by McLean, Jay
Madison: I didn’t know to do that.
Sara: So how did you get in?
Madison: Ky.
Sara: ?
Madison: He called the guy.
Sara: Did you let him into your apartment?
Madison: No. He just unlocked the door and left.
Sara: I meant Ky.
Madison: No. Should I have?
Sara: I have no idea.
Madison: I hate this.
Sara: Me too.
25
NATE
Madison: He kissed me.
“What’s going on?” Tiny’s voice seems distant even though he’s sitting right beside me.
“What do you mean?” I mutter, my focus drifting back to the message Bailey had sent over a half-hour ago. I didn’t know how to respond then. I still don’t.
“You’ve been looking at your phone without actually doing anything with it. Everything good?”
“He kissed her,” I mumble, the words hard to think, let alone speak aloud.
“Who? That Neilson guy?” he asks, pulling into the same fast-food joint I’d taken Bailey the night before.
“No.” I shake my head. “Why do you say Neilson?”
“No reason.” He glances at me, then pretends to focus on the menu board as if he doesn’t know what they serve. He comes here every day, orders the same thing every time.
“You think they’re—”
“I don’t know,” he says, strumming the steering wheel. “I might get some dessert.”
I rub the back of my neck, the tension building there. “How the fuck can you even think about eating after what we just did?”
He shrugs. “I have to eat every three hours, or I get cranky. You know this.”
Sighing, I look back at my phone. “You think Bai and Neilson are—”
“Ignore me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
I lean my head against the headrest, look at the roof of the cab while Tiny pushes forward and places his order through the window. Once he’s done, I say, “She told me they weren’t fuckin’.”
“Well, they might not be fuckin’, but there’s something there. At least from him.” He’s silent a beat, and I can feel his judgmental eyes on the side of my face.
I roll my head, look directly at him. “What?”
His eyes narrow. “When the fuck did she tell you this?”
I keep my mouth shut. I already know what he’s going to say.
“Jesus Christ, don’t do this to yourself.” And there it is. “Not again.”
“This Parker guy kissed her,” I repeat, as if he didn’t hear me the first time.
“So you’ve said,” Tiny states. “So what the hell are you gonna do about it?”
I look at the message again. “Take me to that car rental place.”
“No,” he deadpans, unwrapping his burger as he creeps back onto the road.
“Fine.” I open the door. “I’ll walk.”
He hits the brakes. “Get back in the fuckin’ car!” he shouts, his words muffled by the burger between his teeth. He grabs at my sleeve and pulls me back into the vehicle. “You’re crazy! You know that, right?”
No shit.
With a groan, he flicks on the blinker and does a sharp turn. Then he motions to the back seat. “What do you want me to do with the evidence?”
BAILEY
“So, he kissed you?”
Pacing the space of the kitchen, I nod into the phone even though Brent can’t see it. “Yep.”
“And?” He draws out the word longer than necessary.
“And I freaked, squealed, and shut the door in his face.”
Brent chuckles, light and airy, and it reminds me of when Ky did the same.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. I picture him on the couch in the “evidence room” of the house, a coffee in one hand, getting ready for a long night of going through file after file just like he’d done when I was living there with him after I’d earned their trust enough to get me out of that hotel room. “It’s… cute.”
“Cute?”
“Yeah, Bailey. You’re cute.”
I scoff. “Thanks.”
“How was your day otherwise?” he asks. “I’m sorry I missed your call. I was in a meeting with the Philly Bureau trying to… never mind. It’s not important.” I hear some rustling of papers, as if he’s set them down somewhere so he can focus all his attention on me. “So, he brought over pizza and what? Tell me everything.”
I almost tell him about locking myself out, about my pathetic meltdown that had me crying in an empty hallway all alone. But he’s been working all day, and I can feel the strain in his voice, the mental exhaustion this case is causing him. “There’s not much to tell,” I lie. Then fake a laugh for his sake. “Nothing to report here, Boss.”
A hum fills the phone, deep and almost guttural. “Hey,” he says, his voice kicking up in volume. “You want me to come pick you up? Get you out of that apartment for a while?”
My eyes widen, the idea of leaving making my pulse spike… but then a text comes through.
And my deceiving heart soars.
Sara: Bedroom window. Five minutes.
Madison: ?
Sara: Feel like being a little insane with me?
“Bailey?” Brent asks, and I hold the phone to my ear again.
“Huh?”
“Did you want me to come get you?”
“No,” I say, already making my way to the bedroom. “I think I’m just going to call it a night.”
26
NATE
“What the hell are you doing?” Bailey whispers, blocking my path.
I adjust my balance—one foot through the open window, the other on the fire escape—and scan her from head to toe. She’s in short shorts and a tank top. “I’m going to find something for you to wear,” I tell her, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You can’t come in here!” Now she’s whisper-yelling.
I rear back so I can look in her eyes. “You got a visitor?”
“No.” She’s quick to shake her head. “But you shouldn’t be—”
“You’re not going out dressed like that. It’s cold,” I cut in.
Her arms cross. “I’m not going out at all.”
Gently, I place my hand on her hip and guide her a step to the side so I can climb all the way in. She doesn’t stop me, not even when I make my way to what I assume is her closet.
“I can pick out my own clothes, you know,” she says to my back.
With a shrug, I reply, “But you don’t know what we’re doing.” I run my hand along the clothes hanging on the rack, taking them in one by one. I stop on a white dress with black print—not at all suitable for tonight’s planned activities—but fuck, what I wouldn’t give to see her in it. “You pick these out yourself?”
“Yes.” Her response is soft, quiet, and if she wasn’t standing right behind me, there’s no way I would have heard it.
I rub the fabric of the dress between my fingers, focus on the pattern: outlines of fall leaves.
She slaps my hand off the garment and stands between it and me. “I was just looking,” I mumble. But I wasn’t. I was getting lost in my head again, trapped in the memories.
“I don’t like you going through my stuff.” It’s not an order or even a request. It’s just a thought she needed to verbalize.
My eyes narrow. “You got something to hide?”
At my words, her hand instinctively circles her wrist, covering the bracelet I got her. “Don’t we all, Nathaniel?” she murmurs, looking up at me. Her eyes are clear, full of strength and determination. “Isn’t that why you’re climbing through the window instead of knocking on the door?”
Silence passes while we stare at each other, neither willing to back down. I didn’t come here to play games, to mindfuck her or be mindfucked, and so when her hands settle on my stomach,
I allow her to push me out of her closet.
“Maybe you should leave,” she says, her eyes still on mine.
That’s not going to happen. At least not without her. And so I break our little standoff to go through her dresser drawers. I find a black pair of jeans and go in search of a black sweatshirt. When I can’t find what I’m looking for, I unzip mine and remove it, hand them both to her. “Get dressed.”
Sighing, she eyes the clothes now in her grasp. “At some point, you’re going to have to stop telling me what to do.”
“Yeah?” I say, turning my back and heading for the window. “At some point, you’re gonna have to stop listening.”
* * *
It feels like an eternity passes before Bailey appears, stepping out from her apartment complex dressed in all black. Leaning against the rental across the road, I give myself a moment to just watch her from afar. Strange as it sounds, I’d never really looked at her like this. From a distance. The majority of the time we were together, she was within arm’s reach.
It’s almost eleven now, and the world around us is lit up by artificial lights. Bailey looks up, her eyes searching. She reaches into her back pocket and takes out her phone. A moment later, the burner in my hand buzzes. I pull the brim of my cap down low on my brow and check the text.
Madison: Where are you?
Biting my lip, I respond:
Sara: You’re so fucking beautiful, it pains me.
She doesn’t reply right away, and when I look up at her, she’s just standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring down at her phone as if shocked by what she’s seeing, what she’s reading. Surely, she has to know that I think this of her. That everything good in my life has come from her and her alone.
I give a short, sharp whistle, and her focus moves to me. She’s quick to cross the road, and I open her door to get her inside before anyone sees us together. When I get behind the wheel, she asks, “New car?”
“Just a rental.”
Nodding, she half turns to me. “What are we doing, Nate?”
I smirk. “We’re going on a mission.”
27
BAILEY
The area Nate’s driving through seems familiar, but so are a lot of places in this area. When you live on the streets for as long as I did, you get aquatinted with your surroundings but never stay long enough to get comfortable with them. “Where are we?” I ask, looking out the window, watching the tree-lined streets pass by in a whoosh.
“I’ve just got to take care of something real quick, then we can go for a drive.” I face him, and he throws—what he tries to portray—a lazy smile my way. “Or you can drive if you want…” He has one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his lap. He’s leaning to one side, his body slumped. To anyone else, he’d look almost relaxed, but they don’t see the things I do: the tension in his arms, in his jaw, his eyes. I’d see it on the nights he’d come home late, when he’d silently crawl into bed and hold me as if he’d been waiting the entire day for that one moment. And when I’d ask if everything was okay, he wouldn’t answer in words; he’d simply capture my mouth with his and drown his troubles somewhere amidst our touch, our love. But then it would be over, and I’d pretend to be asleep while he stayed awake, his mind working, his fingers twitching against my stomach as his world continued to spin and spin until it was out of control. He’d move slowly, quietly, hoping not to wake me, and go to the bathroom. The water would run… right after the cap of the pills he kept close would pop.
He never mentioned it.
And so I didn’t either.
Now, Nate pulls into a driveway lined by more trees, and I recognize it immediately—where we are. Even though I’d been crying and screaming his name the last time I was here, I remember the trees, remember the way the branches swayed, casting a light show beneath the starlit sky. We pass a clearing; I assume where his house once stood, now nothing but literal piles of ash.
“My mom loved this land,” Nate says, and I look at him, give him my full attention. He runs the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, his gaze focused on what’s ahead. “That’s why we bought it.” He glances at me quickly, then looks away. “She wanted the opposite of New York—”
“You’re from New York?” I cut in.
He nods. “You didn’t know that?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“You ever been?”
“No,” I repeat.
“I’d offer to take you, but…” But I’m me, and he’s him, and that’ll never happen. “She wanted animals,” he says, a slight smile tugging on his lips. “Lots of them. She practically wanted to run a shelter. Kind of absurd, but my mom…” He chuckles. “She was kind of absurd. At least with her plans. Her fantasies.” He stops the car in the middle of another clearing with nothing but darkness surrounding us. Then he cuts the engine but doesn’t make a move to get out. “My dad once told me that she and I—we were cut from the same cloth. We lived a life full of unfulfilled fantasies.”
His voice is so quiet.
So desolate.
He turns to me slowly, his sad eyes on mine, and I wish I could pick apart his brain, go through every thought, reveal every secret. “My mom and I, we were such dreamers, Bai,” he says, the laughter that comes with it anything but humorous. “We were born into lives we didn’t want, and by the time we were old enough to realize it, our paths were already chosen for us.”
My chest aches at his words, his admission. “But you can—”
“Let’s go,” he interrupts, grabbing something from the back seat.
Before I can get my bearings again, he’s out of the truck and moving to the bed. I get out, too, and watch as he walks a few yards away, drops the bag and empties a gas can over it. He throws the can in there, too, and a moment later, his entire body flickers with oranges and reds and yellows. The flames reach higher than Nate at full height. It’s not until he’s making his way back to me that I realize exactly what’s happening. “What the hell are you burning?”
“It’s not important,” he says, stopping only inches in front of me. He reaches out, his hands running the length of my arms. “Are you cold?”
“This can’t be happening,” I mumble, taking a step away from him.
“What?”
“What?” I mock. “Nathaniel. Unless you’re some kind of pyromaniac, I have to assume that you’re getting rid of something that most definitely leads to some form of illegal activity.”
He scoffs. “You sound like a fed.”
“Nate!”
“What?”
I look over his shoulder, try to make out what it is he set on fire, but I can’t see anything besides flames.
“Bailey.” A single finger taps at my chin, shifting my face up to his. “There’s nothing to see.” Dark eyes loom down on me. “Are you cold?” he asks again.
I hate that I get lost in those eyes, in the way he looks at me. “I don’t know,” I retort. “Are you crazy?”
He chuckles, his hands dropping to his sides. “Funny, Tiny said something similar today, too.”
“Maybe you should listen to your friend,” I say, tugging down the sleeves of Nate’s sweatshirt to cover my hands.
“If I listened to him…” he says, removing his jacket and revealing his gun holster. He places the jacket over me and adds, “then you wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Watching you get rid of evidence? He’s probably right.”
He leans back against the truck, watching the fire blaze in front of us.
I watch him, and as strange as it is, in this moment, he could be anyone in the entire world. No burdens. No life of crime. “Why can’t you just get out of this?” I ask, recalling his earlier words. “If this isn’t the life you want, then… I’m sure you have enough money to start a new life somewhere.”
After a shrug, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I have unfinished business.”
I scrunch my nose at him. “You’re a gangster, right?”
I roll my eyes but continue my thought. “Why can’t you just… you know… get rid of the unfinished business?”
“You been watching The Godfather or something?
With a groan, I settle next to him, our feet almost touching. “Why is everyone making fun of me today?”
”Who’s making fun of you?” He cracks his knuckles. “Want me to get rid of them?”
I nudge his side. “Don’t change the subject.”
Shrugging, he says, “Some things are easier to take care of than others. Sometimes I want the pain to last forever, and you don’t feel pain when you’re dead, Bailey.”
Jesus Christ. “Sometimes…” I shake my head. “Never mind.”
“No.” He kicks off the truck and stands in front of me. “Say it.”
“Sometimes, you scare me.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Well, I am a gangster, so…”
“You’re also an idiot,” I say through a smile, flicking the brim of his cap.
In this moment, we could be anyone in the entire world.
“So he kissed you, huh?” Nate asks, adjusting his cap.
I nod. “It was so bad—”
“The kiss?” he asks, brow raised.
“No,” I laugh out. “My reaction.”
“What did you do?”
“I kind of squealed and slammed the door in his face.” I cover my eyes, remembering the moment. “He’s never going to want to speak to me again.”
“Nah.” Nate’s hands circle my wrists, lowering them. “He’ll think it’s cute.”
“That’s what Brent said.”
“Ah, Brent. How is your boy doing these days?” he asks, moving away a step. There’s no humor in his voice, just a touch of malice.
“I don’t know. How’s your wife?”
He shrugs as he checks his watch. “She’s probably asleep right now. Tucked into her bed, nice and tight.”