East Rising (Naive Mistakes #2)

by Rachel Dunning

  "I work when I want to. You know that."

  "I know, just checking if you'd gotten any discipline in your life yet. Obviously not. I'm sure this lady here will finally put the leash on you. It's about time." The man gave Conall a light punch on the chest. Conall fell back lightly.

  "Thanks, Trey," he said quietly. "Thanks for everything."

  "No sweat, little brother. Anytime." They did that manly hug thing where they tap each other on the back or something. This "Trey" guy turned and walked toward me.

  I must say, being called a "lady" twice by him in less than a minute had more than made me a little abashed by now. "Trey, as you might've heard," he said to me. "Conall has always been the uncouth, bohemian sort, never introducing people and such." He stuck out his hand, now unwrapped of his hand-wraps. I shook it.

  "Leora," I said, feeling self-conscious and a little shy. I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, barely able to make eye contact with him! "Leora Caivano."

  "I know who you are. I was only playing there, pushing Conall's buttons, you know. Take care of him. He'll lose his pretty face if he keeps coming in here to let off steam. Conall talks with his fists when he's worried. Isn't that so, Conall?"

  "Shouldn't you be gone already?" said Conall.

  "Hey, I own this fucking place. Want me to kick you out? I need breakfast." Trey turned to me, looked once more at Conall, then bent down and whispered in my ear. "He needs you now more than ever. But he'll never tell you that. Be there for him, OK?"

  I nodded. That was twice this morning I'd been given the duty of taking care of Conall... What the fuck?

  "Trey?" Conall's voice was suspicious.

  "Conall," he said, "I was just telling this delightful girl that you are one ugly son-of-a-bitch. And that I will always be available if she needs some real loving." He turned to me, winked once. "Right, love?"

  I smiled, getting the point. He'd confided in me... "Of course, and thanks for giving me your number as well," I said, loud enough so Conall would definitely hear. I smiled. Conall's face became briefly shocked, but only just.

  Trey squeezed my shoulder as he left. "OK, enough kidding around here. See you."

  Conall and I stood staring at each other as Trey's footsteps faded away, then the creak of the door, a slam shut, silence.

  "Nice place," I said, looking up at the warehouse-slash-gym around me. We were about fifteen feet from each other.

  "What are you doing here, Leora?"

  Hmmm, I wasn't sure how to react to that. "You never came home. I was worried...about us. And about you. Alex showed me where you were."

  "Yes, I'm sorry about that." He sat back on the low wall again.

  "Conall, where do we stand? I mean, you tell me things and I believe them and — "

  "I've never lied to you, Leora. Everything I've told you is true."

  "I know. I know. But there's more to it, isn't there? I mean, today, last night, what's this about?"

  He shook his head, raked his fingers through his sweaty hair. "I need a shower. Look, I'm sorry. I should've texted you last night. But I figured you would message me if you got worried."

  "Wow, that's a lame excuse."

  "Leora..." He cleared his throat. "Look, I've been faithful to you. What else do you want? I... Sometimes I just need to be left alone. It's just... It's who I am."

  "You want to know what I want?" He nodded. "I want you to let me in."

  Conall processed it, then stood up. "I need a shower. I stink. And there's blood all over my top. I'll be ten minutes." He got up, walked away, into the room from which Trey had earlier come out of.

  And I was alone.

  -2-

  A man walked in when Conall was gone, dressed in shorts and a sweatshirt. His footsteps echoed menacingly as he approached me. He hooked his chin up in greeting to me. Even in the dim light I could make out the huge tattoos on his neck — spiderwebs. He took off the sweatshirt, revealing a ripped body under a tank top. He walked my way, said nothing. I looked to where Conall had been. It was dark behind the door he'd entered.

  I turned and moved away, to the low wall Conall had been sitting at. My heart thumped like a pneumatic drill. Velcro unstrapped behind me. I turned. The man was putting on hand-wraps. He frowned. "You OK?" he asked.

  Huh? Sweat broke out on my skin, probably out of relief. "Uh, um, yeah, sure, I'm fine."

  "Good. It's just that you look a little freaked out. American, eh?"

  "Yeah. You English, eh?"

  "No, Australian, actually. Anyway, Americans can never tell."

  I smiled. He had that right. Although... "Actually... Um, never mind."

  "Suit yourself." He started hitting a punching bag.

  The safest place in London, Alex had said.

  Conall came back out. He had a towel around his shoulders... And he didn't have a shred of clothing on his upper body.

  Fuck me. Two things caught my eye: He was bruised, all around the ribs on the left — dark blue and light brown colored bruises. Trey must pack quite a punch. Or kick. Both, most likely.

  And, the second thing I saw: He looked so friggin ripped that my mouth watered. His abs wriggled and fought for position as he walked toward me.

  "'ey bup," said Spiderweb Man to Conall. Bup?

  "Hey Keith." Conall leaned down next to me. "Forgot my clothes." He picked up a black travel bag by my feet and went back into that dark room. I guessed the showers were in there, somewhere, like where the lights were finally on, down deep some fricking corridor or something.

  I listened to Spiderweb Keith mutilate the punching bag. I felt like doing it myself.

  Conall came back out after a few minutes, no bag, so I guessed he had a permanent locker in here or something. He had on a dress shirt, suit pants, a blazer, fresh hair. He'd put some stuff on the cut above his eye to stop the bleeding. It looked like it needed stitches. I wanted to tell him that. But I didn't. If there was one thing I'd learned from being with my dad in his gym it was that this was like their frickin Mecca or something. If you're a woman in here, you don't go and embarrass them by telling them they are "hurt" or some bullshit like that. That's the whole point of them coming here — to get hurt! (As Alex had said: Men!)

  "Had breakfast?" Conall asked.

  I shook my head.

  "Most important meal of the day."

  What, were we up in some business meeting in here or something? I felt his distance from me. Not physically, but in the ether, a metaphysical barrier of some sort, thick as a wall.

  "Is that your way of inviting me for a meal, Mr. Williams?" I batted my eyelids.

  And that did the trick:

  Conall smiled, finally, and some tension eased. He shook his head. "Come on." He put his arm around me. "This place stinks."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  -1-

  Dani called.

  "Hey, love. How are you?" 'ey, love. 'Ow ahh ya?

  "Hey, Dani. Nice to hear from you. That's odd that you call." I couldn't remember if Dani and I had ever spoken to each other on the phone... We always texted.

  "Oh, yeah, well, I just wanted to know if everything was fine, you know. I mean, this is the reason you came to this place in the first place, isn't it? This Conall bloke, that is."

  "Yeah... Yeah, it is. That's sweet of you."

  "And?"

  "Well..." I turned to Conall and asked him to wait just a second, then I moved out of earshot. We were outside now. "It's going...good, I guess. By the way, did Kayla tell you about all the designer clothes that will be coming your way?"

  "Oh, yeah, um, that's too much, love. I can't accept — "

  "C'mon!"

  "Look, sweetie, I just wanted to check that everything was fine. So, everything is fine, isn't it? I mean, you two are now, um, dating?"

  "Um..." I coughed. "Yeah, yeah, I guess we are..."

  We were dating. That much was clear. Was it going well? Hmmm, that was an entirely different question altogether.

  Dani had
never really been my go-to girl for deep emotional issues. I mean, she was cool, but I saved all the really deep shit for Kayla. It was always Kayla. It always would be. I figured this call from her was another step in the direction of having a close friend. I could use that. As fucked up as all the girls were around me, at least they communicated!

  This strong and silent shit from Conall was driving me fucking fruity.

  She continued: "Well, that's good for you, love. Anyway. Any idea when you'll be back?"

  "Um, I guess tomorrow... I really don't know. I kinda tricked Troy into letting me off for a few days."

  "Oh, you flirted with him?"

  I laughed. "Yeah."

  "Works every time. Anyway, so, what, a few days?"

  "Sure, something like that, I guess. Why?"

  "Just curious. OK, sweetie, see you then!"

  "Bye, 'luff.'" I tried to emulate her accent. I failed miserably at it.

  -2-

  Conall and I caught the tube (subway) headed for close to Covent Garden, an awesome little place with the cutest mall that makes you think of everything traditionally English when you see it. Only that's not exactly where he intended taking me.

  Riding the tube at a little before nine A.M. felt like we were being carried off to the U.S. in the hold of an illegal immigration ship with about seven-thousand people inside it. I was elbowed, jostled, my toes were stood on at least twice. Someone bumped into my head.

  When we got out, then up the stairs, and finally saw the cloudy sky (England, almost always cloudy) I heaved in a breath of fresh air and vowed never to take the tube so early in the morning again!

  "Virgin, eh?" said Conall.

  "What?"

  "The tube. Your first time at this time of day?"

  "Oh, right, yeah. I get it."

  "Why do you think I work mostly from home?"

  "You really have an easy life, don't you?"

  He didn't answer, looked away. "So, there's a nice little place just up the way here. It's called Smokey's. It's one of the few places you can get some peace and quiet around here."

  We weaved through several roads, up some alleys, down a back street, behind some houses, walked, walked, ..., walked. In all, it took us almost forty-five minutes of walking! Just up the way here... Uh-huh.

  At the end of an alley, after some pubs and a few shady characters, lay a restaurant with a sign covered in graffiti. The first S of Smokey's had a graffiti hat painted on it. The apostrophe had a heart surrounding it. On the final S of Smokey's, there was a burger and smoke (not graffiti.)

  Adding to the smoke motif, greasy clouds of it filled the inside of this deli-slash-dive-slash-grill-place as we entered it. Old men sat around and ate, some played cards. The tables were wooden, the seats hard. Many had words and names etched into them. And it was loud as hell in there! Something sizzled in the kitchen, audible from where we were standing.

  "'ey, look what the cat dragged in!" said someone from behind the counter. "Ooh, and he brought a lady with him!" No T's, no H's, and with came out as wif.

  The man speaking had a gold tooth, wore a hair net, and carried a spatula. He wiped his free hand on his white coat and stuck it above the deli counter. Conall shook it.

  "Smokey, this is Leora. Leora Caivano."

  Smokey, who looked to be in his forties (and maybe an ex-marine because he was damn buff), paused a second, then smiled knowingly. "Is that right, young Conall? Well, pleasure to meet you ma'am." I shook his hand. "So, what'll it be? You're looking a little thin, Conall. Full English?"

  "Actually, I've been up most of the night and just came from Trey's so, add two more eggs and another sausage to that."

  "Oh, it'll cost you. Say, an extra hundred quid?"

  Conall smiled. "Whatever, just feed me. Quick!"

  "Nah, fine, if you twist my arm like that, it's on the house," said Smokey. "And for the pretty lady?" Damn it, these English guys really had a way with me... Call me lady and I'm putty.

  "Um, h — half? Do you do a half English breakfast?"

  "Course not! But in your case we'll make an exception. One Full-Plus-Extra coming up, and one Half." (No H on the "half.")

  "Smokey, we'll move a table outside, OK?" Conall said.

  "Sure, sure, no need to ask."

  Conall shook hands with some other men in there. He was a regular man-about-town here. Only this was clearly not the town he was from. This was the London equivalent of The Bronx kind of town. And what of Covent Garden? Long gone from here...

  Most of the men — not a single one under fifty-five it seemed — looked at me and then smiled at Conall. One grizzled man, donning a denim jacket and a tweed flat cap, said, "Finally, one that looks like she can rein you in..."

  "Thanks for the discretion," said Conall, shaking the man's hand and patting him on the back as he tried to walk away.

  "Young lady," the man continued, now talking to me, "Conall here thinks it's OK not to pass by this restaurant as often since he's started living the big life. I hope you will remedy that, would you?"

  Conall protested. "I was here a week ago!"

  "Yes, for five minutes to pay us some lip-service and then leave, isn't it? You didn't even stay and eat! You don't do that to family, Conall." The man pointed a chastising finger at him — a patriarch disciplining his son — with a semi-smile creeping into his complexion.

  Who are these people?

  I gotta say that...it all seemed pretty damn cool! My Conall, my rich, wealthy, Conall, was a fucking bad boy to the core! From the London Bronx! (OK, this area was far from The Bronx, but the crowd in this place looked like it belonged there.)

  Damn, I was already starting to forgive him...

  -3-

  Outside the restaurant, Conall and I sat with drinks. I drank mineral water, Conall had black coffee. The silence felt like dripping goo.

  "This feels weird," I said. Despondency for the situation covered me like a pall on a coffin. "I mean, us, you. Me. After all this time..."

  Conall sipped his coffee.

  "Six months..." My eyes watered gently. I turned my back to the restaurant window. "And then, we get together and...you're this whole other person I don't know." My eyes watered a little more, but no tears broke through, yet. "I... Damn it. I don't know what to think."

  "So, Full-English-Plus and — " Smokey stopped as he got outside with the massive English breakfasts. He stared at my face, paused a second, frowned at Conall, then placed the plates in front of us, dropping Conall's plate a little harder than mine, as if disapproving of something on his part. "So, enjoy." He wiped his hands, still looking at us. I knew what he was looking at. Me. And my almost-tears.

  I forced a smile. "Thank you, Smokey."

  Smokey took his towel off his shoulder and whipped Conall's arm with it. He scowled at him, then smiled at me, walked away.

  I chuckled, incredulous. "Who are these people?" I asked Conall, poking the red beans on my plate. I had little appetite.

  Conall harpooned a sausage with his fork, bit a piece off the top of it and put the rest of it back down. "They're...my family."

  He chewed.

  "And?" Christ, it felt like pulling fucking teeth from a goddamned crow!

  "And..." He sat back, took a deep breath, finished chewing. "And, Leora...as is clearly apparent..." He wiped his lips. "...I'm not very good at talking about things. Normally girls would just be interested in me, see that I came from money and, well, talking was relegated to the backseat." He waited for me to respond.

  "Clearly," I said. I looked at my plate, then at Conall, and I realized, like a building crashing in on itself, that I'd been dreaming... The whole six months, skipping college this year, all of it... It had just been one, fucking, magnanimously huge, catastrophic pie-in-the-sky dream. "Conall, I'm gonna go. Goodbye."

  My ass moved off the seat, just an inch —

  Conall's grip blasted to my wrist before I was fully up! "After my sister died," he said. "After she was...murdered...
I met these people. They were there for me far more than my anti-depressant mother or prideful father ever have been."

  My butt went back on that seat faster than a gossip reporter to shots of Miley Cyrus grinding her ass at the VMA's!

  "Go on," I said.

  "Not here. Eat. Somewhere quieter, OK?"

  No, it wasn't OK. None of it was OK anymore. I sighed.

  "Leora, this is...my way. I...Damn it! I brought you here because I knew that...if I showed you, you'd understand better. And because..." He raked his hand through his hair. "And because, I knew that, if I brought you here, I wouldn't be able to run away from telling you the truth. I've told no one before. But I want to tell you. One step at a time for me, please. I want to tell you. I just... It might take some time."

  "Not even Alexandra?"

  "Not even 'what' Alexandra?"

  "You haven't even told her?"

  "No! Of course not!"

  "But she knows about your sister."

  His face went pale. He looked away. "You...know?" he said.

  "No. No, I don't. She didn't tell me anything. It slipped. I mean, she mentioned you had a sister. That's all. Nothing more. I promise."

  "I see." He wiped his lips with a napkin. "I never told her anything. Alex was there. She was there when Viv... When my sister... When Viv — " He chomped a piece of sausage, chewed hard, cleared his throat.

  "When Vivienne, my sister, died, Alex knew me. That's all. That's how she knows. And then I started fighting at Trey's place. These folks" — he pointed inside — "they're tough guys. Old men who work with their hands. Many of them trained there as well. Some of them still do. They got to know me. I was a good fighter. Anyway, whatever. Long story short. Here we are. And they were there for me when I needed someone more than ever. Each one of these men in here is my father. The father I never had."

  The love of a father you never had, you mean...

  "Smokey is like my older brother. I owe these men my life. My brother Francis never had this. After...Viv...he went down a dark road. Without them, maybe I would've fallen to a life of dope like he has.