by Sara Hubbard
“No, I do. It just took me a moment to see through…your…your…” I wave my hands up and down in the shape of his body. “Your new look.”
He chuckles.
“And that’s not what’s important here. What’s important is that you lied to me, and if your mother had found Mickey, he and I would be dead right now.”
“She couldn’t have told them about you without involving me and regardless of her flaws, she’s still my mother. She wouldn’t have put me at risk.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
He growls in frustration. “You needed help, and I gave it to you. Mickey’s best chance was to go to a hospital, but you wouldn’t do that. I knew if he had any chance at all then I needed to fix him up the best I could. You wouldn’t have let me touch him if I told you about my connection to the Dantes.”
“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have.”
“Then I was right to stay quiet.”
“So better to lie to me and take away my right to choose?”
“Take away your right to choose?” He laughs. “Like I could ever change your mind. You’re as hard-headed as Mona.”
“Why do you care?” Ugh! I feel like pulling my hair out. Like I’m banging my head against a wall, over and over again. “You know, people sometimes give money to guys singing on a street corner. They donate money to give to the homeless kids in Africa. Maybe they volunteer their time at a soup kitchen. They don’t lie to people so they can take in a man with a gunshot wound to make sure they’ll live. I think that’s a little above and beyond a simple act of kindness. You’re leaving things out. And I know you have an angle, so please, tell me before I completely lose my mind.”
He takes a drink, looking at me from over the rim of the glass.
My frustration peaks and I raise the gun, point it at his heart. “Answer me!”
His face changes and becomes harder, his eyes darkening from chocolate brown to black. “Don’t ever point a gun at me unless you intend to pull the trigger.”
“I don’t think you get to tell me what to do right now. I’m the one holding the gun.”
“Then pull the trigger! You think I give a shit if you do?” he huffs at me. “Three tours in Afghanistan, each day waking up wondering if I’ll live to see tomorrow. There is scarier shit than you in this world, Beth. And I ain’t afraid to die.”
“Fuck you!” I scream at him.
“Again with the language.” He rolls his eyes.
My hands start to shake as I actually debate pulling the trigger. I don’t even know why I want to. Because he doesn’t think I will? I know how ridiculous that is and yet I’m still aiming the gun at him. I imagine what it would feel like to take a life, to watch blood drain from a body until a person’s eyes go lifeless. The thought chokes me up…especially when I see his solemn face looking back at me, like he’s in as much pain as I am right now.
Slowly I lower the gun but I don’t loosen my grip. “My uncle and I are leaving.”
“And how do you plan to leave? Your uncle is still unconscious in the spare bedroom. I would love to see how you plan to accomplish that.”
I raise the gun again. “You’re going to help me.”
“No. I’m not.” He chuckles lightly before his face changes. Tipping his head to the side, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he frowns. “He’s going to die, Beth. Moving him will not help his situation.”
“Don’t say that. He’s the toughest man I know. He’ll survive this.”
He frowns as he leans over the kitchen island to rest on his elbows. “I know this is the last thing you want to hear after losing Mona, but I’ve got to be real with you so it doesn’t come as a complete shock. And since I’m being real, I have to tell you that I can’t let you leave. I don’t want you to be alone when he takes his last breath.”
I close my eyes and breathe in and out. Steel myself to hold back the threat of tears.
“You want to know why I give a shit? Why I’m more involved and interested than I should be?”
I nod, relieved at the promise of clarity.
He groans and shakes his head. “You walked into the lunch room in junior high with a striped shirt on and tight jeans. You spoke with an accent. I never knew where you were from, only that you were around my age and you swore like a sailor while almost falling over your poorly pronounced words.”
My head snaps back like I’ve been slapped. I thought he had an ulterior motive like he was a spy for the Dantes and was fishing for information. Or he’s an undercover cop, also looking for information. I wasn’t prepared for him giving me a play by play of my first day in junior high. “How…how could you possibly remember that?”
He smiles and as seconds pass, it seems to spread over his entire face.
“The first time you talked to me was in English. You said The Great Gatsby was trash and you weren’t reading it. The teacher asked you to read a passage out loud and you refused. You said your English wasn’t great and he believed you. When we wrote that test on it, you handed yours in without a name on it. I put mine on it instead. Put yours on mine.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You were struggling and I wanted to offer to help but I couldn’t talk to you.” He shakes his head. “I tried to talk to you so many times and I never could.”
“I have dyslexia,” I tell him, though I don’t know why. I’ve never volunteered that to anyone before. Not even Carrie.
“I know. I could tell by your writing.”
“My teachers never picked up on it.”
“They weren’t paying attention.”
“But you were?”
“I always was.”
I take a step forward and gently put the gun on the kitchen island. As I work through what he’s telling me, I return to the living room and lower myself into a chair. He’s trying to tell me something without actually telling me. That he, what? Liked me? Had a crush on me? That he still does? Ten years later? Is that even possible? Is that creepy? Am I creeped out? I don’t even know. I’m too shocked to work through my emotions.
“Look, I know you’ve got more on your plate now than you can handle. I don’t want to do or say anything to overwhelm you. And I don’t expect anything from you at all. It’s just that in school you were the only reason I looked forward to going.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Because you’d do things that no one else would do. Like lie in the grass at lunch and stare up at the sky. Or wear clothes that no one else would dare wear.”
“I was fashionable.”
“I don’t know about fashionable. Colorful, maybe.”
He scratches his chin as he approaches me. “And your laugh. Not that giggle you sometimes let out, but that full-on belly laugh that sounds as if you’re about to fall down and roll on the floor. I heard it once in chemistry and I think you got detention for it.”
“Mr. Burns told me I was disruptive.”
He grins. “You stood out—at least to me.”
“You could have said something.”
“I did. I got up the courage to ask you to prom. You told me you already said yes to Chad Taylor.”
I frown, remembering that night that’s always made me question my worth. I can’t even remember Damien asking me. How could I have been so oblivious to him? If I’d gone with him, things would be different now. I would be different.
Just as I start to let my guard down, I throw my walls back up. Warning flags scream in my head that he’s a liar and he’s trying to trick me. Trying to force me to open up to him to take advantage. But that doesn’t make sense. Every memory he has rings true to me. The details he remembers are too specific for them to be lies. I mean, how could he remember what I wore to school my first day at Sterling Junior High?
“So you what…have a thing for me? Still?”
He licks his lips and takes a moment. “I did. And when I left, I dated and had relationships and I moved on. But then your aunt…she pu
lled me right back in, right where I was when I was in high school. All I had to do was ask once, about how you were. And that was it. Every letter she sent had something about you. Something you did or said or wanted. The smallest details.”
“My head is spinning,” I say, as I work through his words. I don’t know what to say or if I should say anything at all.
“I’m not the enemy, Beth,” he says, softly. “I never have been.”
I nod. “Because you want me.” As the words come out I immediately regret them. They make me sound full of myself, which I definitely am not. I couldn’t be more shocked that he had a thing for me in high school. That he watched me and thought I was…different…special…or whatever he wants to call it. Heat rises to my cheeks and I look down to focus on my fidgeting hands.
“I did. You don’t even know how much.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know what I feel now. But I know I don’t want you to leave yet and that’s something.”
“Yet?” That’s the keyword. Crushing on me is one thing, but that’s not what I suck at. Keeping men interested is my problem. And the more he talks the more I don’t want him to be just like the other guys who’ve walked in and out of my life. He’s making me feel special, like I matter. “He’s perfect for you,” Mona said. Why couldn’t she have just told me he had this fucking lifelong crush on me? But I know why she didn’t. I would have run away. Faster than lightning.
I look over at Damien and his confidence seems to have dissipated. Now I see the boy I remember, in his shifty eyes and his fidgeting fingers. He’s just as vulnerable as I am. Maybe more. It makes me want to throw down my walls. In fact, I can’t stop myself from taking the plunge.
I hold my breath, reach out, and touch my hand to his. “I don’t know what to think about all of this,” I say. “But…I don’t think you’re my enemy. I…want…to trust you. And I don’t want to go anywhere either.”
His fingers intertwine with mine and the look he gives me…soft…sweet…intense…is something I’ve only ever seen in movies or fairy tales and it thaws the walls of ice I’ve strategically drawn around the real me. I like this look. I like it so much I fear I will crave it over and over again.
If only he’d looked at me like this when we were kids.
If only I’d paid attention.
Chapter Seven
Damien leads me to where Mickey still sleeps. He checks on his bandages and gives him some more medication through a needle to the back of his arm. After I tuck Mickey in, Damien takes my hand again—this time without asking. He gently tugs me out of the room and toward his bedroom. He opens the window and there’s a ledge there with a railing around it for safety. He helps me out and then hops over the sill, urging me to climb the black metal railing against the building.
I reluctantly go first, hand over hand, foot over foot, until I reach the roof. When I get there I halt and my mouth drops open. “What is this?”
I climb over the lip of the building and hop onto the roof.
Damien stands beside me now, scratching his chin. “Mona found this place. I…uh…wanted to find a place with a backyard, but she took me here instead.”
“It’s gorgeous. How could anyone leave here?” I take a few steps forward, scan the roof. There’s a wooded deck in the center with lawn furniture strewn across it and surrounding it are pots upon pots of shrubs and flowers. On the far side of where we stand there’s even a layer of grass with a hammock resting on it.
“What I wouldn’t give for a place like this.” And I have to wonder why she never mentioned it to me. Why she never told me she was apartment hunting with Damien. In death, she seems more and more a mystery to me.
“Come on,” Damien says, nudging me forward with his shoulder.
He takes a seat on an Adirondack chair and I lower myself into the one beside him. I note the telescope in the far corner and turn to him. “Astronomy?”
“Yeah. I’m not really into it or anything, but sometimes I like to look at the stars. In Afghanistan, I felt peace when I looked up at them at night. I could have been anywhere looking up at the sky and seen virtually the same thing.”
“Hmph,” I say, taking in what he’s saying. We sit in silence, looking up at those stars for a few minutes. I hadn’t expected him to surprise me like he did and it throws me off balance—but in a good way. I needed something like this to remind myself to breathe again, that life goes on, even if it’ll never be the same.
He leans his head against the back of his chair and rolls his head over to face me. I do the same, my stomach fluttering as warmth spreads throughout my body.
“I could live up here,” I say.
“Might get cold in the winter.”
I chuckle. “I’d wear a coat.”
“I’m sure you would.”
I turn in my chair toward him. “I’m kind of pissed Mona didn’t tell me about this place.”
“She liked me better.”
I frown, and his words hit home as I think about everything she kept from me. He may be joking but I can’t help but wonder if he’s right. Was I really as important to her as she was to me?
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Mona adored you.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybes about it. One day…if you want…I’ll let you read her letters. I kept some of them and I think seeing the side of her that she kept for me might help you understand her a little more.”
“You’d let me read them?”
He shrugs. “If you want them, they’re yours.”
“Thank you, Damien. I want to read them.”
“Just say when.”
“Are you really this amazing? Like, am I going to find out in a few weeks that you’re really a woman? Or a robot or…an asshole?”
He laughs out loud, the noise echoing around us. “I’m just a regular guy.”
“No, you’re not,” I say softly. “There is nothing regular about you, Damien Mendes.”
He takes my hand and turns it over, pressing his soft lips to the inside of my palm. “Ditto.”
I pull my hand away, forcing a smile. I like Damien. And I’m in danger of liking him more than what’s good for me. He could ruin me with his sad eyes and his gentle touch. He could end me. If he were any other guy, I would assume I had a week or two before he walked away and trampled my heart into the ground. My head tells me he’ll do the same. I’m foolish for trusting him even a little, but my heart tells me something completely different. I can trust him. I can open up and feel safe. I just have to take a breath and jump.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
“I need to focus,” I say, switching gears.
Smirking, he says, “Okay.”
“Now I know who you are, maybe you can help me fill in the gaps.”
He puckers his eyebrows.
“Are you able to find out what really happened that night Mona died?”
He scratches at his chin and pauses a beat. “I already know.”
“What? You know? You were keeping that from me too?”
“I assumed you knew more than I did so why tell you things you already knew?”
“I want to know everything,” I say. “Until Mickey wakes up I’m completely in the dark and though I know I need to be afraid of the Dantes, I don’t know why.”
“What do you know?”
I shake my head, recalling the night I last saw Mona, and I tell him everything without leaving out a single detail.
“This Sam guy from the pub? He was the serial killer headlining the newspapers?”
“He was the guy who attacked my friend, Evie. And they say that she was attacked by the Night Walker.” The Night Walker, the fantastic name given to the sick fuck by the media.
“I don’t know why, but Sam was being protected by the Hills, and the Dantes,” Damien says. “Jimmy told Declan not to retaliate for what Sam did to his girlfriend.”
“There’
s no way Declan would have let that go. Jimmy had to have known that.”
“Well, there you have it. Declan got his revenge. Or Jimmy thought he did because someone blew up Sam’s apartment building the same night your aunt got shot. The same night Declan and Evie went into police custody.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I have friends.”
“Okay…friends like who? Because you can’t always trust the information people in this city give you.”
“I got a close friend on the police force. When Carrie called me to tell me she was bringing a wounded Mickey Bilski over, I started asking questions.”
“To the cops? Are you kidding me?”
He holds up his hands and shushes me. “Just hang on a minute before you fly off the rails. I called a buddy of mine who served with me years ago. If I ask him for a favor, he’ll deliver and he’ll keep his mouth shut. We look out for each other.”
“Well, I don’t trust cops.”
“I never asked you to trust him. I’m asking you to trust me.” He studies my reaction but I hold my cards tight against my chest. “Besides,” he adds, “I never told him about Mickey. I just asked if there was anything I should know about. That’s when he told me my step-dad was in jail for a number of charges including ordering his men to kill your aunt.”
I lower my head and take a deep breath. I want so much to believe it didn’t happen, but there it is. And when he says it, it’s a glaring reminder.
“Hey.” He touches his fingers to my chin and forces me to look at him. “Jimmy didn’t make bail. These charges are going to stick and he’s going away for a long time.”
“I don’t want him in jail. I want him dead.”
Damien tips his head to the side and the look he gives me is something akin to pity. I don’t want any of it. I slap his hand away from my chin and he grips my wrist as I try to pull it away.
“You don’t know what it’s like to kill. You don’t get over it, even if you think the person you kill deserves it. It haunts you, Beth. Changes you.”
“I don’t care; I just…want to feel something…something other than this crushing pain in my chest. No matter how hard I want to believe she’s still alive, this pain reminds me I’ll never see her again. I’ll never tell her I…” I take a breath and try to collect myself as emotions bubble up inside of me.