by Aly Martinez
I scrolled to the last text.
Devon: Drinks at Murphy’s. Get your ass up here when you finish.
I liked Devon. He was the only person I had remotely resembling a friend in Chicago. And he’d been able to help me find an apartment. I couldn’t move in for a few weeks, and I fully intended on asking him to help me when I did. The least I could do was buy him a drink first.
Me: OTW. Where the fuck is Murphy’s?
Devon: Bar across the street from the office.
Now, that was convenient.
Chapter Five
Rhion
This was a terrible idea. A real motherfucking calamity.
“Can I get you a drink?” the bartender asked as I nervously stared at my phone.
Johnson was late. He should have been there before I’d even walked in.
My lungs burned more with every breath I wasn’t taking. I looked up and plastered on something that I hope resembled a smile. “You’re new.”
An all-too-familiar glint lit his eyes. “I am. You come here often?”
“The fact that I knew you were new should be answer enough,” I teased in an effort to slow my racing heart.
It didn’t work. A cold chill crept up my spine as I frantically surveyed the bar.
Oh God. I can’t breathe.
“Touché,” he replied, but I barely heard him over the blood thundering in my ears.
I should go.
He’ll be here any minute.
I have to go.
He’d want me to wait.
Oh God. Where is he?
“I…um.” My throat closed, but I forged ahead. “I’ll…have a beer. Whatever craft you have on tap.”
Instead of rushing off to get me said beer, he shot me a flirty grin and leaned his hip on the bar. “A girl after my own heart.”
I remained silent and concentrated on the intense need to peel out of my own skin. When he failed to take the not-so-subtle hint, I squeaked, “Any chance I can get the beer sans your heart?”
“And she’s funny,” he mumbled, his grin widening.
A man with white-blond hair caught my attention on the other side of the bar. I jumped to my feet and reached for my purse and my sweater on the back of my chair.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
I can’t do this.
Johnson’s voice rumbled behind me at the same time his large palm landed on my back. “That she is,” he told the bartender.
I clutched his forearm, digging my nails into his flesh as I tamped a relieved sob down. My shoulders fell and the massive weight on my chest disappeared, allowing the glorious, stale bar air to fill my lungs.
“Sorry I’m late. ” He kissed my forehead.
I turned my head and brushed away a tear of relief that had managed to escape.
“You did good,” he whispered.
I cut my gaze to him. “Were you watching me?”
He grinned and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Since you got off the elevator.”
I blew a ragged breath out and equal parts laughed and cried, “You’re an asshole!”
“Maybe. But you did good,” he semi-repeated before settling his large body onto the barstool beside me. “I’ll have whatever she’s having,” he said to the bartender.
The bartender remained frozen, flashing a surprised gaze between us. It was the typical reaction to meeting Johnson. He was a tad scary at first glance.
He finally walked away, mumbling, “Coming right up.”
I sucked in a deep breath and did my best to swallow the lingering anxiety. I opted for a joke, but it still came out shaky. “I ordered a cosmo.”
Johnson knowingly twisted his lips. “Bullshit.”
I giggled, which did wonders to help my heart return to a non-marathon pace. So much so that, when Johnson grinned at me, I was able to genuinely return it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Devon heading our way.
“Nice hair,” he said when he got close.
My teal tips from this morning had been transformed to red thanks to a much-needed visit from my stylist.
“Thanks, Devon.” I reached up over my shoulder and patted his chest.
He whistled across the bar and then snapped his mouth shut when the bartender turned to face him. “Shit. You’re new.”
“So I’ve been told,” the bartender retorted.
“Well, as long as you know,” Devon quipped, settling onto the barstool on my other side. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”
I kept my face unreadable as I lied, “I ordered an Appletini.”
“Yeah. Right.” He pulled a bowl of peanuts in front of him and peered up at the TV. “Any games on tonight?”
I shrugged and turned in time to see Lark and Alex laughing as they strolled in.
“Red. I like it,” Alex said quietly, tugging at the ends of my hair.
“Thanks,” I laughed, swatting his hands away.
Lark shrugged his coat off and then slung it over a barstool before calling out, “We’ll have two more of whatever she’s having. But bring mine with a shot of tequila on the side.”
I rolled my eyes. “I ordered a Sex on the Beach. With two pink umbrellas.”
Alex grunted something that obviously translated to bullshit.
Lark ignored me altogether.
“One day, I’m going to do it. And then I’m taking pictures of you guys drinking them and passing them around the office.”
It was a lie. I’d never order that fruity shit. I was a beer girl through and through. It was my favorite thing about Murphy’s—well, that and the fact that it was literally across the street from my apartment. Every week, they offered a new craft beer. Some of them were amazing. Some were absolute shit. But I adored trying them all.
The bartender appeared with our beers, and I slid them down until everyone had one.
I was turning to clank mine with Johnson when Devon stopped me.
“Wait. Wait. Wait. I have a toast.” He smiled wide and lifted his beer in the air. “To Johnson’s cranky ass being sent to Indy for two weeks!”
“Hear, hear,” came from the guys.
But my mouth dried as I slung my head in his direction. “You’re leaving? For two weeks?”
Devon kept talking, but Johnson shot him a murderous glare that snapped him to silence.
When his gaze returned to mine, his face had softened, and his voice came out as a gentle whisper. “Not a full two weeks—”
“Why? I thought…” I trailed off, anxiety crawling up my throat.
I hated it when he left. He was out of town almost every weekend, working down in Indy for some championship boxer. I’d adapted to that by spending my weekends locked in the apartment. But two full weeks? I felt the color drain from my face.
“Breathe,” he urged. “It’s only a couple of days. I’ll come back on Wednesday.”
My stomach ached as I held his dark stare with pleading eyes. “A couple of days?”
He flinched but quickly locked it down. “Back on Wednesday.”
It was a promise. And I knew he’d follow through, but that didn’t change the guilt that pooled in my stomach.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I’m trying…”
He shook his head and clanked his beer with mine. “I know. And you did good. Let’s just drink our beers and worry about the rest later.”
It should be said, for as moody and grumpy and short-tempered as Johnson was, beneath it all, he was also a great guy.
I smiled weakly and held his gaze as we both lifted our drinks to our lips.
And then I burst into laughter as he spit it across the bar.
“What the fuck!” he growled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Is that grape-flavored?”
I laughed so hard that I nearly fell off my stool.
It was safe to say the craft beer that night was absolute shit.
Yet, as I watched the guys laughing and Johnson banging his fist on the bar and barking at the barten
der for a round of Buds, I decided that it was exactly what I needed.
I sucked in a huge breath and filled my lungs with the brief moments of my life that didn’t overwhelm me. Johnson was right. I could deal with the rest later.
Only, as I turned to the side in order to steal one of Devon’s peanuts, I realized that later wasn’t actually a measurement of time. It was nothing more than a word tossed around to lull you into a false sense of security. The past always had a way of working its way into the present.
And, as I met his blazing, green gaze, I knew that later had found me.
“Butterfly?” he whispered.
Chapter Six
Jude
Time slowed the moment our gazes met.
She didn’t move. Not even an inch.
But neither did I.
Blink.
A million words hung in the air around us, but not a single syllable fell from either of our mouths.
She was different than I remembered.
And not because, when I’d first walked in, her head was thrown back in laughter instead of hanging down while tears streamed from her chin.
Blink.
And not because she was sitting on a barstool, drinking a beer, rather than perched on the narrow ledge of a burning house.
Blink.
And not because her hair was blond with red accents, not a hint of black soot staining it.
Blink.
And not because her arms weren’t spread out to her sides in a hospital bed, raw with third-degree burns, but rather covered in full sleeves of brightly colored tattoos.
Blink.
No. She looked different because, for the first time since I’d met her that night four years earlier, she was alive and not struggling to survive.
Her lips thinned uncomfortably as she rose from her stool and took a step toward me.
I believe words were spoken around us. However, as I focused on her mouth, I heard nothing but the ease in which she breathed.
No coughing. No choking.
Just…
Breathing.
Blink.
And then, with one flash of her gaze over my shoulder, that vibrant light dancing in her pale-blue eyes exploded into a million shades of darkness.
Blink.
“No,” she breathed, stumbling back into her stool, knocking it over.
I instinctively glanced over my shoulder but saw no one of note.
Johnson rose beside her, his hand going to her bicep.
Blink.
And then, all at once, time caught up. The bar detonated into a flurry of activity.
“Don’t you dare!” Devon shouted to someone.
“Motherfucker,” Alex cursed.
“Rhion!” Johnson yelled as she bolted toward the entrance.
I wanted to open my arms. To finally catch her.
But, like in the past, I stood motionless as I watched her fly away.
Johnson’s shoulder slammed into mine as he rushed after her, Alex only steps behind him. Devon, however, charged to the other side of the bar, shoving customers out of his way.
I shook my head and turned back in time to see her disappear out the door.
I blinked again, and much like the first time we’d met, she was gone.
One blink was all it ever took for me to lose her.
“Rhion,” I whispered to myself, rubbing my hand over the scars on the back of my head as if it could erase the memories.
“Oh fuck!” Lark barked, plowing over a stool and several people as he raced outside.
I followed him with my gaze, and the second I saw her, my throat locked up tight. No air in. No air out. Just a bullet of panic ricocheting in my hollow chest.
“No.” I breathed, storming to the bar’s glass door, praying that my eyes were deceiving me.
But they weren’t. I’d recognize that woman anywhere, but especially in the middle of the busy four-lane Chicago street with cars swerving around her.
Adrenaline blasted through my veins, traveling straight to my legs. I was out the door before I’d realized my feet were moving.
“Rhion!” Johnson bellowed, slamming his fists down onto the hood of a car that had nearly clipped him.
Alex was doing his best to stop traffic, but they were flying around him, turning that street into a real-life game of Frogger.
The roar of blood thundered in my ears as I darted out into traffic, weaving in and out of cars as I made my way toward her. I was acting on pure instinct, unable to process the fact that she was actually there.
Much less that I was at risk of losing her.
Again.
Her motions were frantic as she raced away, but her head didn’t swing from side to side with caution or respect for the oncoming cars. Getting to the other side of that street as quickly as possible was her only concern.
Meanwhile, getting to her was mine.
People were yelling. Horns were blaring. Brakes were squealing.
But her feet kept moving.
Therefore, so did mine.
My mind fought to remain in the present, but the closer I got, I no longer saw a woman in the middle of traffic. I saw a wounded butterfly with flames closing in all around her. Bile rose in my throat as I sucked in a gasp of the cool night air. Only it was smoke that filled my lungs, a searing pain that formed at the back of my neck, and a blast of heat that threatened to take me to the ground.
And then a deep, guttural sound tore through me, shredding me from the inside out as I watched her fall. Again.
“No!” I yelled as she hit the pavement.
Cars locked their brakes up and swerved onto the curb to try to avoid her. In that moment, I longed for the slow motion of when our gazes had met because it was all happening so fast that I could barely keep her in my sights.
I lurched toward her, but I’d never reach her in time. A fact that burned so deeply it felt like my soul had been dipped in acid.
I’d failed her.
Again.
Johnson, however, did not.
With one swoop, he hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her off the ground, her colorful wings dangling at her sides as he held her to his chest, her terrified, blue eyes finding mine over his shoulder. Her shaking hand reached out to me, and her lips moved in the pattern of my name. The idea that she needed me as I stood yards away sliced through me like a rusty blade.
With three long strides, he carried her up onto the sidewalk.
To safety.
It was more than I’d ever been able to do for her.
The all-too-familiar feeling of guilt rolled in my stomach.
Johnson carried her toward the front door of the Guardian Protection building, and that should have been the end of it. It was time for me to go. And not just back to the hotel that had become my makeshift home over the last week. It was time to leave for good.
Maybe go back to LA.
Maybe New York.
Maybe somewhere completely off the grid until I could get my shit together.
Any of those options would have been a good decision.
But none of them would have given me her—even if she wasn’t mine to take. I had no place in her present, despite the burns on the back of my head and my neck that forever made her a part of mine.
But I’d spent four years ignoring the immense need to reach out to her. To check on her. To make sure her breaths had started to come easily and her tears had finally dried.
My mind screamed for me to let her go and spare her the trip down memory lane it appeared she was so desperately trying to avoid. But it seemed my legs didn’t listen to logic any more than my heart, because even as indecision warred inside me, I jogged straight to the doors, my heart slamming against my ribs with every step.
I caught sight of the red tips of her hair as the elevator doors began to close. Ignoring the decent and rational side of my mind, I shoved a hand between the doors and slid my large body inside.
An inexplicable sense of relie
f washed over me as I took in her uninjured body. It didn’t matter that she was tucked into Johnson’s side or mumbling repeatedly that she wanted to go home.
She was there.
My attention snapped up to Johnson as he tightened his arm around her waist and shifted her closer against his chest. It was a pointed move, one of possession that echoed loud and clear through the elevator. But I wasn’t there to take her from him. I didn’t actually know why I was there at all.
As he held my stare, I prepared for an argument. Though I didn’t know what I could have said. Despite what I told myself, I didn’t know the woman clinging to his chest.
Jesus, what the fuck am I doing?
I opened my mouth, but Johnson shook his head and lifted a finger to his lips. He was pissed—that much was clear. But there was something else showing in his eyes. Compassion? Understanding? Tolerance?
When the elevator came to a stop on the third floor, he guided her off. Confusion crinkled my brow. Guardian was on the fourth floor. However, as soon as her feet made it over the elevator threshold, she took off at a sprint, not slowing as she waved a security card in front of her door and darted through it. When the door slammed behind her, I raked a hand through my hair and turned to see Johnson glowering at me from outside the elevator.
“You need to leave,” he stated matter-of-factly.
I couldn’t say I disagreed with him, but there was still a piece of me that ached to follow her.
“What the hell happened back there?” I asked.
He shoved off the wall and started for the door. “Go home, Levitt.”
I reached forward and caught his arm. “You need to talk to me here. I know her… I mean, I knew her. When I was a cop—”
“I know all about the fire.” He glanced down at my hand on his bicep and yanked it from my grasp. “I also know that she does not need to see you right now.”
I took another step toward him. “Fine. But that doesn’t explain why she bolted out into traffic to get away from me. Is…” I cut my gaze over his shoulder and to her door. “Is she okay?”
He continued to stare at me, giving away nothing in his reaction. In a low rumble, he asked, “She look okay to you?”