by McLean, Jay
I run my hands over my head, bring them to my face, my vision blurring when I see the blood of another man on my hands.
“Here,” she says, grabbing the bottle of shampoo. She pours it on my palm. “Do it again.”
I scrub and scrub, but the water won’t turn clear. “It’s not—” I choke on my emotions. “It won’t come out.”
“It will,” she assures. “Just… dip down a little, and I’ll check.”
I take a step back, drop my head between my shoulders.
“You’re too tall. I can’t… maybe just squat down a little.”
For the first time, I get down on my knees in front of her. Because no proposal came with our marriage. Just an agreement.
“Nate?” she sniffs once.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to have to touch your hair… is that—is that okay?”
Jesus Christ. The girl just murdered a man—her father—because he was about to kill me, and still, she’s thinking about my needs, about my thoughts of Bailey. “Yes.”
She hesitates a beat, and then her hands are in my hair, her expert fingers stroking through the strands, and I don’t know what happens next. Whether it’s this level of bare intimacy we’re sharing or if it’s Ashton’s touch or the reasons why we’re doing it. Or maybe… maybe I’m just now processing what Benny admitted.
He killed my father.
He’d been at my dad’s funeral, crying tears of mourning, and then he took me into The Family, into his family, and slowly, he brought me up from the darkness, made me feel like a man. Like I could do this. And all this time…
Before I can stop it, a single sob catches in my throat. My shoulders bounce, my knees no longer able to hold me up. I fall into Ashton, her arms quick to catch me. And now she’s the one holding me, whispering words in my ear—words I can’t hear through the thumping of my heart. Hands on my jaw, she pulls back so she can squat down in front of me. “It’s okay, Nathaniel,” she whispers, wiping the tears mixed with water off my cheeks. She holds me tighter, her small arms a fortress in a war zone.
Seconds pass.
Minutes.
She never lets me go.
And I…
I don’t want her to.
“You’re clean now,” she says into my neck, kissing me there. “All the bad’s been washed away, il mio re.” My King.
* * *
I once told Bailey that I knew the secret to chess. People assume that the king is the most critical piece on the board, but that’s a lie. It’s the queen who protects the king, the one who holds the most power over the entire kingdom and their enemies that’s the key to winning the battle. And then there’s the pawn, the most insignificant piece of them all. But, if a pawn plays smart enough and makes it to the end of the board, that pawn can become the queen.
And the secret to chess is simple: know the value of your pieces.
47
NATE
I squeeze Ashton’s hand as I drive past the agents’ SUV, eying Ezio through the rearview.
“Will you need any help with... with...” my uncle trails off.
He can’t say the words out loud: getting rid of the body.
“No.” Besides, I would never ask such a thing from him.
He nods, saying nothing more.
“I’m going to take you home first,” I tell Ashton. “And then I’ll take Ezio to his hotel. Is that okay?”
She dips her head.
I bring her hand to my mouth, kiss the inside of her wrist. “I’ll be back later tonight. We need to take care of this before his capos come tomorrow and find the body.”
“How are you going to clean the blood?” she asks.
“We’re not,” I reply, shrugging. “I want them to know Benny’s dead. I just don’t want them to find his body.” Ashton doesn’t respond, and when I glance at her, her eyes are down, focused at the trash bag filled with our blood-stained clothes. “It’s going to be okay, Ash.”
She turns to me, her eyes red and raw from all the tears she’s shed. “You’re coming back, right?”
There’s a tugging in my chest, an unbearable ache. “Of course, I will.”
“Lo prometti?” You promise?
I smile, kiss her hand again. “Lo prometto, princepessa.” I promise, princess.
* * *
The sun’s almost up by the time I get home, and Ashton’s the first thing I see when I step inside. She’s sitting on the couch in a robe, a wine glass in her hand, her gaze lost. I go to her, squat down so we’re eye to eye, and it’s only now that I realize she’d been crying. That, most likely, she hasn’t stopped crying. “Hey…” I settle my hands on her bare knees, stroke my thumb along her heated skin, and wait until her eyes meet mine to say, “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Can’t sleep,” she deadpans.
“Yeah,” I sigh out. “It’s been a long day, huh?”
Her hand covers mine. “I heard what my dad said… about what he did to your dad.”
I shake my head, ignore the blinding ache in my chest. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Nodding, she places her glass on the table beside her while a single tear slides down her cheek. I wipe it away.
“What do you need from me, Ash? Whatever it is, just tell me and I’ll make it happen.”
She covers her face with her hands, her sob wracking her entire body. I bring her to me, hold her close. “It wasn’t supposed to be you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I put you in that situation. I…”
She pulls back. “I know what we have is… complicated.”
My gaze drops.
“But I don’t regret what I did. I’d choose you over him a thousand times, over and over, because I love you, Nate. And I know you don’t—”
“I love you, too.”
Her eyes widen. “You do?”
“Yes, Ash,” I tell her, the weight of the truth falling from my shoulders. And even though my love for her isn’t the same as my love for Bailey, it doesn’t make it less valid. Less real. With Bailey, it was intense at the beginning and even more so now, but the time in between—when we were together—it was safe, and it was solid, and that’s what I’ve always felt with Ashton. And maybe the intensity with Bailey is the reason why it could never work between us. Besides, what’s one four-letter word for my wife to remember me by? “I love you.” I grasp her hand, pull her to her feet. “Let’s go to bed.” Then I lead her to her bedroom and close the door behind us. And then I kiss her. I kiss her like I’ve wanted to kiss her since Benny’s hand left my throat. And I touch her. I touch her in ways I’ve only touched one other person. I tell her I love her, again and again, and I mean it every single time. And then I make love to her, and for the first time since we got married, I treat her the way she deserves to be treated. I treat her like my wife.
* * *
The piercing ache in my chest makes it impossible to sleep, not that I could. Every time I close my eyes, I see Benny’s dead ones looking back at me. I haven’t been able to take a full breath since it happened, and I can’t seem to shake this jitter in my hands, this twitch that comes at random times. It’s a wonder how Ashton’s fast asleep, tucked into my side, her peaceful breaths a contrast to the chaos inside my head. And maybe that’s my problem. Because I’ve always been like this… always too deep inside my fucking head. There’s no end to my thoughts, circles upon circles, and worse, there’s no escape.
Fuck.
As carefully as possible, I untangle myself from Ashton’s naked embrace, a slight smile forming when she groans in protest. She’s back to sleep a moment later, and so I stand at the end of the bed, and I watch her. And there are so many worse things in life than coming home and ending every day like this. With her.
My hand twitches, the pain going all the way up my arm to my chest, and so I pick up my jeans off the floor and bring them to the bathroom with me. I close the door behind me. Lock it. Then I take out the bottle of pills from my pocket, tap the open
end against my palm. Six pills fall out just as there’s a twisting in my chest. I hold my breath, wait for the pain to fade, and wince when it only seems to get worse. Without a second thought, I throw all six pills in my mouth and down them with the water straight from the tap. I grasp at the edge of the sink, my head between my shoulders, and I can’t fucking breathe. My legs give out beneath me, but I catch my fall.
I leave Ashton’s room and go to mine so I can let her sleep in peace. Face scrunched in agony, I sit on the edge of the bed, my hand clutching my chest, pounding it. Moments pass, and finally, finally, the pain fades. At least physically. I throw on some clothes, ignoring the gnawing in my gut, the thoughts racing as fast as my heart just was.
Bailey Bailey Bailey.
I can’t fucking stop thinking about her, about what I’d just done with another woman. And I love them both, but I can’t have them both, and there’s a reason why she hadn’t slept with Parker, and maybe… maybe that reason is me. And the guilt… god-fucking-damn the guilt, because it’s clawing at my insides, fucking with my head, like pure heroin swimming through my veins.
I move to the living room because the walls are less intrusive, and I part the curtains, the daylight momentarily blinding me. It’s mid-morning now, the world in full swing, and yet… I can’t help but feel like my world has just ended.
I try to still my thoughts by sitting on the couch. It lasts less than a minute. I’m up, and I’m pacing the floor, and the spasms in my hands, my entire body, won’t fucking quit. The pain returns, and I grasp at my hair because I need it to end.
I can’t keep fucking doing this.
Feeling this.
I pause mid-stride. “Just one,” I whisper to myself, glancing at my bedroom door.
Just one, and everything will be better.
Everything will go away.
My feet are light as I make my way back to my room. I close the door. Lock it, too. Then I sit on the bed, pull open the drawer of the nightstand.
Just one.
I reach in, my palm up, searching the underside of the table.
Just one.
My fingertips graze along the plastic, and for the first time in days, I breathe, relieved.
The white powder feels familiar in my hands, and when I tap it out onto the table, a smile reaches my lips.
Just one.
Sweat coats my brow, and I brush it away. Mouth dry, I use the blunt razor in the bag to form a line with my old friend. Soon, we’ll be dancing together.
Fingers trembling, I roll the dollar bill, and I snort that motherfucker like my life depends on it. Because it does. And it’s not that big a deal.
It’s just one.
Two.
Three lines of coke.
And thank fuck it works because now I only have one thought on my mind.
One reason.
One purpose.
I grab Ashton’s keys off the entry table and slip on my shoes, and then I’m off.
I just want to see her.
Just once.
And then she and I, we’ll be dancing together.
48
BAILEY
There are a lot of things I didn’t expect to gain when I agreed to go “undercover” with the agents. A relationship was one, and a part-time job was another. For the past few weeks I’d been working at Debbie’s Flowers, I’ve fallen in love with the work. Being surrounded by all these colors, all these smells… I don’t think I ever truly realized what I’d been missing out on until Ky brought me here the first time.
I wish I could live here forever, but that’s not my life, and it’s definitely not my reality. Because my reality just sent me another text:
Brent: Anything?
I’m quick to reply.
Madison: No.
According to the agents, to Tiny, to Ashton, Nate’s gone missing. No one has heard from him in the past twenty-four hours. The last one to see him was Ashton, who says that Nate slipped out of their bed without her knowledge and poof. Gone. Tiny hasn’t heard from him. Can’t track him. And I wouldn’t usually be worried, but he’s not the only one missing. So is Benny Bianchi. And that’s too much of a coincidence to ignore.
I’ve walked around with an intolerable ache in my gut ever since I found out, and the worst part is that I have no one to talk to about it. At least not openly. Every second Ky’s at the gym, I’m at work, and the time in between we spend together. Tiny is with Ashton, trying to keep her calm, because Ashton is Nate’s wife, and I’m… I’m merely his past. So I fake it. Every smile, every bit of laughter, every ounce of joy, and every time the door to the shop opens, I wish for Nate. I just need to know that he’s okay. That he’s alive. But that feeling in my gut? It tells me otherwise.
The door of the shop opens, and I hold my breath before looking up. I wish for Nate. I get Kyler instead. I force a smile, do what’s expected of me: I push up off the counter, close my eyes, and pucker my lips, waiting for his kiss.
In this world, we are every other couple.
He kisses me once. Twice. And when he pulls away, I ask, “Another one?” It’s a game we’ve played, one he started. One that gives me hope for a normal future.
“Hey! That’s my line,” he laughs out, and I join in on the laughter. Fake. He kisses me again, and I show him what I’d been working on. He gets excited for me. And I realize that for some people, being in a relationship, being in love, it means sharing the same feelings, the same sadness and elation. I’d never had that with Nate because he kept so much to himself, and I had so little to share, but it didn’t seem to matter because we had love.
I remember our last interaction. Our last kiss. Our final goodbye, and I shouldn’t be thinking these things with Kyler standing in front of me… but—
“Oh good, Kyler’s here,” Debbie—my boss—sings as she walks out of the storeroom. She collects a Polaroid camera from the shelf behind the counter. “They still make those?” Ky asks.
“Nothing will ever replace instant memories,” she replies. She fiddles with it some while I round the counter and throw my arm around Ky’s waist, my nose scrunching. “You’re sticky and smelly,” I whisper.
“And you love it,” he teases.
“Okay!” Debbie shouts as if we’re not standing right in front of her. “Make it a good one,” she says, lifting the camera to her eye.
I look up at Ky, at a man who’s given me more unforgettable experiences in the months since I’ve known him than I’ve had my entire lifetime. But I can’t ignore the nagging in my gut, this blinding ache. Because if Nate’s no longer around, then Ky’s no longer needed, and I—I’ll be discarded, again, thrown away as if I have no real purpose. But that’s all secondary to the fact that… that Nate might no longer be around. The thought hits, and hits me hard, and the tears I fight back are instant. And I don’t know if I can do this, carry on without him, living a life full of endless lies. I can’t pretend forever, and Ky’s not going to want me if he ever finds out, and so I look up at him, resolved, and give him the same thing Nate had given me: a goodbye without a goodbye. “I love you,” I mouth.
“I love you, too,” he says, his eyes closed when he kisses me.
The bell above the door chimes, then the click-whoosh of the Polaroid camera. And then Debbie’s gasp, followed by a deathly shriek.
My eyes snap open, and I turn to the door. “Oh my God,” I breathe out, blood draining from my face. “Nate…” He’s alive, and he’s here but… there’s something wrong with him. Something… bad. There’s no color in his face, no life in his eyes. Sweat coats his skin, and his lips part as his shoulder twitches, moving his entire arm. My gaze follows the length of it, and I choke on a breath when I see the gun held loosely in his grip.
Ky must see it, too, because he pulls me behind him.
My heart thumps, but I can’t hide from him. Don’t want to. I peer around Ky, watch as Nate moves closer, wiping the sweat off his cheeks. And when I look in his eyes again, I realize it’s
not sweat.
It’s tears.
“Nathaniel,” I cry, because the man before me is not the man I know. The man I love.
“Boss Man, don’t do this,” Tiny says, stepping up behind him.
I grip the back of Ky’s shirt because I know what’s about to happen. I finally make sense of that feeling in my gut. Someone’s about to die… and that someone is holding the gun.
“I feel like I need to find a way to forgive him. Because I feel like he won’t be around to forgive himself.”
I forgive you. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue, but fear halts my voice. And all I can do is cry.
Footsteps approach, one after the other, and I count them in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. I release Ky’s shirt and quickly step around him. Nate’s aiming the gun right at Ky, but he won’t shoot him. I know he won’t. Nate’s focus switches to me, and he blinks, hard, his lashes coated with tears. He swallows, his throat moving with the action, and then he speaks: “Get in the fucking car, Bailey.”
I nod, my breaths nothing but sobs as I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay. Just please—”
Nate winces, his face scrunched as his hand clutches his chest, right over his heart. The gun falls to the tiled floor, bounces once. Twice. And then Nate falls, too, first to his knees, and the rest of him follows. “Nate!” Tiny yells, rushing to him.
“Nathaniel!” I drop down, watching as Tiny picks him up off the floor, flips him onto his back.
Nate chokes on a breath, and his eyes shut tight.
“Call 9-1-1!” Tiny orders, and I crawl over to them, my tears making it impossible to see.
“Nate!” I take his hand, hold it between mine. “Nate! Open your eyes! Please! Open your eyes!”
Nate does as I begged, his eyelids fluttering. “Bailey…” he chokes out.
“It’s me,” I cry. “Where does it hurt?”