by Tabatha Kiss
“You were right,” Lance says as he glances around the nearly empty cafe. “This place is nice.”
I nod. “I’ve never seen it this early, actually. Or on a Tuesday, now that I think about it.”
“Usually your Sunday spot, right?”
“So, should I just assume you already know everything about me or what?”
He sets down his mug. “Not everything. Patterns stand out, that’s all.”
“Patterns? You mean, schedules?” I ask. “As in reports from private investigators, that kind of thing?”
“Yes.”
I shrug. “Well, that’s honest.”
“They didn’t follow you for very long. Just a few weeks. They backed off when you were cleared of mischief.”
“Ooh.” I feign a shiver. “Cleared of mischief. I like that.”
He leans forward. “I think they might have been wrong, though. You’ve been nothing but trouble for me.”
I chuckle. “A little trouble is good sometimes.”
“It’s not bad so far.”
The server, Roger, pauses above us with a fresh batch of coffee in his pitcher. I nod, signaling to him for a refill and he squints from me to Lance and back again.
“Tell no one I was here and I’ll double your tip,” I whisper.
He flashes a wink before rushing off toward the next table.
Lance pauses. “What was that about?”
“Kinda feels like I’m cheating on my friends being here without them,” I say.
“I know what that’s like,” he says.
“Oh, yeah?”
“When Hal and I first moved to Cambridge, there was a little sandwich shop just off campus. She loved it and forbade me from going without her, but...”
“You did?”
“Just the once.” He shudders. “Never again.”
“How old was she then?”
He looks up, thinking hard. “About ten?”
I blink. “Wow. How in the world did you manage law school with a ten-year-old?”
“I asked myself that every day, actually.”
I glance into my coffee. “I guess your wife took care of her? Well, ex-wife?”
Lance opens his mouth then closes it again. “How’d you know I was married?”
“Just an assumption,” I say quickly.
He nods. “Right, yeah. We figured, you know, get married, have the baby, and just kind of make life up as we went along.”
“Divorced, huh?” I ask. “Two of my friends are a divorced couple, so I have a little idea of what that’s like. They didn’t have kids, though. Thank god.”
I laugh at the mental image in my head of Robbie awkwardly cradling an infant.
Lance takes a breath. “We never divorced, actually.”
“No?”
“No. She died while she was having Haley,” he says.
I set my mug down. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He waves a hand. “It’s ancient history. Literally.”
“That’s...” I exhale, feeling a twist in my gut. “Rough.”
He looks at me across the table. “You probably have a little idea of what that is like, right?” he says. “Your ancient history is similar, in a way. Just a different perspective of it.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. It is.”
“Anyway,” he continues, “after that, my parents helped me take care of Haley since I was still in high school. Then, I went to college at Stanford and they pitched in there, too, while I was in class or at work. After I graduated, I packed her up and we moved out east so I could go to law school. It’s been me and her ever since.”
My smile returns. “That sounds kinda neat, actually.”
Thankfully, he smiles, too. “She spent a lot of her childhood hanging out in dusty, old libraries with me and my friends, helping us study and make flash cards, things like that.”
“Ultimate babe magnet, too, I bet.”
“No. Well...” He bites his lip. “Okay, maybe a little. But, mostly, that was the last thing on my mind.”
My heart swells. “You sound like one hell of a dad, Lance.”
“I like to think I’m doing okay.”
“No, you are,” I say. “My dad dropped me on my grandmother’s doorstep. Don’t think he really knew how to deal with a baby girl.”
“I knew what I had to do the second I met her,” he says. “Can’t believe I’m defending Angelo Argento here but your dad probably did what he thought would be best for you.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I guess my childhood wasn’t awful. He was never too busy to take my calls, never missed a recital...”
He raises a brow. “Piano?”
“Ballet.”
“Ballet?”
I gasp. “Is this actual brand-new information for you?”
“It is!” He leans forward. “I didn’t know you danced.”
“We’ve literally dance once together already.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you danced danced.”
“Only for a little while. Takes a lot of structure and discipline — and I just don’t have that.”
He chuckles. “I can see that.”
I take a quick sip. “The school I went to burned down last year.”
“Shucks.”
“I was sad to see it go. I had some good memories.”
“Haley took ballet for a week, I think,” he says. “She hated it, dropped out, and signed up for karate instead.”
I laugh. “I like her.”
“Me, too. She got detention in junior high for twisting the arm of a kid who grabbed her ass. Almost broke his wrist.”
I smile, impressed. “I bet you were so proud.”
“I was. I really was.” He scratches his chin. “The school board did nothing to discipline the kid, though.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
His eyes flash with dormant anger. “I went lawyer dad on them so damn fast...”
“Hell yeah, you did.”
“He got suspended and Haley got ice cream for dinner for a week.”
“See?” I grin. “Good dad.”
His face slowly grimaces. “She started college this year and... honestly, I’m not taking it that well.”
“At least you know where she sleeps at night, right?” I joke.
He raises his mug. “Thank god for that.”
“Where is she going?”
“Northwestern.”
I jolt. “That’s where I went!”
“Yeah, I know.”
I glare at him and he laughs. “What’s her major?”
“Undeclared at the moment,” he says. “But I have my hopes.”
“Hopes for what? Do you want her to go law school? Follow in dad’s footsteps?”
“All dads do, don’t they?”
I look down, feeling a sting in my chest “I used to think so,” I say.
His eyes fall on my shoulder and he clears his throat. “Just tell me that school is full of boring kids who want to go to class, do their homework, and be in bed by nine so I can sleep at night.”
I snort. “Oh, hell no. When I was there, that place was Party City every—”
His eyes grow wide with horror.
“—other year,” I correct. “Yeah, that school is nothing but a bunch of ugly, virgin nerds.”
He squints in disbelief. I reach over the table and pat his hand.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” I say. “She’s a smart kid with epic arm-twisting skills.”
Lance deflates and smothers his pain with a few more gulps of hot coffee before setting his empty mug to the side.
“Have you had enough coffee yet?” he asks.
I slide my own mug a few inches away and lean forward.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
He brings his hands together in front of him and stares at me over two steepled fingers. “What the hell are we even doing?” he asks.
“I have no idea,” I answer.
“Should we stop?”
“I don’t want to. Do you?”
“No.”
We stare silently at each other, waiting for the other to expand but neither of us takes that bullet.
I nod. “Good talk.”
He folds his arms on the table. “Trix, you are a stunning woman,” he says.
“I know,” I say with a smile.
“And I know that if I don’t get to know you, I’m gonna regret it.”
“You already know plenty, don’t you?”
“I know who you are,” he says. “I know the persona you put on to distract the world from what your family really does.”
“Allegedly,” I say.
“But that doesn’t mean I know you. The woman you are with me right now isn’t anything like the one I met in my office or danced with me in front of a hundred people.”
“Yeah…” I sigh, “she had a lot going on.”
Lance smiles. “I want to see you again. The real Trix. Someplace where I can forget who I am and you can forget who are you are... and we can just be ourselves.”
My heart skips. “Someplace simple,” I say.
He nods. “Exactly.”
I can’t help the smile on my face. Maybe this is what Nora was talking about before. Simple.
Of course, nothing about this is simple, no matter how much I want to pretend. Lance is the one man I shouldn’t have looked twice at. I’m the one woman who can mess everything up for him if we’re not careful. But I don’t see him as an enemy and he doesn’t treat me like a plague.
I look at him and I see a kind man. A hot, single dad for sure but a good guy just trying to do some good in the world and provide everything for his daughter.
I see a life; one that makes me think twice about mine.
“I would like that very much,” I say. “But...”
He leans forward an inch. “But?”
“It’s easy to talk about the real Trix.” I gesture at him. “What about the real Lance? At the end of the day, you’re still the guy prosecuting my father.”
“My case doesn’t touch you.”
“Lance, he’s my dad.”
“And yesterday, you walked out on him,” he says. “He didn’t want you anymore. That’s what you said, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Well, I want you.” His gaze wanders my face. “He only wanted you around because of what you could do for him.”
“Why do you want me around then?” I ask.
He smiles. “Because you care. Not just about your family but other families, too. That whole tongue-lashing you gave me about the good your father does and the thousands of presents under Christmas trees — you meant that. But you got it wrong, too.”
“How?”
“Your father doesn’t do that work. You do. You know, half the photos I have of your brothers are them walking the streets, hanging out with known thugs at the horse races, or their mugshots. The ones I have of you? Volunteering at soup kitchens. Playing with kids in hospitals. Look me in the eye and tell me you did all of that because Angelo promised you a seat at his table and you were just biding your time until then. You’re better than that, Trix. You’re better than them.”
“And none of this has anything to do with how you want information from me in exchange for cutting his sentence in half?”
“At first, sure. But after last night?” He pauses. “At this point, do you even want him out that badly anymore?”
I inhale to argue but my tongue freezes.
No. I don’t.
I don’t care if my father gets out of jail or not.
I look down, feeling my insides tighten.
“Trix, I’m sorry,” Lance says. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “You’re right. I’ve spent years showing blind loyalty to a family that clearly has none for me, but…” I take a deep breath. “Lance, I want to keep seeing you but I can’t help you with your case. I’m sorry.”
He nods. “I think we can work with that.”
“I don’t want to hear about it, either,” I add. “So, if we could keep that subject off-limits while we’re together, that’d be great.”
“Okay, just so I have this clear...” He smirks. “We can continue seeing each other as long as we don’t talk about my work?”
“Or my family.”
“Or your family.”
“That’s it,” I say.
“No work. No family.” He bites his lip. “What do we talk about then?”
I chuckle into my mug. “We might not even need to talk at all.”
Lance smiles.
Thirty
Trix
Freedom. That’s what this feels like.
I’m free. Free to see Lance whenever I want. Free to be who I want to be without worrying about getting the side-eye from my brothers. Free from having my voice smothered by those who were supposed to care about what I have to say.
Freedom feels pretty fucking good.
I left Moira’s with Lance’s kiss on my cheek but the feel of his lips stayed with me all the way to my apartment. It pumped warmth through my face as I walked upstairs and my heart is still pounding as I reach the fifth floor.
Lance and me. Me and Lance. I’m sure the clickbait brigade will have something to say about it but I have just the response for this kind of thing.
No comment.
It’s none of their business anyway.
I step into my apartment and my smile drops.
Marcus sits in an armchair in my living room, one leg crossed loosely over the other. He glares up at me with a small bouquet of flowers sitting in his lap and his phone in his hand.
“Marcus, what are you doing here?” I ask as I close the door behind me.
“Where have you been?” he asks.
I hang my jacket on the hook on the door. “Have you been here all night?”
He stands up, tightly gripping the flowers. “I came here to apologize to you.”
I scoff. “You mean my father ordered you to come here and apologize to me?”
“Partially,” he says. “But I also feel like I made a mistake yesterday.”
“Just yesterday?”
“I acted wrongly. I want to apologize.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“You were with him,” he says. “And that’s okay. I get it.”
I scowl. “Don’t really need your permission to see him in the first place.”
“Christ, Trix, would you please just—” He stops himself and exhales slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay, then. Thanks.” I head toward my room. “I’ll see you around.”
I kick off my shoes, happy to finally get out of the heels I’ve worn since last night.
“That’s it?” Marcus asks behind me.
I glance at him. “Yeah, that about covers it, I think.”
“You don’t want to hear what else I have to say?”
“Not particularly.”
“I waited for you all night.”
“Yeah, breaking and entering. Real romantic, Marcus.”
He frowns. “Trix...”
“I don’t care.” I throw up my hands. “I’ve done everything my father wanted me to do since day one. My whole life I’ve only asked him for one thing and he ripped my heart. So... whatever you want. Whatever you have to say. Whatever you think you can do to suddenly turn all of this around. I don’t care. My father made his choice. I made mine. And you can tell him I said that.”
Marcus doesn’t move. “Your new boyfriend didn’t happen to mention why he took your father’s case, did he?” he asks.
“Didn’t say. Didn’t ask. Don’t care.”
He stares at me with a hidden smirk on his face. “You should ask him,” he says.
“Again... I don’t care.”
“You will.”
“Cool. We done now?”
Marcus steps forward and presents the flowers to me. “These are for you,” he says.
&nbs
p; I regard them with suspicion. “From who?”
“From me.”
I take them with a raised brow. “What are you trying to do, Marcus?” He silently walks around me and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Marcus—”
“Do you remember the night I came back from Afghanistan?” he asks, looking up at me.
“Vaguely. Why?”
“I hadn’t spent the night with a woman in months,” he says. “Hadn’t even really had time to think about it over there, you know?”
I say nothing.
“I really thought it’d be you and me eventually,” he says. “Everything else was just filler until then.” He looks at me. “Didn’t you?”
“No,” I answer truthfully. “Marcus, what you want with me isn’t what I want with you.”
“But you want it with him?” he asks.
“I don’t know what I want with him,” I say. “With him, things are just different. Right now, I need different.”
Marcus stands up, his eyes soft on me. “I understand,” he says. “But can we...”
“Can we what?” I ask.
He moves a little closer. “Just one last time, Trix...”
I take a step back. “Marcus...”
“I’ll never bother you again—”
“No.”
He reaches out. “Please.”
“Stop,” I say, enunciating hard. He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him. “Marcus—”
“I need to feel you again.”
I try to push him away but he grips my waist. “Let go of me!”
“One last time, Trix.” He cups my rear, squeezing tight. “That’s all I need.”
“I said, let go of me!”
I dig my nails into his cheek and scratch as hard as I can.
He releases his hold on me and I take the opportunity to shove him away.
“Fuck—!” He touches his face, staining his hand with blood.
I rush toward my bedside and drop to my knees to grab the handgun case I keep hidden beneath my mattress. I’ve never had to use it and I sure as hell never thought I’d have to use it against Marcus. Better to have it and not need it, as my father says.
Blood streams down from the three thick red lines on Marcus’ face.
“You fucking bitch...” he growls.
I balance on one knee and point the gun at him. “Get out, Marcus,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady.
He takes a single step toward me and I flick the safety off with my thumb.