Tommy’s Baby

by Rose, Annie J.

  I dressed in shorts and a plain t-shirt and pulled back my hair. I admit I put on mascara. I wasn’t completely without vanity even in a greasy, hot kitchen. The pay was going to be surprisingly good, so that took a load off my mind. I could afford to stay at the motel for a good long time if I wanted to, or even move someplace in a slightly better neighborhood. And I’d get a meal every shift, which was a major perk. I’d save money on my main meal of the day and I was guaranteed something good because I’d be making it.

  Mainly I was anxious because I hadn’t been truthful with Connor. I hadn’t told him my real name or that I had a history with his little brother. Connor had been so much older and already gone when I was with Tommy. He’d been the hero big brother who was a SEAL, him and Brendan. So I’d never met him, but I still felt bad lying about my name and my history. It was necessary because of the people who were after me, but the fact was, I felt crappy for lying. I needed this job. I’d just have to deal with whatever came next and hope he didn’t fire me straight away when Tommy blew my cover all to hell.

  I walked the many blocks to the pub, calling Sam briefly along the way.

  “Hey, I’m on my way to my new job and I’m nervous,” I said.

  “You’ll do great.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “It’s just not my usual forte,” I hedged, knowing I couldn’t tell her about the O’Sheas because she couldn’t know where I was. “And I miss you like crazy. But I got the job, and it’ll make me enough money to stay hidden. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Busy at work, I guess. Nobody’s come asking after you yet. And I’m going on a second date tomorrow. He’s in finance so he’s boring, but he can afford to take me someplace nice.”

  “That’s great. Is he funny? Is he good looking?”

  “Not really, but he’s not obnoxious, and I’m not getting any younger so I’m giving it a shot. He’s tall.”

  “I know you like tall,” I said wistfully. I missed her and wanted juicy details if there were any, but I couldn’t afford to stay on the line with her long enough for her calls to be traced to where I was.

  We said goodbye, and as always, I felt better, encouraged after talking to my bestie. I was keeping her safe by cutting the call short, I reminded myself, and that was the most important thing.

  I came to the pub and stopped with my hand on the door for a second. It felt like an important moment, like I was about to cross some big threshold. Or maybe it was just nerves because Tommy worked there. I wanted to see him so much, even more than I was afraid to see him, afraid of what he’d think of me.

  Chapter 7

  Tommy

  Connor and I were setting up for lunch. Monty was in the kitchen, grumbling about how tired he was and how ready he was for the new girl to get there and take over. I went in the small stockroom to get a case of glasses. I heard the main door and heard Connor’s voice talking to someone out front. I shifted the box of glasses to one hip and shoved the stockroom door open.

  I heard that throaty voice.

  Stopped in my tracks.

  A honey blonde ponytail. That voice again.

  Millennial goddamn Park and motherfucking Navy Pier. It was her, right here, right now, invading my pub and my senses and my brain.

  “What the fuck?” I blurted out. Pain, bewilderment, a little horror mixed in my gut and I nearly dropped the case of glasses.

  She turned when she heard my voice. Her face was stricken, gone suddenly pale, her pink lips parted slightly but no sound coming out.

  For every time I’d wished I could see her, even from a distance. Every time over the years I’d had occasion to write a check or look at an email and see the date was goddamn June eleventh, her birthday. Every time I’d dreamed of her and woke up wishing she was there. I always thought I’d go to her, that everything could be forgiven. That I’d take her in my arms and thank God that she was safe and whole and returned to me. That some things never changed even if they should, even if you’d give your eyes to forget.

  I didn’t embrace her or touch her face or tell her I’d missed her. I took a step back like I’d seen a ghost. I wanted to turn and run, but I was frozen in place. Looking at her.

  That heart-shaped face. The tiny scar on her lower lip that no way could I see from across the room, but I swear to God I felt it there still. The amber-colored eyes, the ones that could go from warm to molten in one kiss. Five feet six inches of her, the perfect height to press into my chest and consume with my arms like I could swallow her whole, engulf her and protect her. I wanted to run my hands over her, to make sure she was real. That she hadn’t walked away a decade ago and I’d let her.

  I managed to slide the case of glasses onto the bar.

  Connor was glaring at me.

  “Liza?” I demanded. That one word meant everything. It meant, Is it really you? And it meant, What the almighty fuck are you doing in my pub?

  “Wait,” Connor said, eyes narrowing. “Liza? As in your Liza?”

  I dipped my chin once, not bothering to deny that she’d been mine. Then I turned around and stormed out, knocking over a couple barstools as I went. The place wasn’t big enough for both of us, that was for damn sure. Not when she’d invaded my pub, my island, my goddamn head all over again in about six seconds just because I laid eyes on her. Looking in so many ways the same, but older, her jaw tight, afraid. Not of me, surely. I’d never given her reason to be afraid of me. But she was afraid of something. Discovery? The fact she’d used some kind of fake name or story to get the job? What was she even doing here? This was the woman who’d wanted to stay in Chicago no matter what. The one who’d ripped out my heart instead of telling me she’d wait for me. What had happened that brought her all the way here after all this time? And why the hell would I even care? All those years, gone. Never any attempt to contact me, to get in touch, meet for a drink if I was in town. No Christmas cards or invitations. Not that I wanted an invitation to her wedding or some shit like that. But it was all a slap in the face, one after another really.

  I had to get out of there before my head exploded. Before I broke every glass in the place, flipped every table, drank every bottle of Irish whiskey down to the bottom. I’d never been so shaken in my life.

  Chapter 8

  Liza

  Seeing him was a blow to the chest. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow. He was the same Tommy, but more filled out, dark tattoos snaking up both bare arms. The tug of lust nearly floored me, and the stubborn insistence in my brain that he was mine. I wanted more than anything for him to put down that box and brush Connor aside and take me in his arms and just hold me. I felt like if he did, if he took me in his arms, all the broken pieces would slide back into place. I’d be myself again, whole and maybe even able to face the mess I’d made and fix it. Why did I think he could do that? That he was my grounding force, my true north? Why, after a decade, did I want him to hold me? I knew I had no right to expect that.

  There was no chance of me acting cool, smiling casually and asking how he’d been. The impact was too great. I reeled from it. When I heard Connor say the words ‘your Liza’ and then Tommy nodded, some traitorous string in my heart was plucked and sent me soaring. He acknowledged with the barest nod that I was his, that I had been once at least. I wasn’t just anyone to him, a stranger.

  When he wheeled and stormed out, it unstuck me. I brushed past Connor, my new boss, and went after Tommy on pure instinct. He was upset. I had to go to him. I didn’t know what I’d say or do. I couldn’t think that far ahead.

  I found him out on the sidewalk behind the pub. He was pacing, hands on his head. Not angry, when he looked at me, not the fury I expected. Raw pain, so hurt, so miserable. The heat rolled off him, the agony in his face. It was him, the same but bigger and sexier and so much more than I remembered. Part of me wanted to recoil, to take a step back from someone so massive who had such an effect on me. The rest of me wanted to rub all over him like
a cat, because that part of me was shameless.

  The hurt in his face spurred me on. I stepped toward him, nearly stumbled, not clumsy but disbelieving, like a man in the desert scrambling toward water, praying it’s not a mirage.

  “Tommy,” I whispered. I touched his face, the rasp of his stubble, the heat of his skin on my fingertips. I was barely touching him, but he reeled back like I’d burned him. I jerked my hand away, put it to my chest to see if I was still breathing at all. The stung of having touched him, of having him pull away like I was a snake, something dangerous or disgusting he didn’t want near him—it was the worst feeling I’d ever had since the day I left him.

  “What are you doing here?” he rasped.

  “I’m the new cook,” I said, lifting one shoulder in a lousy attempt to shrug like it was no big deal at all.

  “You’re joking,” his voice was flat. I shook my head.

  “I’m new on the island. I really needed a job, and the pub was hiring. Not a lot of restaurant jobs are open right now, so I took a chance. I didn’t know you’d be here when I came in.”

  ‘The panko on the cheese sticks. That was you. God, part of me knew it when he said that, goddammit,” he ran a hand over his hair like he was tortured by this, like he was tied up in knots over it.

  “I’ll stay out of your way,” I said.

  I wasn’t technically lying about not knowing he’d be there, I told myself. He worked there but that didn’t mean he’d be there for my training, or that I’d run into him for days. It still sickened me to say it. Not to admit that I came here for him, that he was the only thing that had kept me going, stupid false hope that was glaring at me from a few feet away acting like I’d scorched his skin when I touched him.

  “I really need the job,” I said again, my voice matter of fact.

  “You need to go,” he said, his voice thick.

  “Tommy, please,” I said.

  He shook his head and stalked off. He left me standing there, shaking all over like a trembling leaf. I felt like screaming and crying, like I was going to bleed out in the street from this encounter, from Tommy telling me to get out. I steadied myself with a hand on the building and forced a deep breath.

  Chapter 9

  Tommy

  “Where the hell is Adriana?” Connor asked.

  “Liza,” I practically spat at him.

  “Fine, she used a fake name. Where’s Liza?”

  “I told her to get out. It’s a bad idea.”

  “You gonna cook now?” Connor challenged. “We need a goddamn cook, and you know it. Monty’s gonna fuckin’ quit if he has to keep this up. Connie, the waitress that said she used to be a fry cook, she’s crap. She didn’t get the chicken done. Nobody’s gonna eat raw chicken wings, Tommy.”

  “You can hire any goddamn cook on this island but her!” I burst out.

  “Okay, Casablanca, calm your tits. She walked into your gin joint. Pull yourself together,” he scoffed.

  “Do you remember how undone you were over Brandi? It wasn’t that long ago,” I said.

  “That’s different.”

  “No, it’s not. Instead of six months, imagine it was ten fuckin’ years since you saw her and then she turns up out of nowhere.”

  “Hell. I would’ve broken every stick of furniture in this place,” he said, finally acting like he understood. “Probably would’ve pissed my pants,” he chuckled.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “When I found her at that diner and she ran from me into the alley, it felt like drowning, like all the air left my lungs and I was breathing water before I died. That’s what it felt like,” he said, lost in the recollection for a minute and thankfully not making a joke of it.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “So why the fuck you wanna let her leave?” he demanded, “so she takes the air in your lungs when she goes?”

  “Because it’s no good. She can’t work here, Con,” I said, “when have I ever interfered with your staffing? Or asked you for anything but a night off?”

  “Never. But this isn’t your call. We need a cook too bad to kiss that one off because you got history with her. It’s going into the top of tourist season. All the other restaurants snapped up the eligible cooks already. We can’t afford to be precious about this. You’re gonna have to deal with her till business dies down at the end of tourist season and then we can look at our options. She’s more than capable, and I’m not going to sack her because you don’t wanna look at her face. Or because you do wanna look at her face and it bugs you. The cook stays.”

  I turned around and grabbed my phone off the bar and called Josh, one of the part-time bartenders. I asked him to cover for me the rest of the day. Josh knew the money was good, so he jumped at the chance to take my shift. I told Connor I was taking off and it was covered.

  Then I went off away from the pub to a plain storefront downtown, the yoga studio where I took occasional classes. I got in my workout gear that I kept in my locker and headed to an empty studio that was between classes and did a sun salutation. I knew how I looked. I was a tatted-up six-foot two-inch Navy SEAL getting my Namasté on. It was unexpected and incongruous. But it worked for me. It got me out of my head. I heard a class starting up next door and grabbed my mat up to go join in. It was a beginner class, and I was much more advanced than the work they were doing, but moving through the poses helped me focus and calm down. It was feeling the wood floor under my bare feet, it was the sound of the flute music from the speakers and the simple sequence of movements that grounded me.

  When class was over, I meditated for a while, but intrusive thoughts distracted me. Intrusive thoughts with a blonde ponytail and honey eyes and that hand that seared through all my defenses and burned like a volcano pouring into my soul the second that she’d touched me. It was possible she’d ruined my hard-won peace and that I’d never really be comfortable again. There wasn’t a single yoga pose that could get me back my level of complacence, the comfort I felt in the life I’d chosen. Because she’d blazed back into it, burned it to cinders and made me see that it was nothing without her.

  Chapter 10

  Liza

  I was looking for another job. I could work in a shop. It wouldn’t pay as well, but I could ring up groceries or souvenirs. It was better than nothing. I made a list of possibilities. They were pretty grim like the rest of my situation. I was sipping an orange juice as slowly as I could just to have an excuse to sit at the diner and use their Wi-Fi. I didn’t need to spend the money on a drink, but I figured juice was at least healthy.

  My phone jangled with its pathetic ring, and I answered. “Adriana Thomas,” I said with practiced ease.

  “Liza, it’s Connor O’Shea. Quit giving me the bullshit name and come back to work. I talked to my brother and let him know we need a cook whether he has a tantrum or not. If you can be professional and not cause any drama, you still have a job here.”

  I was stunned. I had no right to expect kindness from the O’Sheas after how I’d treated Tommy and then blindsided him by showing up ten years later. So I cleared my throat and thanked Connor.

  “Thank you. I’ll leave him alone. I swear. I just need the job.”

  “I mean it. No longing looks, no passing notes. This isn’t high school. I may not know all the details, but you did a number on my baby brother a long time ago. You’re here to do a job and be adults about it. I’ll see you’re treated fairly and paid well, but I’ll protect my family first if it comes down to it,” he said, a warning on the edge of his voice.

  “I completely understand,” I said. “I appreciate the chance. I won’t waste it.”

  I finished my juice and went back to the pub, feeling lighter, relieved that I’d have a good job and money coming in. I went in the back, scrubbed my hands and put on an apron. The kitchen workers and the guy who was cooking walked me through the routine. I pitched in during my training and made lunch portions right alongside the others. By the end of my shift, I had all the re
gular menu items down. I could do the sausages and potatoes, the stew, the bar food appetizers, the open-faced roast beef and gravy sandwich I remembered from Tommy’s grandpa’s pub back home right down to the horseradish on the side. I even had a few ideas to change the seasonings or introduce a couple of new specials down the line. But I didn’t want to push my luck. I hid out in the kitchen and avoided Tommy if he was even there. I kept my mouth shut and did my job, made myself useful anytime I could.

  By the end of the shift, I was so tired, my neck stiff from looking down. I shoveled my free meal down without tasting it and drained a glass of water. Then I walked back to my motel, dead on my feet and ready for a shower. I kept looking over my shoulder though. In spite of being tired and proud of a job well done and mixed up over seeing Tommy, I kept feeling like I was being followed. I couldn’t help it. I just felt that twitchy sensation up the back of my neck, my skin prickling like I was being watched.

  I looked all around and didn’t see anyone. I was just paranoid and being tired probably made it worse, I reasoned. There was nothing to indicate I was being spied on. Nobody jumped out to steal my purse or anything. I wasn’t robbed or harassed. I just walked all the way back to my motel, let myself in the room and then checked twice to make sure my door was locked. I was fully creeped out for no reason. I was just so sure someone had been following me. I felt sick and shaky inside at the thought of it. But I reminded myself that I had taken several precautions. They couldn’t have found me this fast. I was smart about it. I ditched my ID, my phone, everything. I was cash-only with a fake passport. I wasn’t taking any risks.