“Connor,” I plead. “I can’t do this. I don’t know if I can handle… this.”
My hand gestures toward Brooks, lying on the floor, gasping for air.
His body stiffens. I look up at his face. No sign of those dimples I love so much. He relaxes his hold on me.
“Ava,” he says. “It’s not so black and white.”
The hard lines relax for just a second, revealing a hint of vulnerability. “Ava, I want to be with you.”
God.
“Go!” I shout, pushing away from him. I can’t bear to see the police take him, and I can’t handle what’s happening right now. “Connor, leave.”
The sirens get louder, screaming with an urgency that tells me they’re really close.
“I don’t run from things, Ava,” he says, his voice low and serious. He looks over at Rhonda and gently helps me into a booth. “But I also never stay where I’m not wanted.”
I sag against the cheap vinyl.
“I meant what I said. Look after her?”
Rhonda nods and slides into the booth next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. Connor turns around, stepping over Brooks like he isn’t even there. He’s gone by the time the police arrive.
My heart seems to shatter as I watch him go.
13
Connor
Adrenaline pounds through my veins as I enter the club. Ignoring Sully’s curious look, I head straight behind the bar and drink straight out of a bottle of cheap whiskey. I take it back to my office. We don’t open for hours. Be good and drunk by then.
I told her I wanted to be with her.
God, and I’d meant it. What an idiot I am to get caught up with a woman in the first place, especially that woman. The look on her face when she told me she couldn’t handle my life, my work, my family.
It’s burned into my brain—the disappointment in her eyes. What did that sniveling asshole Brooks say to her? I’m not ashamed of what my family does, and I’ll be damned if a woman wants me to think less of them.
What she’d seen at the club last night had not been good. I should have handled that better. Should have had a different plan. Fuck.
Getting mixed up with the Stacys was bound to bring a world of pain raining down on us.
But I’d promised Ava I’d keep her safe, and I let Brooks Stacy hurt her. Another swig of the whiskey burns all the way down. It needs to erase the memory of the fear in her eyes as that son of a bitch choked her.
Still gripping the whiskey, I drop onto the leather couch. I want to punch something. Someone. I want to finish the job on Brooks. Ava may not want me in her life anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of her problem.
“Connor.”
Right on cue. I slam the whiskey down on the coffee table, resting my head in my hands.
“That didn’t take long, Seamus.”
He sits next to me. Once again, he’s overdressed.
“Well?” I just want to get the lecture over.
“Brooks Stacy was taken to the hospital,” he says finally, his voice low.
“He’s lucky he’s not going to the cemetery.”
Seamus laughs, a sharp, barking sound. “Bad joke, little brother.” He drops a hand on my shoulder.
It wasn’t a joke, but I realize I sound stupid. Like I sounded when I proclaimed my feelings for Ava in the middle of a fucking fight in a seedy diner. Jesus. No wonder she wanted me to get the hell out of there.
The hell out of her life. She needs stability, safety, strength. What am I bringing to the table?
“Yeah.”
“Listen. I also heard he hurt your girl, I don’t…”
“She’s not my girl,” I growl, grabbing the whiskey again and taking a deep draw. “She’s going to be a lawyer. Can’t be in bed with organized crime.”
The memories of her body flood my brain as I think about being in bed with her again. A stab runs through my soul, anger, regret, and something else deeper and harder. Something I can’t handle thinking about right now, an ache better left unidentified.
Seamus snorts. “I’m a lawyer, Connor.”
He grabs the bottle from me, takes a swig, and hands it back. “Jesus, that’s disgusting. Kind of hits the spot though.”
We sit in silence for a minute.
“I know it’s hard, Connor, but give her time. You’re too young to remember the toll Dad’s work took on Mom. If you really like this woman, you need to think about what she’ll be getting into.”
He’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s selfish of me to assume Ava wants any part of something so complicated, especially after everything she’s been through. It’s true that it’s not black or white. But it’s not easy, either. Ava deserves a safe, comfortable life.
That doesn’t mean I don’t still want her to spend it with me. That I couldn’t give it to her.
“Seamus, I need to ask you something.”
“Anything, Connor,” and the fact I know he means it makes my eyes burn. Doyles don’t fucking cry.
Taking another slug of the whiskey, I run a hand through my hair. “If I wanted to do a scholarship at the law school, make sure it went to someone working in the domestic violence center, would you know how to do that?”
His eyes are hard on mine, and finally he nods. “Yeah, we could arrange that easily enough. How much?”
I shrug. “Whatever it takes to cover her tuition, living expenses, that shit. I don’t want her to want for anything. Can you do that? The sooner it starts, the better.”
I can’t make this right, but I can make one thing right. And make sure that Ava’s future, and maybe in some way my dad’s legacy, goes on the way it should. That’s there’s one good thing that comes out of me epically fucking this up.
“Is this about Claire?” Seamus’ voice is barely above a whisper.
Even just her name still rips pain through me. That might never change. But I’ve come to realize I need to find a way to let that go.
I shake my head. “Seamus, I’ll never forget Claire and I’m always going to feel like shit about what happened to her. I’ll always wish that we had found a way to protect our cousin. We all will.”
It’s one of the rare moments where Seamus lets his feeling show. The pain, the anger and the regret at Claire’s lost potential there mirrors my own.
“And maybe this was about Claire when it started. I saw a woman that I could protect. A situation that I could make right. But as I’ve gotten to know Ava,” my voice trails off as I consider my words. “As I’ve gotten to know Ava, this has become about her. I’m completely focused on making sure that she gets justice, that this gets resolved, and that she’s happy. It’s about the present, and maybe the future. But not so much about the past.”
There’s a long pause, and then Seamus squares his shoulders.
“Good. So what are we going to do about Brooks?” Seamus puts a hand briefly on my shoulder. “You say she’s not your girl. I don’t believe you. And we don’t let people get away with hurting our family.”
“People have ended up floating in the harbor for less,” I growl.
“We can’t kill him, Connor. Even if he deserves it. Our friends on the force would be happy to help us, but things are too stressed now with Dad…”
“I know.” I straighten up and take another drink before putting the bottle down definitively. “I have a better idea.”
14
Connor
Just being in this office makes me sick.
“Mayor Stacy. Thank you for agreeing to see me.” It’s hard not to punch the mayor’s smug face. He sits in a giant leather chair behind an ornate mahogany desk. He doesn’t stand up, but gestures to a chair and I sit down.
“Busy out there,” the mayor says, nodding toward the window. It offers a generous view of Faneuil Hall, bustling with tourists. I hate small talk, but it’s part of the negotiations.
“Business is booming,” I agree, folding my hands in front of me.
; “Connor,” the mayor says, sighing. “I’ve always liked you. We don’t need to talk about your family, or who’s a good upstanding citizen and who isn’t. We both know how power works. We also both know you attacked my son.”
“He attacked Ava Buchanan,” I grind out. “He’s been trouble for you, Mayor Stacy. How many more times are you going to have to cover for his bad behavior?”
“Ava is such a nice girl,” the mayor says, his eyes still on the crowd below. “I really hoped it would work out between those two. She’s a hard worker. Thought she’d have a calming influence on him.”
My hands press into his desk so hard it threatens to break. Stay calm, Doyle. “He needs to learn to respect women and keep his hands to himself.”
Mayor Stacy rolls his eyes heavenward. “I’ve had that conversation with him, Connor. I don’t know what else you want me to do here.”
Take a deep breath. I need to focus if I’m going to keep Ava safe.
Forcibly, I relax my shoulders. “Let’s make a deal, sir. You keep Brooks away from Ava, and then I won’t have to let the city legislature know about your brother’s illegal labor practices at that new hotel he’s building on the seaport.”
I lean back in my chair.
He blinks several times.
“I can assure you there’s nothing illegal happening on my brother’s properties,” he begins, but I cut him off.
“Mayor Stacy. We’re businessmen. Let’s be honest with each other. Nothing happens with the unions that my family doesn’t know about. It’s clear what’s happening there. The Globe and the Herald would have a field day.” I allow myself a small smile. Seamus would fucking love this.
Stacy spins around in his chair, his lips almost curling. “You dare to threaten me, Doyle? Do you think I don’t know what your family does? That I couldn’t have a RICO investigation started. A raid on your fancy club. Shut down the Kildare for good.”
I’m done being afraid of this asshole. “You could try, but you won’t find anything, Stacy. They never find anything.”
Because there’s nothing there to find or because we’re good at managing our business? Not my problem.
Red anger colors his cheeks, causing the broken capillaries along his nose to stand out in stark relief. “And don’t think for one second that I’m above making sure that little whore gets what she deserves. Sending you here, trying to ruin my son’s…”
Jesus, this two-faced son of a bitch.
I don’t let him finish.
What I want to do is crash a fist through his head, maybe through his desk. Ava’s disappointment in me is the only thing that keeps me from acting on my baser instincts. He’d threatened her to rile me up, but an icy calm suffuses my throat.
My voice drops, taking on a hint of a threat. “A mayor who ran on anti-corruption having a family member profiting from…corruption?”
Stacy drums his fingers on the desk and stares out the window, revealing nothing. He’s too much of a WASP for that, but the lines around his mouth tighten slightly.
“Mayor, I think we can both agree that reining in Brooks’s bad behavior is good for everyone. You don’t need him embarrassing you. It’s a fair exchange for me to sit on this information.”
He presses his thin lips together.
“You can leave, Connor.”
“Mayor Stacy. It was good talking with you.”
Just like that, I knew I’d won. Mayor Stacy would cover up a lot for his garbage son, but he wouldn’t blow his political career. He knew I’d be watching. That the Doyles would be watching. The power balance could shift again at any moment, but I’d be ready.
Exiting city hall, I decide to go for a walk. I have my best suit on, which easily fends off the fall chill. As usual my mind is on Ava, so I shouldn’t be surprised when I land outside of Gus’s Diner. Ava’s coworker, the older woman who had been there when she’d been attacked, smokes outside the front door. She blows out a big puff of smoke.
“She ain’t here, honey.”
I shove my hands into my pockets, embarrassed.
“Don’t you look like a whipped puppy,” the woman says, taking another drag of her cigarette. “Maybe you can help her out. Gus fired her after what happened. He said he didn’t want no mafia trouble or fights with the mayor’s son. That poor girl got nothing.”
“Fired her?” I ask. Jesus. She must hate me. My hand’s already reaching for my phone, to call Seamus about fast-tracking that scholarship. Add some living expenses to that.
“Me an’ Ava worked in this shithole together for almost two years. She lights up when she talks about you in a way I’ve never seen. She’s been through hell. Give her time, but don’t give up on her.” She stabs her cigarette out on the brick wall.
“Gotta get back to work. Doing lots of doubles while Gus drags his heels hiring a new waitress. See ya, handsome.”
She pops back into the diner.
I decide to walk over to the club. It isn’t too early for whiskey.
15
Ava
I wake with a start, my heart pounding as I quickly shake off sleep and look at my phone. Six in the morning. Shutting my eyes, I listen to the trash trucks banging around outside. Every night has been like this since Brooks’s latest attack. Any noise snaps me out of sleep and I just lie there awake. Six in the morning wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t just fallen asleep at four.
My brain won’t stop spinning. If Brooks wants to hurt me, there’s not a lot I can do about it. He’s proven as much. I couldn’t even get him suspended from our graduate program. All this adrenaline is just making me tired.
Some part of me wonders if it’s time to stand up to him in a different way.
But right now it’s time to lounge in bed for a while. It’s not like I have a job to go to anyway. I need to start looking, but I’m waiting until the ugly purple bruises on my neck fade. There’s only so much a girl can do with scarves.
My mind goes back to Connor. Not to the fight, but to the night in the park when he held me and we danced beneath the stars. In all the mafia discussions, have I’ve lost sight of the man I started to get to know?
Picking up my phone, I open a blank text message.
“I want to be with you too,” I write in the body.
I tap the “to” bar, and pull up Connor’s name, and stare at the message for a few minutes before deleting it.
I miss how safe I felt with his strong arms wrapped around me. I miss his smile and those dimples. I miss how he felt thrusting in and out of me, the sweaty heat of his body pressing against mine. Pressing my legs together, I moan.
Slowly I slide my hand down my body and close my eyes, imagining it’s him caressing me. I imagine him kissing my breasts as I slip my fingers under the band of my panties and groan out his name, remembering how good his mouth felt on my pussy.
And then I remember the look on his face when I told him to go, and it’s like someone throws a cold bucket of water on me. Pulling my hand away, I curl into a ball. My brain runs through the same arguments over and over again.
He’s involved with organized crime. Stories about the dealings of the Doyle family have been Boston legend for decades. Rumor has it that they started their illicit dealings back during Prohibition, bootlegging liquor like dozens of other families, but they had staying power. Only Murphy Doyle has ever been arrested, and based on the case filings I’d read, it seems like he’d been sold out by a rival family, the Carneys.
After that it seems like all of the family’s dealings had been above board, but who knows what was happening beneath the surface. They’re at least handling some things the way Connor handled that Stacy goon.
It’s all confusing. But for the first time, I’m ready to acknowledge that my desire for this man might be stronger than my attachment to the idea that everything is black and white. Maybe I’m finally ready to admit that I’ve seen that justice isn’t linear; just as my experience in trying to get any justice for what Brooks did to me surely
proved that to me.
And maybe, just maybe, I can accept the shades of gray and still pursue my dreams.
My throat constricts. Can I live with the ambiguity of what he does for a living? Or can I at least try living with the possibility that the good Connor brings into my life matters more?
It’s time to move beyond the fear and panic I’ve lived in with Brooks. Time to trust not just in Connor but in myself again. To open up and get to know myself again—and maybe really get to know Connor more deeply than I’ve had the chance to.
The men in my life before Connor had projected a squeaky clean veneer that covered real, terrible darkness. Connor never pretended to be anything he wasn’t, and asked for my consent every step of the way.
A sense of peace washes over me, and I drift back to sleep for a while, waking up just in time to get ready for the guest lecture happening at my afternoon class. Business case law. Not very exciting. But the purpose of going to class gets me out of bed and on my way. Focus on what I can control.
In an hour, I’ve made it to campus and I sit at the back of the lecture hall. Normally I’m a down-in-front kind of overachiever, but until my neck heals I’ll fly under the radar.
“May I sit here?”
My heart stutters at the sound of a familiar voice, and then I realize that something’s slightly different. The tone, the cadence, the timbre. For a minute I think it’s Connor, but it’s his brother. The one I’d seen in the hallway when I’d rushed out of Connor’s apartment. That feels like a million years ago now.
Does he remember me?
“Of course,” I say, nodding at the empty seat beside me.
“I’m giving a lecture here today,” he says, as he sits and smooths out his Italian suit pants, which cost more than I’d make in a year, “so I’m trying to get the lay of the land.”
His eyes circle the lecture hall, taking in the concrete walls and going back to my face. It’s bullshit, but I don’t mind.
Grind: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 9