thought they were pretty.”
“Can I ask why you’re telling me this? Did you think this was going to scare me away?” This feels like a test of some sort.
I see her arm moving and I imagine her fussing with a loose thread on her pajamas. “I don’t know.”
“Did you forget I spent my entire youth pickpocketing?”
“No. But someone made you do it. The things I’ve done, well, I did them. No one made me.”
“Are there other things? You know you can tell me if there are.”
She looks up to the ceiling, fighting back more tears and red blotches cover her chest. This is definitely not about bras. Whatever she was going to tell me, she chickened out at the last second. That much I’m sure of.
“Nyla, what is it?”
“Memphis, I’m not perfect. You look at me like I am, and I’m not. I don’t want you to fall in love with an image that’s not real.” She blinks and tears streak down her cheeks.
I hate that I’m not there to hold her. “Angel, please don’t cry. Where’s all of this coming from?”
“I don’t know. I was sitting here tonight thinking about you and how happy you make me and I’m not sure I deserve it, or you.”
She thinks she doesn’t deserve me?
“Listen to me. I know you’re not perfect and that’s okay. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to be. Perfect is boring. I want you. All of you. The headstrong, capable businesswoman; the selfless, amazing woman that will do anything to help needy kids; the sappy, sweet puddle of mush that cries whenever that Sarah McLachlan commercial with the animals comes on; the mascara-smeared across your face, vomit-covered hot mess from the other night. Hell, I even want the Yankees fan.”
She chuckles through her tears. “You sure?”
“I’m positive. Look, you told me your deep, dark teenage shoplifting secret, and I’m still here. I still love you.”
Her eyes double in size. “You love me?”
Damn. It just slipped out. Usually, I’m running a con and have to choke out the words. But not this time. This time, Lord help me, I actually mean them. Maybe it’s too soon to say it, but I’ve spent over sixty hours a week with her at work and every night for the past few weeks in her bed. That’s more than most couples spend together in the first six months of a relationship. We’ve fought. We’ve been cranky around each other. We’ve dealt with Harrison. I’ve met her friends and family. Is it really so crazy? And fuck it if it is too soon. It’s how I feel.
“Yes, I do.”
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” Mike asks, strolling up the sidewalk. Something’s wrong; I can tell by the expression on his face.
“Talking to Nyla.” I hold up the screen to show him. They greet each other, but he’s terse with her. I know they’ve made up from the little incident we had in the breakroom because in her words, of the two of us, I was the bigger asshole. She couldn’t forgive me and not him, even though secretly, I’d hoped she’d use it as an excuse to end their bogus friendship.
When I turn the phone back to me, Mike mouths, “We need to talk.”
“Okay, give me a minute.”
“Now,” he demands.
“It’s okay, I should go anyway,” Nyla replies, lowering her voice and glancing at something behind her.
I stand up and walk a few steps away. “He can wait. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Memphis,” Mike bites out, sharp enough to gain Nyla’s attention.
She forces a smile. “I’m fine. I promise. Go. He’s waiting. I’ll meet you at the park tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m playing bocce with Gino and Giovanni in the morning. Text me when you get there, and I’ll come help you carry any boxes. Sweet dreams, angel. And thank you for confiding in me.” We say our goodbyes and hang up. I scowl at Mike. “You wanna tell me what’s so goddamn important that I can’t even say goodbye to my girl?”
“We have a problem. Let’s go inside. You’re not gonna like it.”
TWENTY-TWO
Always Keep a Cool Head
I rest against the counter watching Mike pull down a bottle of whiskey from the top of the refrigerator. He fills a mug and slides it across the counter to me. I cock a brow at the large quantity.
“Drink it. You’re going to need it,” he says, swilling directly from the bottle.
“What’s going on?”
I hate when people pussyfoot around something. They did the same thing to me when my mom died. No one ever drags out good news. He takes another long, slow gulp, pissing me off by prolonging this.
“Dammit, out with it!” I demand.
His brow furrows. “Nyla’s playing you. She’s keeping you close to find out what you know, hoping you’ll fall in love with her and won’t expose her when you discover she’s been stealing.”
“Uh-uh. No way. You’re wrong. You’re just jealous because she picked me over you.”
“I am not. Listen to me. Nyla told you she was going to be with that Alex chick tonight, right?” he says, scrolling through his cell.
“Yeah,” I reply cautiously.
He drags his hand over his face. “Man, I hate to be the one to tell you this. She wasn’t.”
Mike slides his phone across the counter showing me a picture of Nyla locked in an embrace with another man. He’s smiling down at her, brushing the hair from her forehead like I’ve done a million times. I recognize that look on his face. He’s in love with her. But it’s the expression on her face that gets me.
I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the gut. “How did you get this?”
It’s a stupid question, but one that just comes out.
“I followed her.”
“Who the hell told you to do that?” I snap, aware I’m misdirecting my anger.
“You did. On every con we’ve ever worked. Memphis, I’m sorry.”
I shake my head vigorously, sliding the phone back to him. “This doesn’t mean anything. He could be a friend or a business acquaintance … maybe he’s the father of one of the kids from the charity,” I reply, trying not to jump to any conclusions. Even innocent pictures can look incriminating if taken just right. I should know. I’m a master at it.
“He’s not. That’s Trevor.”
�
��Who the hell is Trevor?”
“Nyla’s ex-fiancé.”
“Nyla was engaged?”
“Yeah, for like three years.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal. They’ve been broken up for at least two.”
Emily mentioned Nyla was punishing herself for something that happened around that time. Maybe she cheated on him and he ended things with her. If so, it devastated her enough that she had to be put on anti-depressants. The prescription in Nyla’s cabinet was from two years ago.
Mike pulls up several more photos of Nyla sitting in a restaurant with the same guy holding hands across the table. “That’s not a casual dinner. You don’t meet your ex-fiancé at a hotel for a casual dinner.”
He’s right. There’s an intimacy between them that’s apparent even in the photographs. And I fucking hate it. “How do you know that’s him?”
“I bribed the maître d and got his first name.”
“Why did they break up?”
“I don’t know. The only reason I found out about him is because I overheard Emily giving her grief for accepting his call yesterday. No one will talk about him. I think they’re afraid Edward will fire them on the spot if they bring him up. He hates Trevor. That much I’ve garnered.” He takes the phone back staring at the screen. “Memphis, this guy could create a problem for us. If she’s still in love with him …”
“She’s not in love with him. She’s in love with me. She told me so tonight.”
“She did?”