by Meghan March
I get a nod from her. “But I’m not cuttin’ myself and smearing our bloody hands together. It’s not safe for the baby.”
We both stand, and I wrap my arms around her neck. “Thank you for listening.”
“What are sisters for?”
“Hey, I wondered what happened to you. Hungry? Or did you grab something while you were out?”
I’m holding the mustard bottle in midair when Greer walks through the door, a big black purse clutched to her side. She looks up at my words, but it’s like she doesn’t recognize me or comprehend my question. It’s the long blank stare that clues me in to the fact that something is off.
“Greer? You okay?”
She shakes her head, as if snapping out of the trance she seems to be in. “Sorry, what’d you say?”
I set the mustard bottle down on the counter and come around the island. Greer clutches the purse tighter to her side as I get closer. A file folder sticks out the top. The one from yesterday.
I swallow, knowing it’s time. “You get your work stuff sorted out?”
Greer bites her bottom lip so hard, it goes white. She waits too long before releasing it and answering. “I don’t know.”
A feeling of dread pools in my stomach.
“Why did you tell me he was dangerous?” Her voice sounds pained, as if the words are torn from her throat. “How did you even know who he was?”
It’s now or never. “I need to tell you something.”
Greer squeezes her eyes shut like she can’t bear to look at me. “I’ve heard a lot of things today already.”
The dread multiplies. She can’t know.
“Where were you, Greer?” The words come out rough.
Her eyelids blink open, and the dark brown eyes of the girl I’ve fallen in love with over and over are shiny with unshed tears. “Rikers. Trying to get Stephen Cardelli to sign a letter stating he no longer wanted me as his lawyer so I could withdraw from the case.”
“What did he tell you?” I’ve never wanted an answer to a question less.
“Something that I don’t think could possibly be true.” A tear spills onto her cheek. “Tell me it’s not true, Cav.” Her face twists into the look I’ve feared. The one I knew would cut me off at the knees. Confusion, revulsion, brokenhearted pain. They’re all there.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Greer. I swear to you, it’s not what you’re thinking.” No, I add to myself, because it’s worse.
“Did you kill a man named Donnigan and frame Cardelli for the murder?” Her voice shakes as she asks the question point-blank.
I can’t lie to her, even though the words tear into me like the rounds I unloaded in that alley.
“Yes.”
Greer sucks in a short breath and her hand goes to her mouth. Her eyes squeeze shut, and each tear that falls is another jab through my heart.
What kind of man makes his girl cry?
I have to make her understand. “I did it to protect you.”
Her eyes snap open, confusion clear on her face.
“What?” It comes out as a whisper.
“He didn’t tell you everything. He couldn’t tell you everything because he doesn’t know everything. You got one part of the story without any context, and I swear to you, whatever you’re thinking right now is going to be different when you know it all.”
Greer drops her purse to the floor and jams both hands into her hair. “Then tell me everything because I’m seriously losing my shit here, Cav. I don’t know whether to call the police or call you a lawyer.”
Another direct hit. I can’t lose her. I have to talk fast. She needs to understand what happened.
“Do you remember the day you called me to meet you at the hospital because Tracey had been killed in a hit-and-run?”
Just saying the words brings the memory back in vivid detail . . .
I knew something was wrong the moment Greer’s shattered voice came on the line.
“The hospital just called me. I’m Tracey’s emergency contact on her phone. Something happened, and they need me to come down there.” Her voice shook. “It’s gotta be bad. They don’t call you like this unless it’s bad. They won’t let me talk to her. Will you please come?”
She was right—it had to be bad. A pang of sympathy went through me for whatever was about to unfold.
I’d met Tracey a few weeks before, and she was a sweet girl. She and Greer had been attached at the hip before I entered the picture. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d watched the two of them together before I’d crossed the line and started talking to Greer. If I hadn’t known Greer was the only girl in the Karas family, I might have mistaken them for sisters. Both had long dark hair, similar builds, and shopped at the same stores.
I grabbed my tool bag and headed for the maintenance closet. “Of course. Where are you? Where do we need to go?”
She breathed into the phone, and it sounded like a sigh of relief.
“I’m at my place. I just got done with a meeting with Creighton. I’m walking out the door now for Harlem Hospital. I don’t know why they’d take her there.”
“I’m at the school. I’ll be out in front of your building in fifteen. Wait for me, baby girl. I’m coming with you.”
When we entered the hospital twenty-five minutes later, Greer’s grip on my hand threatened to break it, her growing fear palpable with every step.
I squeezed her hand back, wanting to remind her that she wasn’t alone. Whatever happened, we would face it together.
The woman at the desk directed us to a private waiting room, and I already knew what was coming. Tracey was dead. They were going to tell us.
Greer hadn’t realized it yet, but she clung to my side as though her body already knew.
A doctor came in, looking haggard in her white coat and blue scrubs.
“Are you Greer Karas?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s me. I . . . you called about Tracey? Is she okay? What happened?” Greer asked all the questions any person in this room would ask.
The doctor’s face turned sympathetic. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Karas. Ms. Mullins was in an accident . . . and she didn’t make it.”
Even though I knew it was coming, the words still punched me in the gut.
“No!” Greer’s wail echoed in the tiny room as she threw herself into my arms, tears already falling and soaking my shirt. Maybe she knew it was coming too.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Ms. Karas.”
“What happened?” I choked out the question.
The doctor lifted her gaze from Greer to me. “There was a hit-and-run. Ms. Mullins was jogging, and according to the eyewitnesses, the car failed to stop at the light and hit her.”
Greer’s body shook with sobs as I wrapped my arms around her tighter. She sounded like she was being destroyed from the inside out.
“Who would do something like that?” Greer’s question came out somewhere between irate and heartbroken.
“We’re not sure, Ms. Karas. The driver didn’t stop. The police have been notified, and there will certainly be an investigation.”
Greer pulled away from me to wrap her arms around her waist and hunch forward, rocking back and forth. She didn’t know how to process this kind of grief. I laid an arm across her shoulders and tugged her against my side again, hoping the contact would give her strength.
“Would you like to say good-bye?” the doctor asked.
My heart cracked at the tears streaking Greer’s face when she raised her head.
“Good-bye?”
“Yes, Ms. Karas. We’re going to move Ms. Mullins shortly, so if you’d like . . .”
I held my breath, waiting for Greer to respond. Would she want to see her friend?
“Yes. Of course. Where do I go?”
“You can come right this way, ma’am.” The doctor gestured for the door. “And, sir, you’re welcome to come along . . . for support.”
Greer stood on shaky legs, and I kept my arm wra
pped around her waist. “Yes, he’s coming.”
We followed the doctor down the white hallway through double steel doors and past a half dozen treatment-type bays, some with open curtains, some with closed.
The doctor paused outside one toward the end. “She’s at peace. She’s not suffering. She has some bruising around her face, but most of her injuries were internal.”
I wondered if she went quickly, but I wasn’t going to ask any questions right now.
Greer nodded at the doctor and reached down to grab my hand. “Okay.”
We walked inside the small room, and Greer shrank back from the form on the bed. “Oh my God.” Her words shook as the sobs broke through.
She buried her face in my shirt again like she couldn’t bear to see what was in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Tracey looked like she was sleeping, but the bruising around her cheek and temple were dark and ugly. Her blue sweatshirt had been cut down the center, no doubt so they could work on her, but was folded so it covered her chest completely. A sheet was pulled up to her waist.
Greer stepped away from me again, and what came out of her mouth shocked me even more.
“It should have been me.” The words were quiet, carrying all the sorrow and regret in the world. “We were supposed to run together. That stupid couch to half marathon. But I had to bail today because Creighton needed me to come to a meeting and sign a bunch of papers.”
She reached out and touched the ends of Tracey’s dark hair before yanking her hand back.
“She’s even wearing my sweatshirt.” Greer dropped to her knees beside the bed, pressing her forehead into Tracey’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Trace. I’m so sorry.”
Her body shuddered with the force of her sobs, and I knelt beside her to lend her my strength.
Greer is staring at me in the kitchen, and I know we’re both reliving the memory together. Her eyes fill with tears.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It wasn’t an accident. Donnigan’s the one who killed her.” I pause, taking a deep breath before I give Greer the truth that’s going to rock the very foundation of her world. “But he fucked up. You were the target. They’d taken a hit out on you.”
“What? No. That’s— No.” I’m not making sense, but neither is what Cav is telling me. I blink back the tears stinging my eyes at those horrible moments in the hospital as Cav nods slowly, letting me take in the truth.
“Yes. She was collateral damage. She was wearing your sweatshirt. She had the hood up. Donnigan thought he got you.”
“Why? Who would do something . . . I don’t understand.” A hit? On me? I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate universe. “How?”
“Your brother was slashing and burning his way through companies. Hostile takeovers. I’m sure you remember.”
Oh, I remember. Creighton wasn’t a popular guy then or now. He’d built his empire by acquiring companies that were ripe targets, whether they wanted to be acquired or not, and then tore them apart, selling the unprofitable pieces and then installing new management teams to turn a profit. I know this because I’m the majority shareholder of many of them through my trust. The day Tracey died—was killed—I was signing paperwork for another new acquisition.
But none of this makes sense.
“The moment you said it should have been me, I knew something was off. Dom had me watching you for a reason. You took too many risks, and your brother had too many enemies. Creighton was so deep in his business, he didn’t realize what kind of danger you could be in, which is why Dom stepped in. I guess he felt like it was something he owed Creighton. I went to Dom about Tracey, and he started digging. That’s how I found out about Donnigan and the hit. Three days after the accident.”
My mind races to recall three days after the hospital. Tracey’s funeral. And the next day, Cav stood me up, leaving me waiting alone on the Top of the Rock.
The accusations leveled by Cardelli at Rikers this morning add to the puzzle pieces snapping together in my brain as Cav continues.
“According to Donnigan, an owner of a company Creighton took over had connections to one of the Irish families, and decided to take something from your brother the same way he felt his company had been stolen. And what he decided to take was you.”
The layers of shock are piling on, and all I feel is numbness. It’s as if I’m standing outside my body and watching the scene from a few steps away. This isn’t really my life. This isn’t really happening.
“So you killed him.” The words come out remarkably calm, but instead of a question, it’s a statement.
Cav answers anyway. “Yes. Because I knew he’d come back after you as soon as he realized he’d gotten the wrong girl. I wasn’t gonna let that happen.”
Leaning on the counter for support, I stare at him. There’s no remorse in Cav’s expression.
“And then you left town without a word.”
“Yes.”
“Because you killed someone.”
“To protect you.” Cav’s hazel gaze drills into mine. “I would’ve done anything to protect you.”
My knees shake, on the verge of giving out, and I yank the stool over and collapse onto it. “You killed him. To protect me. And then you left.”
“I didn’t go to Dom until it was done. He cursed me for being a stupid son of a bitch, even though he would’ve ordered it done anyway. But the trail needed to be covered. Someone had to take the fall. And for some misguided reason, he wasn’t gonna let me take the rap for it.”
Another stab of pain pierces my heart. “You would’ve gone to prison. Like Cardelli. For life.”
“I know.”
In my head, my lawyer’s brain says Cav should be the one in prison, but the rest of me is telling it to shut the hell up. “He was going to kill me?”
Cav nods. “Absolutely. He wouldn’t get paid until he’d completed the contract.”
I had been a contract. Jesus fucking Christ. How is that even possible?
“So you framed Cardelli,” I murmur, looking down at the file before me.
“He’s a rapist and a murderer in his own right. He raped a waitress out back behind one of Dom’s clubs three nights before. Put her in the hospital. Dom wanted him off the street, and it fell together. Prison or death—that was his choice. So he went down for the murder.”
Everything Cav is saying is so unbelievably foreign to me, I don’t know how to comprehend it.
Street justice. Is that what this was? Honor among thieves?
It doesn’t change the fact that my boyfriend is a murderer.
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t . . . fuck, Greer. I didn’t want you to know.”
My gaze lifts to Cav as he shoves his hands into his hair.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I don’t know why the answer to that question matters so much to me, but it does. I need to know. Would he have kept this from me forever?
He closes his eyes for a moment before opening them. “You want the truth?”
My heart hammers in my chest.
“Yes.”
“I never wanted to tell you. This isn’t something you need to understand or know exists. You live in a bubble, Greer, and I would do everything in my power to keep it untainted. I never wanted you to feel what you’re feeling right now. I wanted to protect you from everything, even myself.”
Pain radiates through my chest, like it’s cracking open as he continues to speak.
“But when I saw that file yesterday, it was the sign I needed to know I was making the wrong choice. I can’t keep the past buried forever, no matter how much I wish I could. I knew I had to tell you the truth.”
How can I believe him? My judgment has been flawed every step of the way. Bad decision after bad decision, just like I told Holly. How can I trust myself to know what to feel about this?
I slide off the stool and pick up my discarded bag from the floor. “I have to go.”
“What? You’re not—�
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“I have to go,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. “I need to think. I can’t be around you right now.”
Cav’s jaw tightens. “You’re walking away. Now that you know everything, you’re walking away.”
I squeeze my eyes shut because seeing the shattered expression on his face unleashes wave after wave of pain inside me.
I bump into the door and grab the handle. “What else is out there, Cav? What other huge secrets are you keeping? The hits keep coming, and I don’t know how many more I can handle.” My voice is shaking, and my need to flee is growing.
I have to get out of here.
“Nothing, Greer! There’s nothing else. You know it all. Except maybe this.” His gaze intensifies as I brace myself for another blow. His voice is steady and firm. “I would do it again to protect you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you. I loved you then, and I fucking love you now. If you can’t love me knowing that I’d give up everything to keep you safe, including spend the rest of my life in prison, then this is over. There’s nothing here to fight for.”
And that’s the blow. The one that catches me in the stomach and sends me stumbling out the door, tears falling from my eyes.
How do you deal with the fact the man you loved killed someone to protect you? And that he’d do it again without remorse or apology?
Cav’s right. I do live in a bubble, and in my bubble, this concept doesn’t exist.
I slip into a cab and head back to Creighton and Holly’s. I don’t know where else to go.
The doorman rings the apartment, and I go up the private elevator.
Holly opens the door and the moment she sees me, her face falls from a smile to a frown.
“Oh hell. What happened?” She pulls me inside, and I follow her to where Creighton is standing near the kitchen counter as he talks on the phone.
“Make the arrangements. I’ll call you back.” He hangs up, his eyes raking over me. “Where is that bastard? I’m going to kill him.”
His choice of words unleashes a peal of hysterical laughter from me, and I sound like a crazy person.