by McLean, Jay
His shoulders drop, defeated. “I’m allowed to be worried about you, Nate. And if you say otherwise—”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” I shake my head. “And I appreciate you, man, but I’m fine.”
“Pretty sure you said that last time, and next thing I knew, you’d burnt an entire house to the ground.”
I dig the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to ease the frustration blooming inside me. “It’s different now.”
“Different how? Because Bailey’s back?”
I glance toward the front door, making sure Ashton isn’t coming in any time soon. Even though she knows about Bailey and our past, she doesn’t know the full extent of it. And I’m not naive to the fact that Ashton harbors some feelings for me, so talking about Bailey while she’s around would be similar—to some extent—to Bailey waving Parker in my face, which is happening right now. And it fucking sucks. “They’re on a date,” I mumble.
Tiny’s sigh fills the room, expanding my frustration. “So… what you’re saying is that she’s doing her job…”
I rub at the back of my neck, try to release the tension building there. “They went to dinner, and now they’re at the movies.”
Dropping the controller on the glass coffee table, he turns to me, gives me his full attention. “How do you know all this?”
“She’s texting me.”
“With a fuckin’ play-by-play of her date?”
I shrug.
“Tell her to knock that shit off. It’s not good for you, Nate.”
“She’s scared, man.”
His spine straightens as his jaw tenses. “Of Parker? If he so much as—”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not like that.” But I am glad he wants to protect her as much as I do. “She’s like… like some sweet, innocent high school freshman, and he’s probably some senior jock with a ton of experience when it comes to dating, and she’s… scared.”
Tiny relaxes a little. “Right.”
“And she says he wants to kiss her, and she wants me to tell her what to do.”
Tiny’s eyes go wide. “What did you say?”
Groaning, I murmur, “I told her she should let him kiss her, but not let him touch her.”
His inhale is sharp, exhale the opposite. “Jesus, man…”
“I know.” I get to my feet, start for the kitchen. I need a drink. Or eighty. “It’s just—I don’t want her to blow her cover, you know? I don’t want to put her in danger, but at the same time—”
“I get it,” Tiny cuts in, meeting me at the counter.
I pour us both a drink. “I think I could handle this a lot better if I knew there was an end date to all of it.”
He sips the drink, wincing when it burns his throat. He likes to drink beer. I only stock whiskey. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I feel like I’m constantly racing against a clock since she’s been back. Like I don’t know when I’ll not be able to see her anymore, so I have to take every opportunity I can.”
“So…” Tiny spins the shot glass on the counter, stares at it as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “If you knew that it would end tomorrow, what would you do?”
“Huh?”
He looks up now, his eyes boring into mine, and I expect to see judgment, or at the very least annoyance that Bailey seems to be all I’ve been talking about lately. But it isn’t there. “What would you do, Nate? Would you divorce Ashton, marry Bailey, run off into the sunset and leave everything behind?”
His words float through my mind, spinning, spinning, spinning. I shrug. “In an ideal world, yeah… probably.”
A door clicks shut somewhere behind me, and Tiny’s eyes widen. I look back, but there’s no sign of anyone here.
Tiny reaches for his gun. “What the fuck was that?”
I stop him, my palm over his hand, and lower my voice when I say, “Is Ashton home?”
He shrugs. “The lights were on in the salon when we came up.”
Pulse racing, I pull the 9mm from my waistband before going to Ashton’s bedroom door and knocking twice. “Ash?”
“Yeah?” she calls out.
When I open the door, my heart sinks. Ashton’s sitting on the edge of her bed, her legs swinging out in front of her, while she spins the rings around her finger—the rings I’d bought and she’d picked out. I clear my throat, find my voice. “I didn’t know you were home,” I say, as if it’s an excuse to the truth she just heard.
“Mm-hmm.” She won’t look at me.
“Who’s in the salon?”
“I got one of the girls to close. I wasn’t feeling well.”
I step into her room now, my hand raised to feel for her temperature.
“Don’t,” she bites out, her glassy eyes meeting mine.
All air leaves my lungs, while my hand freezes halfway between us. “Ash… I—”
“I know what this is, Nate,” she says, looking up at me with those sad, sad eyes. “And I know I shouldn’t let it hurt me…”
“Ash…” I can’t lie to her. I can’t tell her that I feel the same way she does or that I someday maybe will because I won’t. I can’t. “I don’t know what to say, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“And yet here you are…” she says, walking to her door, “…hurting me anyway.” As if on cue, the burner in my pocket rings. Her eyes drift shut. “Answer it.”
“I don’t have to,” I say, trying to reach for her. I may not be in love with her, but there are only three people in my life I genuinely give a shit about, and two of them are in this apartment.
She pulls back an inch, opens her door wider. “Yeah, you do, Nate.” She guides me out of her room. “You always do when it comes to her.” Then she slams the door in my face.
My phone’s stopped ringing now, but there’s a ringing in my head, high-pitched and constant, and I grasp at my hair, try to rid the sound from inside me.
“Hey, man, are you okay?” Tiny steps up beside me just as my phone goes off again. I retrieve it from my pocket, my face scrunching in pain with the agony tightening in my chest. “Bailey?”
“Nate…”
She’s crying.
Sobbing.
And my pulse beats wild in my eardrums. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Can you—” She can barely speak through her cries.
“What the fuck did he do to you?”
“Nothing,” she’s quick to respond, her voice filled with torment. “I just… I need to see you. Can you please…”
I glance up at Tiny and speak through the knot in my throat. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I hang up without a need for a response while Tiny reaches into his pocket and throws me the keys. “Can you stay with Ash?” I ask him. “She says she’s not feeling well, so just make sure—”
“I got you. Go!”
Standing by the front door now, I slip on my shoes, then glance at him one more time. “You not going to fight me on this?”
“On what?”
“Running to her like this?”
Crossing his arms, he shakes his head. “If you were going anywhere else, then maybe I’d be worried you’d try to sneak in a bump.” I lower my gaze because the truth fucking hurts. “But no,” he adds. “I’m not worried about it if you’re with Bailey.”
“Why not?”
“Because Bailey’s your drug, Nate. She’s your addiction.”
33
NATE
“Say something,” Bailey pleads.
I sit on her couch with my head in my hands, and I know my reaction is the last thing she needs because it’s not her fault. She’d had too much to drink because of course she did. She doesn’t know her limits. How could she? And then they came back to her apartment and—
Puke catches in my throat, and I’m quick to stand because what they did was done on the couch I was just sitting on.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and I lift my gaze, lock my eyes on h
ers.
Shaking my head, I breathe out, “No.”
“No?” Her eyes are wide, filled with tears. “You won’t accept my apology?” she accuses.
“No, that’s not—” I blink hard, try to fight against the warring emotions swimming through every cell: rage, sorrow, regret. The attempt at a calming breath I inhale does nothing but increase the pain in my chest. I’m pacing now, trying to rid the pins and needles that seem to take over my entire body. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Bai.”
“You told me not to let him touch me and I—”
“Stop,” I cut in, closing my eyes, but it just makes the images of her and Parker more vivid. More real. More wild. She’s naked beneath him, coated in sweat, her eyes closed in pleasure, and he’s… he’s touching her, inside her—and, no, it didn’t go that far, but…
I force my eyes open again, glare at the wall. Fight the fucking urge to put a fist through it. “I just need a minute.” I can no longer stand on my own, so I lean against the wall, slide down until my ass hits the floor. I raise my knees, try to settle my breathing.
Bailey follows suit, sitting down next to me, her legs crossed. “It was my first date,” she says, her voice weak. “I’d see it in movies, you know? Or the free books I’d get at those street libraries.”
I face her now, notice the way her lips pull down at the corners, the way her gaze seems distant, her mind so lost, so innocent.
“In my head, it was so romantic. Dinner and a movie… and I…” She sucks in a breath, releases it slowly. “Is it so selfish of me to want to experience that, just once?”
A tear slides down her cheek.
The hole grows in my heart.
I take her hand in mine. “You’re not the selfish one here, Bai. I am. I want you to myself because… because…”
She turns to me, her honest eyes meeting mine. “Because you love me?”
I nod once. “I do.”
“Do you love her?”
“Ashton?”
She nods.
A beat of hesitation passes, but it’s enough for her to know the answer. The truth. And she looks away, breaks our connection, our touch. I sigh, knowing what I’m about to say will ruin her more. Maybe that’s all this is for me: a way to be even more destructive than I already am. “I care about her, Bailey. It’s hard not to. And I have a lot of love for her, but I’m not in love with her.”
Pursing her lips, she looks down at her lap. “I’m never going to be normal, am I?” she cries, wiping the tears from her eyes. “My life will never be mine.”
I scoot closer, wrap my arm around her shoulders, and bring her into me. “You are normal, Bai.”
“No, I’m not. Every emotion I’ve ever had has been fed to me by other people. Whenever I gain the strength to be something more or want something more, it’s always stripped from me. And I don’t want for a lot, Nate. I just want…”
“You want first dates, dinners, and movies…”
“And I want to be able to walk around on my own without constantly looking over my shoulder, fearing for my life all because…” Her words are a slow rambling, tumbling from her lips without thought, without consequence, and I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol talking or simply her need to say what’s on her mind. “All because I killed a guy who tried to rape me.”
“Bailey,” I whisper, guilt filling my chest.
“And I want to be able to love someone,” she continues, sniffing once. “Because I feel like I could really do that, you know? Like, even though I wasn’t shown much of it in my life, I know it’s there—in my heart—and I have so much of it to share and no one to share it with.”
Heat burns behind my eyes. “Do you want to share it with him?”
She murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, “You share it with Ashton.”
Because Ashton and I have a deal, an agreement, but that’s not the point in any of this. Bailey’s right. Whether it’s Parker or some other guy, the most selfish thing I could possibly do is deprive the world of her love. And that love doesn’t belong to me, not anymore, not the way she wants it. With me, she’ll always be looking over her shoulder no matter where we are or what we do, and she’s here—doing all of this—so she can have her freedom: the only thing she really, truly wants. “You want to love freely,” I think out loud. “And you deserve that, Bailey. You deserve it all.”
Seconds pass with no response, and when I look down, she hasn’t moved. Tucked against my chest—her cheek to my heartbeat—her breaths are even, calm. She’s fallen asleep. And so as carefully as possible, I pick her up off the floor and bring her to her bedroom, where I promise myself it’ll be the last selfish thing I’ll ever do when it comes to her: I watch her sleep in my arms and hope that one day, she’ll stand tall, find peace, and love freely amid the destruction around her.
34
NATE
Yesterday, I’d woken up in bliss, my mind clear and my chest free from pain. Bailey was in my arms, sleeping peacefully. It lasted only a second, maybe two, and then my reality came crashing down on me. It was the highest of highs and then a comedown more agonizing than detox. I left her there, alone and abandoned, and now… now my heart is full of hate, and there’s only one place I know to direct it.
Phone to my ear, I listen to the ringtone repeat over and over. When he picks up, I don’t wait for him to talk first. “Parker.”
Voice scratchy from sleep, he says, “DeLuca? What fucking time is it?”
I have no concept of time. “I need you to meet me. Now.”
Without Bailey beside me, I can’t sleep, can’t think. And every thought goes back to images of them together. That’s where the hatred starts, where it builds.
“Where?”
“I’ll text you.”
* * *
“Are you a cop?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee. The moment Jerry hears the words come out of my mouth, he busies himself on his phone. He wants to be here, and I want the same. He’s a talker, and I want this interaction to get back to the ones who care: Benny and Franco. I’ll play the part, have them believe I’m on their side.
Then I’ll find a way to end it.
And then I’ll end them.
“Do I look like a cop?” Parker murmurs.
My eyes narrow. “What’s your story, Parker?”
“I’m between jobs,” he says, his tone even.
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, who are you? Have you got a wife? Kids? Pets?” I know the answer to all of these, but buttons are made to be pushed. “What makes you tick? What makes you wake up in the morning?”
What makes you think you’re good enough for Bailey?
After a sigh, he leans back in his chair, widening the space between us. “What’s your point?”
A bitter laugh forms in my throat. “I don’t trust you.”
“I don’t trust you, either, so I guess we’re even.”
I give myself a moment to gather my thoughts. “You don’t need to trust me. That’s the thing, Ky. You’re completely replaceable to me. That built-up rage you have—the one that’s worked its way so deep inside you that you can’t breathe—that’s there forever. And you have no other outlet.” And I get it, I don’t say. “I’m your ticket; I’m your outlet.” I tilt my head, look right into his eyes—at the emptiness I see when I look in the mirror. “I’d love to know what happened to you. And I know it’s not the war. No… that’s not it. Not all of it, anyway. So, what happened?” I fake a smirk, tap, tap, tap at his buttons. “Did you fuck the wrong girl?”
The muscles in his arms bulge, and I can tell I’m getting to him.
I’m getting to me, too, Parker.
I laugh once. “That’s it, isn’t it?” I lean closer. “Or at least part of it. Is that why you enlisted—to get away from her? I bet you disappointed a lot of people when you left, huh? Your perfect parents. Your brothers and sisters?”
His jaw locks.
“Yeah, that’s it. And guilt. I bet that g
uilt eats away at you, burning every last piece of your soul to the point where you’ll never let yourself be happy. I bet—”
His chair scrapes across the floor when he lunges for me, but I knew it was coming, saw it in his eyes.
We’re the same, Parker.
My gun is steady in my hand, the end pressed to his forehead.
I could kill him.
Here.
Now.
I’d happily serve the time.
Maybe that could be my out.
I process the idea a beat while his eyes stay on mine, and it’s in this moment—a single flick of his lashes—that I see it: fear.
And I feel it, too, in some weird, fucked-up way—a single shared emotion. I wonder if he realizes, like I do, how close to death he is… and I wonder if he’s thinking about her.
“I own you now,” I whisper, but it’s so far from the fucking truth. I lower the gun and leave the confined space of the deli. Out in the open air, I fill my lungs and empty my mind of the realization that Parker and I, we’re more alike than I want to admit.
35
BAILEY
It had been silent. There were no closing of car doors, no footsteps, no whispers. The first sign that anyone was there was the busting open of a door followed by their shouting. When they found me, their flashlights were blinding. Still, for a moment, I fought to keep my eyes open. Searching. I was looking for Nate. Because at some point during the years I was held there, I’d convince myself that he would be the one to rescue me.
That he’d never stop searching for me.
There were times when desolate nights turned to days, and I’d wake up wishing, praying, that today would be the day. That I’d never have to go another night without his arms wrapped around me. That I’d wake up and he’d be beside me. And he wouldn’t fill my mind with bullshit lies or try to convince me that it was all a bad dream, a nightmare. He’d say, so simply, that this is life, and that was the past, and this is now.