Freedom

by S. A. Wolfe

  “Yeah, I do know that, and under different circumstances, I’d be all over you.”

  “I don’t want food. And I don’t want you to leave me alone. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he says softly then climbs under the covers next to me.

  When I roll onto my side and hug him, he sighs. He can’t tame me, but he sure knows how to calm me.

  His hand is under my shirt, splayed against my bare back as he pulls me closer to him.

  “It won’t always be like this,” he whispers with his mouth pressed against my temple. “Over time, it will get easier to deal with the pain of disappointment and loss. My life has been easier with you in it.”

  “Really? Thugs tailing us, fights with my ex-boyfriend… This is easier?”

  “Believe it or not, yes. I know exactly what I want to do and what I should do, and fortunately, they’re the same thing.” As he rubs his cheek against mine, his five o’clock shadow scratches my swollen, tender skin in a pleasant way. I wish he’d let me do more than hug him.

  “You sound so sure of yourself.”

  “I am. And that’s because of you, Emma.”

  His baby blues lift and crinkle at the edges when I prop my hands and chin on his chest and look at him.

  “And you didn’t know anything about Agent Cooper MacKenzie and his background?” I ask.

  “No. When I saw you go off with him, I freaked. Seriously, I always thought he was an okay guy, but that move, having you jump on his bike and taking you away from me—I wanted to kill him.”

  “No, you didn’t. You wanted to punch him.”

  “That, too.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “You didn’t see the part where I drove over here and walked through the hotel lobby plotting Cooper’s demise. I think I counted backwards from one hundred for forty solid minutes, and I took so many deep breaths to calm down that I’m surprised I didn’t pass out. My shrink would be proud that he doesn’t have to visit me in jail tonight.”

  I smile at his attempts for me to see past the horrible events of the evening and to realize that what I have with him is genuine.

  “What made you trust, Cooper?” Dylan’s voice is steady yet nervous.

  “Something about his connection to Carson. I’ve seen it at work. And he was there when we met with Robert the first time at the restaurant. When he told me to get on the bike and that he’d make sure you were with me soon, I didn’t doubt him. He knew I couldn’t be separated from you for very long.”

  “Yeah?” Dylan tilts his head.

  “Yeah.” I plant a kiss on his sternum. “What made you trust Cooper?”

  “I didn’t have a choice. He had my girl. The only person I wanted was being held hostage by Easy Rider.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t holding me hostage.”

  “Not knowing what he was doing and where he was taking you almost drove me over the edge. Remember King Kong beating his chest on top of the Empire State Building? If Cooper had called any later than he had, that would have been me up there.”

  I chuckle and hiccup at the same time, like a scared child who is recovering from a major tantrum.

  “And what about Sean?” he asks. “Did you have any indication that he could spring this kind of information on you? I wasn’t sure what I thought of him when he came to the house. I didn’t know if I could trust him.”

  “That’s because you don’t know him the way I do. I always knew Sean was better than my dad. If Sean saw something was wrong, he wouldn’t look the other way. That was my father’s mistake, believing that anyone who works for him would be loyal if he paid him enough. Sean was willing to lose a very good salary and risk his life, I guess. If my dad is that involved with Vinnie Marchetto, then it is a huge risk to do what Sean did. The only person I’m furious with is my father for doing this to my family… and me for believing all his bull for so many years.”

  “Maybe our former G-Man, Cooper, is wrong. We don’t know for sure if your dad will be arrested—”

  “Dylan, don’t even try to gloss this over for my benefit. I’ve lived with this crap for many years. I should have seen the signs.”

  Dylan strokes my hair and gazes at me with such a loving tenderness. The only man that shocks me is Dylan and his desire to be with someone like me. He has worked so hard to be the opposite of anyone that resembles the damaged, deceitful people attached to me. I don’t want him to put his emotional health at risk and jeopardize his progress because he accepts me as I am.

  I love him too much to keep him bonded to a destructive family like mine. A father in prison, a grandmother who refuses to talk about our family dirt, and an unstable mother who has legitimate nervous breakdowns… I can’t envision Dylan and I going to visit my father at Rikers or wherever he’ll end up. And would Dylan feel obligated to help my obstinate mother who would rather pop a Valium with a tumbler of Scotch than seek real help? I don’t want to lasso Dylan to that never-ending hell, and I don’t necessarily want to be a part of that family anymore, either.

  Yet, if I break all my connections with my family and let any lingering love or affection for my parents decay to nothing, can I start clean with Dylan? Is it possible or am I setting myself up for a future of regrets that would also hurt Dylan? How much psychological melodrama can a guy like Dylan handle? Under the circumstances, I could be the worst possible woman for him.

  Twenty-Five

  Dylan

  Carson gets tired of me walking slowly so he sprints ahead of me and makes it to our trailer long before I get there. By the time I get home from school, there are police cars, an ambulance, and Lauren and her parents and a lot of other familiar faces. They are crying, and I hear people mumbling to me and to each other that they are so sorry. I don’t want this to be happening, and I hate them all for acting this way.

  A policewoman makes me stand by a cop car, and I see Carson come from behind the back of our trailer with some more cops. He’s wiping his face as if he’s been crying. I have never seen my brother cry. The woman won’t let me go to our trailer or anywhere near Carson. They only want to talk to him.

  I drop my backpack on the ground and wait for Carson to come get me and tell me what’s going on; he’s the only one I want to talk to. I know this is bad, especially since it is happening behind the trailer, not inside. I hear the whispers about my dad, but the ambulance guys haven’t brought him out; instead, they keep talking to Carson. He is almost eighteen, only three years older than me, but they all know he is in charge because he acts like it.

  It may be minutes or hours that pass as Lauren stays with her parents, looking over at me and crying. All I can think is how lucky she is to be standing there with both of her parents. My mom died when I was eight, and we’ve rarely seen my dad over the years—he barely exists.

  When someone slips a warm arm around my shoulders, I look up. It’s Archie. I know it is worse than I can imagine because Archie’s eyes are watery. No one is talking to me now, they expect me to be quiet and stay still, but I am not an idiot. I am well aware that it is my father behind the trailer, and no one wants me to see him.

  A policeman walks Carson over to me, and Archie puts his other arm around him. Carson starts sniffling. I don’t know why, but it makes me angry. We are not supposed to have any more bad stuff happen to us. My mother was supposed to get better, and when she didn’t, my father said we would all get through her death together, even though he started disappearing on us, and Carson had to take over.

  I escape from Archie’s embrace with every intention of getting behind our trailer to see what is going on for myself.

  “No!” Carson grabs my arm. My brother is strong. He glares at me with tears in his eyes. “You can’t go over there, Dylan. Dad is gone.”

  As he grips my arm tight enough to make bruises, a stretcher comes around the side of the trailer. As I expected, the body on the stretcher is covered from head to toe with a sheet. It still sends waves of si
ckening shock through me.

  I know another parent has left me.

  I think I start crying more over my father’s death than my mother’s because he knew how sad Carson and I were when our mother died. He knew, and he didn’t care what it would do to us; he only wanted to stop his own pain.

  But he left Carson and me all alone.

  People keep leaving me.

  ***

  Working for my brother and taking orders from him is one thing. Taking orders from Cooper and Sean is another. It is only going to last so long with me. I am not about to sit around a hotel room waiting for news from them about what the FBI is or isn’t doing with Emma’s father and the Marchetto crime family. Even though I feel kind of sorry for the guy, I can’t give two shits about Robert when I have Emma bouncing off the walls in this little room, anxious about everyone.

  I have her imprisoned in a hotel room with me, and you would think that is all I need. Yeah, old Dylan would be all over this one, making sure we were naked twenty-four seven—screwing, eating, screwing, and watching TV, and then screwing again. My brain used to love those easy agendas, and my body never complained. Thoughts like that make me feel pretty ill about the kind of selfish prick I used to be.

  I’m using Dr. Wang’s tactic of talking about it in past tense, so I don’t confuse that person with who I hope I am today. God, I hope I know what I’m doing. I keep up a good front with Emma, but inside, I still question every move and thought I make.

  We are not staying holed up in this place, though. I am getting Emma out for the day, away from the giant TV that looms in our room like a messenger from hell. I saw how tempted she was last night to turn it on again and surf the cable news stations, looking for reports on her father’s supposed impending arrest. Nope, I am breaking Cooper’s rules; I don’t care if they came endorsed by Carson with gold stars branded on Cooper’s ass. We are getting out, at least for the day.

  I do an hour of sit-ups and push-ups then I finally wake her up from a very groggy sleep. After what she has been through, I should let her snooze all day, however I am getting antsy, and without being able to run or lift weights, I can only do so much exercising in the room while she sleeps.

  It is cute watching her drool on the pillow, so I decide to wake her up gently with a few tickles. She sleep-punches me in the shoulder and scissor kicks my chest. Hell, whoever trained this girl prepared her to be ambushed.

  Without letting her emasculate me further, I haul her into the bathroom while she apologizes profusely. I make her rush through a quick shower and put on the only clean clothes we have left, jeans and t-shirts, which are fine for what I have planned.

  ***

  “Are you sure this is safe?” Emma asks as I speed Carson’s BMW through Tarrytown.

  “Absolutely. You’re with me.” Hiding behind my sunglasses, I give her my best confident smile.

  Her face is pale with the kind of fatigue that comes from sleeping after a long crying jag. She’s not wearing any make-up, and the way she looks is luminous to me, even on this overcast, gray day.

  As we slow down and drive through an open gate, I notice there aren’t any other cars. Good—no tourists, so Emma and I have this place all to ourselves.

  “Where are we?” she asks, looking up the hill at the gravestones that are shrouded in a surreal, green foliage of trees.

  “Sleepy Hollow,” I reply.

  When I get out of the car and walk around to open her door, she has a befuddled expression as she takes in the lush greenery.

  “It’s a cemetery.” She looks at me questioningly.

  “Yes, but it’s special. You’ll see.”

  “Are your parents buried here?” she asks softly.

  “No. I haven’t been here in a long time, but I remember it being nice even though it’s a cemetery. And it looks like there aren’t any tourists today. Come on.”

  I hold out my hand and she takes it cautiously. I walk her up Sleepy Hollow Avenue and then turn onto Lincoln Avenue. From up here it is a sea of old tombstones and mausoleums under the cover of ancient trees, blanketing us with a bright green shield from the gray sky.

  Emma surveys the vast, dense cemetery. “It’s breathtaking. It looks like something out of an old, English novel. You’d never guess we’re ten minutes from the interstate. Why are we here?”

  I keep her moving on the small paths that weave around the graves.

  “It’s quiet and peaceful. And it’s nicer than the hotel room. We needed to get out of there, and I remembered that this place is close by.”

  “It’s like something out of a storybook, really. The trees are so thick and green, and with the moss on the stones… I almost expect to see werewolves, vampires or trolls.”

  I laugh. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

  “No, it is. This is like being in a dream, I suppose, because we’re here alone. It’s nice.”

  I hold her hand firmly as we walk along the paths, silently reading the tombstones.

  “Here, check this one out,” I say as we stop in front of a black iron gate that surrounds a small headstone.

  “Irving,” Emma reads out loud.

  “Washington Irving,” I add. “As in Ichabod Crane and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”

  Her eyes pop in delightful surprise.

  “So you really did bring me to a magical place.”

  “My mom brought me here a few times. Just the two of us. It was magical to me. I’ve shared a lot of dismal things with you, and I thought for a change I could show you something good from my past.”

  “Oh, Dylan. Thank you.”

  As she wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me, I nestle my fingers in her hair and kiss the top of her head. I have never shared this place with anyone, not even Carson. This was my private place with my mother when she let me play hooky from school a few times and we would come here. She was sick then, but not showing signs of her cancer. She used the time to tell me about growing up and all the things I could be. My mother didn’t know I would become sick in my own way and spend years undoing everything she tried to prepare me for.

  “It’s my pleasure to do something for you. Not everything about my childhood was miserable. There were moments of light and good times. You have those, too, even if it seems really dark right now.”

  When she sighs against my chest, I hope it is contentment or relief. Then she extricates her warm, little body from mine, still holding my hand, and continues walking, stopping at a fork in the path, contemplating which route to take. As she leads me aimlessly through the maze of curving walkways with no destination in mind, I realize I could do this all day with her, every day.

  “This way,” I say when I recognize a structure. “There’s a mausoleum. We can sit on the steps.”

  We round the corner of the small building. “William Rockefeller,” Emma says, reading the name engraved in concrete at the base of the mausoleum. “No wonder it’s the biggest one here.”

  I sit on the top step and pull her down next to me.

  “I remember sitting here with my mom. That’s when she told me she was too sick and couldn’t get better. I told her to ask the doctor for the thick, pink medicine that tastes like bubble gum because it always made Carson and me better when we were sick.”

  Emma smiles at that.

  “My mom laughed and said it wasn’t that easy. We didn’t talk about her dying after that. She wanted to pretend that she was a regular, healthy mom, like all the other moms at our school, and my father preferred living in denial.”

  “Do you and Carson talk about your parents a lot?” She holds my arm, resting her head against my shoulder.

  “No. Never. Maybe he talks to Jess about them, though. In a way, it’s easier to tell you than to relive it with Carson.” I pick up her hand and it looks so small in mine. I turn her palm over and caress it before clasping it in both of my hands. “I like talking to you. This feels good.”

 
She kisses my shoulder. “I like this, too. And you do have some nice memories after all.”

  “Sure. So do you.”

  “Some, but nothing that’s worth talking about while we’re waiting to hear about my father… or Robert. I hate to think about what will happen next.”

  “You mean if your dad goes to prison?”

  “Cooper made that sound like it’s a given, and I guess after thinking about this for the last ten hours, I’m not as surprised as I thought I’d be. I’m uneasy about us. Cooper was adamant about us staying put in the hotel room. It’s sweet that you wanted to get me out of there and brighten this lousy day, but—”

  “Don’t you think I can handle this? I’m not afraid of your old entourage from Jersey. I can take anything or anyone that comes our way.”

  “Dylan, they have guns.”

  “They don’t need murder added to their long list of charges.”

  “I’m pretty sure Vinnie Marchetto is already accountable for a few deaths,” she responds glumly.

  “True. And Cooper is probably aware of this, and even so, he wouldn’t tell us if he did know.”

  “So, you think we’re safe?”

  “Yes. You and I have nothing on Marchetto, and maybe you were their bait to lead them to Robert, but we know that’s irrelevant now since Robert has turned over the evidence he has.”

  “We have to hope Marchetto comes to the same conclusion.”

  “Emma, Marchetto is not out hunting you down. A bunch of guys aren’t going to show up in this little cemetery looking for Carson’s marketing assistant.” I laugh because the whole idea sounds ridiculous. “I’m staying away from Hera to humor Carson and Cooper, but we’re safe. I’d never let anything happen to you, and I’m fairly certain that you’d literally kick the shit out of any guy that tried to attack me.”

  “I would,” she says, proudly. “And if Cooper hadn’t confiscated my switchblade, I could—oh, never mind.”

  “I seriously cannot imagine what defensive skills you have been taught. Someday you’ll have to tell me everything. Or show me.” I smile.