by K. Ryan
"It wasn't a line," he tells me and I think I believe him. "What exactly are these other plans?"
"Oh, you know, just some dancing and listening to awful club music. But it's good though. I've been needing to do something like this for awhile."
All I have to see is the question in his eyes and it just tumbles out.
"I just moved back to the city three months ago. I was stuck doing accounting and risk-management for a firm in Philly and I hated every single second of it. I'm sure you're wondering why I even bothered," I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and didn't give him the chance to respond. "I guess the simple answer is that math was just always something I was good at, so I just kept doing it."
It was the safe choice and it was a choice I'd regretted all the way up until my boss called me into his office. Still, a stable career with guaranteed income and health insurance is hard to argue with, but there's a reason I still haven't updated my resume.
"Anyway," I push on, very aware that his full attention rests on me. "I got let go, which, let's be honest, is just a nice little euphemism for you suck and you're fired."
He huffs out a laugh, but I find sympathy there, too. He's listening. He's not walking away now that our conversation has shifted to something a little more personal. He wants to keep talking to me, so I might as well run with it. Who knows when I'll ever get the chance to have a moment with someone like him again?
"It was a relief, actually, even if their methods were terrible," I shake my head at the memory. "They actually called me in on a Thursday morning, told me I'd lost my job, and then expected me to finish out the day."
"Jesus Christ," he exhales and blows out a deep breath. "So did yah stay?"
"Nope," I grin back at him. In a rare show of real courage, I'd packed up the little belongings I had at my desk and walked right out the door. It's one of the few things in my life I'm actually proud of.
"Good girl," he nods. "What were they gonna do? Fire yah?"
"Exactly."
"That's feckin' typical, though, right?" he shakes his head and tucks that vape pen out of his pocket again to take a long pull from it. "You've got these corporate jockeys who just see you as a number on their spreadsheets and a notch on their yearly take-home 'cause they have to give you a severance package. Lemme guess, they used the good 'ol, this has nothing to do with your job performance excuse, huh?"
"Pretty much," I laugh mirthlessly. "And they added in, this is strictly budgetary too just for good measure."
"Bastards," he mutters with a smirk. "You're better off where you're at now."
"Maybe," I allowed. This was the part where I really needed to end the story, but my mouth just wouldn't stop. "I guess it didn't really help that my boyfriend decided to dump me a week later."
The sting still hasn't gone away. That rejection and dismissal from both my job and my relationship. Not being wanted. Not being important enough to fight for. I guess that's the story of my life—one big fat dead-end after another, forever fated to afterthought status.
His eyebrows fly all the way up to his hairline and he lets out a long whistle. Now he's angled his body so that we're finally facing each other for the first time since he walked out here. A tight smile presses to his lips, but this time, some of the playfulness that had been there before has evaporated. Before either of us can get another word in, my phone rings from inside my purse and I dig inside it to glance at the caller ID.
My sister's puckered-up face flashes across my screen. For the first time in too long, I hit ignore as he watches my movements from over my shoulder and toss my phone back into my purse.
"That was my sister," I shrug, but I can't focus on much else but the way his forehead has creased into a deep frown. "I'll check in with her in a little bit."
His eyes flick back up to me again and some of that softness is back again.
"Your sister doesn't look anything like you," he muses, gauging my reaction carefully.
He's officially hit a sore subject—I've responded to this exact same non-question my entire life and giving my stock answer one more time still doesn't sit well. My sister, with her long, flowing chocolate hair, matching eyes, and tiny frame, is the spitting image of my step-mom. I, on the other hand, look like a clone of my mom, or so I've been told.
"We're half-sisters," I tell him, my eyes drifting back down to the pavement as I speak.
I have no idea why I just told him that. It wasn't like he asked, but I offered that piece of information without a second thought.
He mulls it over as he rocks back on his heels a little. "Families are bizzah."
I'm still rusty, still trying to shake Philly off me, and it takes me a second to realize he means bizarre. Still, I appreciate the sentiment and return the sympathetic smile he's sending my way.
"All families are messed up. I think some of us are just better at hiding it than others."
He nods with a somber smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "So I really can't convince yah to come in, can I?"
"Nope," I shake my head even though I have to admit, he's almost got me. "Sorry."
"Did you at least put some money down on the fight?"
I hadn't thought about it, but I guess since I'm here anyway...
"Who should I bet on?"
That devilish smile slides up his lips again. "Put whatever you've got on Flynn. He never loses."
"Huh. I didn't know that."
He slips his phone out of his pocket again to glance at the screen. "Couple more minutes and I gotta head back inside. Well, if you're ditchin' me tonight, maybe I can catch yah tomorrow?"
Heat rushes into my cheeks again and spreads all the way down to my toes. If he knew who I was, he'd probably push me into oncoming traffic, but I can't resist the sincerity in his voice. I've known this guy for a whole ten minutes and I've basically told him my life story, save for a few minor, important details. It just slipped out and I don't really know why I felt comfortable enough to tell him all that. I just know I felt it. Too bad there's a little snag in his plan.
"I'm pretty much working all day tomorrow," and then the words slip out before I can stop them. "What about Sunday?"
He clucks his teeth together and winces. "Sundays aren't real good for me, but I'd move some things around if I didn't have to work."
"Where do you work?"
It finally dawns on me that he hasn't asked me that question yet and I'm grateful for it. I just want this to last a little longer before the inevitable implosion.
He motions with his head toward the bar.
"Really? Are you a bouncer or something?"
He laughs again and shakes his head. "Nope. I bartend here pretty much every day except Fridays and Saturdays. It turns into a pretty nice, respectable sports bar when all this other shit isn't goin' on."
I can't help the way my lips curl up at his pronunciation: baah.
"What?"
"Nothing," I say innocently.
He rolls his eyes up to sky and glances at me exasperatedly. "Anyway, if you're done zooin' on me, maybe you'd wanna stop by this way on Sunday anytime after six? I gotta go to mass and then I gotta visit my brother, so I won't be in the bar before then."
"Oh," I nod carefully, weighing the pros and cons of actually showing up here again on Sunday. I just need more time, so I shift from side to side, wincing a little as the pressure on my knee shoots down to my ankle.
He frowns at the moment, catching the pain that must be written all over my face.
Now I throw the first thing I can come up with at the wall and hope it sticks. "Does your brother live here in the city?"
Cloudiness fills his eyes and all I get is: "No."
Still, I push forward because I'm grasping at straws in my weak attempt at stalling. "Where does he live?"
"Prison."
"Oh," that's about all I can come up with. "I'm sorry."
He just lifts a shoulder, but a tight line ticks down his jaw. "Maybe it'd be a little diff
erent visitin' him every week if he actually did what they said he did."
I don't have much time to digest that because my phone rings again and some quick digging inside my purse shows me that Bennett's calling me this time. This is dangerous territory, but I just can't force myself to walk away just yet. It's so easy, standing here and talking to him like this. I can't remember the last time anything felt this effortless.
But when he glances at his phone again, I know our time has officially run its course. It was bound to happen eventually, but that still doesn't explain the disappointment that this fleeting moment in a dark alley outside a club is over.
"I gotta head back inside now," he pauses and then his lips curl into the most devastating grin I've ever seen. "You gotta come in for the fight. Even if it's not your thing, your sister's probably already inside and you can meet up with her. And after the fight, I'd really like to buy you a drink. I can usually guess people's drink and I think I've got you figured out. I wanna see if I'm right."
"I doubt it," I laugh, but it's forced and fake, seeped in regret. It feels duplicitous, standing here talking to him like this when I know I'll never get to see him again, when I know something he doesn't. "I don't drink hard alcohol anyway."
He just shrugs like that little kernel of information isn't important and in the grand scheme of things, I guess it isn't. I almost said, anymore, but he doesn't need to know that. And I don't need to rehash why either.
So I waver between doing the smart thing and the dumb thing. The problem is that it feels like there's a dangerous grey area between those two choices. Part of me desperately wants to see where this goes and how long I can slide under the radar. The other part of me knows this will just epically blow up in my face.
"Come on," he tries again. "I don't even know your name. Help a guy out, you know?"
My body freezes right where I stand. Here it is. Next stop, Implosion City.
"Okay, fine. Let's do this the hard way," he chuckles and shakes his head as he backpedals toward the side door. "I lost my number. Can I have yours?"
A light chuckle vibrates in my throat and even though the risk is obvious, I don't care. This is a free-fall I don't know if I can survive. But I jump anyway.
My fingers grope around my purse for a pen and something to write on. When my name and number are scribbled on the back of an old receipt, I hand it to him and leave the rest up to fate. His eyes skim the paper and his lips curve up victoriously.
"Rae," he murmurs. "That's pretty."
"Thank you."
He shoves the paper deep into his pocket and holds a hand out for me to shake. I slip my hand into his larger, warm one and the feel of his skin against mine short-circuits my brain for a second.
"Jack," he tells me with a wide grin.
He doesn't let go of my hand, but I freeze all the same. Jack. Whose brother lives in prison. Who works here at this club. Every day except Fridays and Saturdays. When the fights happen.
His lips dip into a frown, but when they part, his eyes shoot up to something over my head and toward the front of the street. Strong arms shove me protectively into the cement as a hard body shields mine from the chaos around us. Everything seems to happen in slow motion and before my brain even has a chance to catch up, the quiet night air erupts in ear-splitting pops.
CHAPTER THREE
Rae
I can't focus. I can't even really see. Jack's body pins me to the cement and even if I can't move, here is good. Here I'm safe. Here I'm sheltered from the storm raging around me, even if it can't last.
After the smoke clears, the shouting and the blaring sirens start, just trading one cacophony for another. There's a deep voice in my ear and when I turn my head, I find grey eyes boring into me.
"Rae?" Jack murmurs anxiously. "You okay?"
All I can manage is a nod underneath the weight of him and he eases off my back, pulling me up to my feet with him, but his hands settle over my shoulders. He dips down a little as his eyes sweep over me in a quick inventory before he finally nods to himself.
My breath heaves in and out. Adrenaline courses through me and the only thing I can focus on is the heavy warmth of his hands. I want this moment to last—this moment where he's looking at me like I'm the only person who matters. Like my safety and well-being is all he can think about. It's foreign, this feeling, but I want to live in it forever.
It doesn't last because the real world chooses this moment to rear its ugly, pessimistic head.
"Rae!"
Bennett is headed right toward us with my sister and her friends behind him. A slew of emotions stream across his face all at once: terror, worry, relief, and finally, when he realizes who's standing next to me, shock and fury. In a flash, he lunges at Jack, shoving him right in the chest to force some space between us.
"What the hell, Flynn?" Bennett yells, his voice rising in disbelief and an accusation that really isn't fair. "Don't touch her!"
Jack stumbles back a little, momentarily stunned into immobility, and then he shakes himself out of it, his eyes jerking back and forth between Bennett and me. Two things happen at once: Jack takes an aggressive, almost protective step in front of me and my sister pushes her way through the crowd, skidding next to Bennett. Jack stops right in his tracks, jerking backward like some invisible wall has just sprouted right up from the cement.
Even though his back is to me, I know exactly what has him rooted to the ground.
My sister.
Now I understand why he couldn't stop staring at my phone when she called. It wasn't so much that my sister and I look nothing alike.
He was trying to place her.
And now, he's staring at me like the earth just opened up and swallowed me whole.
God, I should've just stayed in the car.
His mouth slips open and clamps back shut. His head shakes almost imperceptibly from side to side. His feet shuffle backward, putting more space between us.
There's no time to even attempt to salvage this because the side door Jack came out of only ten minutes before slaps open and three men barge through it. Their eyes scan the alley in a frenzy and I recognize the leader of that pack immediately from the campaign ads I've seen on TV.
The family resemblance is staggering. Maybe resemblance isn't the right word. Attitude is probably more accurate.
On paper, no one would ever believe they were brothers. Even though they both possess some impressive muscle mass, Brennan is about four inches shorter and his light coloring is wildly different from Jack's. But they have the same lanky stride, the same careful inventory of their surroundings, the same air of danger and authority, the same far-reaching presence...it's clear they were raised in the same household.
Considering my sister and I are as polar opposite as Lady Gaga and Carrie Underwood, I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. I wish I could be someone else. Someone different than the me that's been trapped on a rat wheel of never-ending disappointments and rejections.
That helplessness just stabs a little bit deeper when Jack casts me one more hard, incredulous glance over his shoulder before his brother claps an arm around him. Just a few seconds later, Brennan murmurs something in his ear and guides Jack back inside the club, leaving the rest of us to deal with the fallout.
"Rae," Bennett murmurs in my ear as he wrap his arms around me. "I was so worried. I thought...it doesn't matter what I thought. Are you okay?"
I just nod. I don't know what else to do.
"What in the name of Stefani Germanotta were you doing out here with Jack Flynn?"
"I have no idea," I whisper. I don't know what else to say.
Now some cops descend with their questions while a few others are right on Brennan and Jack's heels. It doesn't really matter because I have nothing to say, at least nothing that would help the cops make sense of what just happened here. Still, I do as I'm told and give them a statement.
And just when I thought my night couldn't possibly get any worse, it slides eve
n further down the mountain of epic failures I've embarked on tonight when my dad rolls up in his Maserati Quattroporte with his driver behind the wheel.
"Oh shit," Bennett murmurs under his breath.
Lucy's frantic dark eyes find mine and finally we agree on something: we're both screwed.
I DON'T KNOW why I got in the car. I could've went with Bennett. I could've called a cab. Hell, I could've just sprinted down the street, bum knee and all. Anything would've been better than this. But I know that when my dad barks out an order, I listen. That's why I find myself in the front seat next to the driver while my dad and Lucy ride in the backseat.
Bennett was right. I need to find a backbone and soon.
Nothing but silence has permeated the thick air around us and this is just my dad's way of leveraging as much tension as he can before he unleashes. At this point, I just want to get the inevitable over with.
True to form, my dad was just biding his time.
"I've never been so humiliated," he starts, his voice tight and low.
You'll never hear him yell. Never see him lose his cool. Never see a hair out of place. Even tonight, he rolled onto the scene blank-faced and stoic in his crisp white button-down, black dress pants, and slicked-back hair. That calm, collected demeanor cuts an intimidating figure in Beacon Hill, in the press, and here in this car. It's also cold and unfeeling—he's always the most impenetrable person in the room and that's exactly the way he likes it.
I can't see my sister, but I can only imagine she's squirming in her seat just as much as I am right now.
"I thought you were smarter than this," he continues. "You know what being on this side of town means, the danger you've put yourselves in, and the position you've put me in. How am I supposed to explain your presence there tonight?"
He pauses long enough to elicit a cringe from both of us and for once, we don't disappoint.
"I can't explain why either of you were down there tonight. That's the answer I was looking for. There's no logical reason for it. I don't care that it's your birthday, Luciana. You could've went anywhere else you wanted tonight and yet, you chose the most dangerous place for you in this city. Do you have any idea what could've happened to you?"