by Chloe Cox
“Money isn’t everything.”
“But it’s very close.” He has one hand on the front door now, and I am just wishing for him to use it. Just get out. Don’t make me have to deal with this.
And then something occurs to me.
“How do you know how much they’re offering me?” I ask him. “You’re one of the investors, aren’t you?”
Mr. Wolfe laughs, a silvery, hollow sound. He says, “I’m asking you to consider, Harlow, that’s all. While the offer is still on the table.”
“I told you I can’t. And I’m sorry, I really, really am,” I say, and my voice almost catches, because it’s true. “But I will always do what is best for Dill.”
He looks at me sadly for a moment. Then he says, “I know you will, Harlow. That’s why I stood up for you. Now I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”
Mr. Wolfe opens the door, and I can see a black town car outside, waiting for him. It’s almost stopped raining now. As he steps out on the porch, I realize I might not see him again, and I just blurt it out. I feel like an idiot, but I just blurt it out.
“Why is Marcus back?” I ask.
Mr. Wolfe smiles over his shoulder. “Sign the papers, Harlow. You never know what might happen to an old house like this.”
chapter 4
MARCUS
The first time Harlow said, “Lie to me,” she was joking, but I did it anyway.
I like to think about that first time, when I made my girl laugh, rather than all the times that came after it, when she asked me to lie to her to keep her from crying. But I’m thinking about all those times she asked me to lie to her as I’m walking around Williamsburg, into Greenpoint, slowly circling in on the bar where Harlow works now. I can’t help it. You return to visit the past and find it all different, you end up going through every single one of your memories like the last change left in your pocket just to make sure you’re remembering it right.
So my head is full of Harlow. I don’t really mind.
That first time she told me to lie to her, she’d sent me a text at like five in the morning, telling me she couldn’t come by to train that morning. I’ll be honest, I was paranoid. It was after her father had been by the gym to check me out, and I thought I’d handled that, you know? And hell, I was already on my way over to her house to pick her up like we’d agreed after that, just to walk her over to the gym, make sure she got there safe.
It didn’t even occur to me not to go to her house. Not until I was there, seeing the windows all lit up, way too early in the morning for that. I knocked on the door, and only after that did I think that wait, maybe something was really wrong. The idea that something might be really wrong with Lo?
That made me knock harder.
So that was when I met Mrs. Chase.
She looked like Harlow, or would have if she’d slept more in the last few days and didn’t have a little boy in her arms. Actually, she looked like hell.
Turns out Mr. Chase was on a business trip, some kind of advertising thing, and first the little guy, Dill, and then Harlow had gotten some kind of bug. Mrs. Chase looked like she was about to lose her mind.
“What, Marcus?” she said. “What?”
I had to try not to laugh, because it sounded like she was just pleading with the universe, just begging it not to throw anything else at her.
“Need any help?” I asked.
Mrs. Chase blinked a few times. Then she said, “Yes,” and pulled me inside.
So I fixed their garbage disposal. Ran the trash out. Did whatever. All that took like twenty minutes while Mrs. Chase was taking care of Dill, and when I was done she looked at me like I was an angel.
Come on. You know I liked that. The parents thinking I’m Superman? Not too bad.
I should probably say, at this point, that I had not yet admitted to myself that I had feelings for Harlow. I mean, yeah, I had sexual feelings for her. That was a given, with that body and that face. But in my eyes she was still too young, at least in experience—I’d already figured out she was smarter than me, but smart doesn’t get you everything. So it was more like I cared about her, but I was looking out for her. Like she was in the minors, looking to move up to the majors.
That’s kind of a lie, though. I don’t know what I was waiting on, exactly, maybe just reassurance that I wouldn’t screw it up and hurt her. Because the truth was, I got a lot of pussy, but not a whole lot of relationships. Or maybe I was just afraid. Or maybe my instincts were just that good. No matter what the real reasons behind my decision to hold off, I still saw her as mine, regardless. Not that I told her that.
So maybe I was always kind of a bastard.
Anyway, twenty minutes of doing chores for Mrs. Chase and I was walking upstairs to check in on Harlow. I would have been there anyway if she’d told me she was sick. I smiled, thinking maybe she knew that. She had to know I was going to come check up on her if she sent me a text like that with no explanation.
You know what I remember most about the Chase home before the accident? All the pictures. They had all these family pictures all over the walls, and on the wall of the staircase, so they were at eye level all the way up. Happy family type pictures, all smiling and teasing each other. Walking up that staircase was like taking a tour of the kind of life I’d heard about but never saw for myself.
Harlow’s room was near the stairs, and I thought how Mrs. Chase would be able to hear me if she came back out. I cleared my throat and said, “Lo, you up?”
That was a thin door. I heard her make a sound, like a kind of squeak. Never heard her do that before, so I laughed and said, “I’m coming in.”
I opened the door and her room was still mostly dark, just a lamp on by the side of her bed. And her bed was just a lumpy mess. My girl was hiding under the damn covers.
“What are you doing?” I asked, still smiling, walking over to her bed.
“Hiding.”
The idea was crazy to me. Have you ever seen someone’s face when they’re hitting the bag so hard you know they’re going to throw up when the round is over? I’d seen her like that.
“You kidding?” I said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. My weight moved the lump under the blankets, she was so little. “Why?”
“I look like something that lives under a bridge.”
I laughed. “No, you don’t.”
“Well, I feel like something that lives under a bridge.”
I grabbed hold of the blanket with my left hand and gave it a little tug, felt the give on it, and pulled it down over her head. Down to her waist.
Man, she was wearing nothing but a tank top that I could see, all ruffled up under the covers, leaning back against those pillows with her hair all messed up.
Jesus Christ.
Even with her tired eyes and pale skin, for a second—just a second—she looked like what I suddenly knew she’d look like after sex. Do I even need to say what that did to me? It would have brought me to my knees if I wasn’t already sitting down, and it was nothing compared to the real thing.
But that was later. That was after everything changed. That was the best night of my life, the night Harlow and I first made love.
But before then, in her room, just seeing her all mussed up in a tank top, no bra? I don’t know if she knew what was going through my mind. She thought she looked terrible, I thought she was gorgeous. But she let me look. She let me look, and she looked so damn happy to see me. We were both just quiet for a moment while I stared at her.
Then she smiled a little and said, “Lie to me.”
“You look like something that lives under a bridge,” I said.
Harlow opened her eyes wide, her mouth open, trying not to smile too much, and threw one of those pillows at me.
“You said lie!” I laughed at her.
“So we’re lying to each other now?”
I shrugged. “Special circumstances, when you need lying to, sure.”
Harlow narrowed her eyes and gave me one o
f those wicked grins. “Ok. You’re going to lose your fight,” she said.
If she’d jabbed me then, I swear to God she could have knocked me over. Then I started to laugh my ass off.
Harlow had seen how hard I’d been training for that fight with Manny Dolan, and because of that she was maybe the only one who knew how important it was to me, even if I hadn’t said it outright. I always liked that, that she let it alone unless I wanted to bring it up. But I knew she knew how important it was, that it was live or die to me, and she took this thing I was worried about and made it harmless. Made it funny.
She was fucking amazing.
I threw the pillow back and said, “Pops says it’s fine now, and you should come by the gym. Says girls can fight.”
“Yeah? My parents hate you.”
“I didn’t want to tell you this, Lo, but you’re gonna fail the SATs,” I said.
Harlow laughed until she started to cough, but that one actually made me think. Because the truth was that Harlow was going to ace that test, and she was going to go to any college she wanted to. I was the one who was going to stick around, maybe get a job with my godfather. And I hadn’t thought much about that. How, in less than two years, she’d be gone.
It didn’t feel so good, I’ll be honest. But knowing what I know now? I wish to God I could have traded the future she got for one where she got to take that test like a normal girl, go to college like a normal girl, get all the normal things, even if she was doing it thousands of miles away from me.
Hell, I would have followed her. She’s got something on me, always has. All these years away and I still feel tethered to her, like what kept my blood pumping all this time was that she was out there, existing somewhere in the world. And the closer I get to her now, the more alive I feel. Like I’m just waking up.
Feels dangerous, somehow.
And I know why her words keep echoing around inside my head as I walk around the old neighborhood, trying to find anything, anything at all that I recognize. I keep seeing crazy condos and hipster bars and white guys my age dressed up to look like Kanye but looking instead like characters from a Dr. Seuss book or something, and I just keep hearing her say: Lie to me. Lie to me, Marcus.
Yeah, I know what that’s about. You don’t have to be a shrink to figure that one out. I ended up lying to Harlow a bunch when she needed me to, and now I’m circling in, walking in orbit around where I know Harlow Chase to be at this very moment, because I have to go do it again. I have to lie to her in order to save her.
Should be easier this time around, right?
***
I walk into the bar where she works, The Alley, and I swear to God it’s another world. All those Dr. Seuss looking guys I saw out on the street are actually in here, in this bar, drinking whiskey and laughing too loudly at each other’s jokes. There’s a stage. There’s a woman on the stage, and she’s doing burlesque or something.
Man, if you had told me five years ago what would happen to the neighborhood, I’d have tried to get you to put money on it and then I would have laughed and called you a chump.
But they all seem to be having fun, so to each his own. It is different than I remember, that’s all.
I wander for a while, my whole body tense, knowing she’s close. And then there, behind the bar: Harlow.
Jesus.
So. Fucking. Beautiful.
My world goes from black and white to color, from dead and dull to alive and intense. It’s almost too much, like my entire nervous system clicks on at once, every nerve firing at maximum capacity, telling me to get the hell over there and claim her. Because she is mine, she was always meant to be mine, and I’ll be hers even when she hates me.
I kept it under control these past five years just by being away from her, but now that I’ve seen her, it’s done. There’s no going back. She’s all I can think about. All I breathe. All I want. And there’s nothing left in me I care about except what I can be for her.
I forget all about my job. I forget all about how dangerous Alex Wolfe will be if he doesn’t get what he wants. I forget about everything except what I need to do for Harlow.
Fuck, I want her.
My muscles are coiled up tight with the effort of holding back, because the truth is I know I have to earn it. That’s fine. That’s as it should be. I’m not afraid of hard work. But my blood burns me and my bones feel like they’ll crack under the pressure, because everything in my primal being knows where I should be right now. And it’s not watching her from far away.
I should have been here all along.
And instead I have to watch her frown down at her phone, have to watch her face fall in that faint blue light, fall in that way I haven’t seen in years. And then some asshole in a skull cap is right on top of her at the bar, hollering at her, hassling her, trying to flirt like he doesn’t see or doesn’t care that she obviously just got some very bad news.
What is wrong with people?
I don’t consciously walk over to the bar. It’s like I’m there instantaneously, grabbing Skull Cap’s arm, pulling him back and away from her. He tries to yank his arm free and it makes me smile.
“Hey, what’s your problem?” he asks me.
I stare down at him, rolling my shoulders, feeling the weight of all that muscle I spent years earning.
“Go. Somewhere. Else,” I say.
He looks like he maybe thinks about arguing, but not for very long. He looks into my chest, his eye level, then slowly looks up. Then he mumbles something that sounds like an apology and disappears back into the crowd.
I’m a big guy.
I straighten my tie and turn, finally, to Harlow. She’s staring at me with her mouth open, having no idea how beautiful she is even when she’s annoyed.
“Are you kidding me?” she says.
I grin at her. “Me? Have you seen the people in this bar? Or out on the street? Tell me they’re not trying to be funny.”
Harlow’s suppresses a smile. “I wondered if you’d have a stroke, checking out the new neighbors.”
“I thought I might’ve, and that’s why I was seeing a bunch of glow in the dark Muppets walking around.”
These new hipster guys, they seem to like neon colors. But you know what? That got a laugh. Harlow Chase forgot to hate me long enough to laugh.
But then she remembers.
“What are you doing here?” she says, her tone hard again, sharp. Like a weapon.
I don’t flinch. “I’m here to see you.”
“Well, get out.”
“No.”
We stare at each other across the bar, Harlow raising her chin up the way she does, the blue glow from her phone illuminating her face, giving her away. She’s upset. I look right back at her, steadily, and I don’t know what happens; maybe she can see what I’m feeling in my face, that I just want to fix it, to help, that it’s still me, it’s still her Marcus. There’s that same thing that happened back by the bridge, that same way the air changed, the sound changed, like the world slid sideways and snapped back into place, where it should have been all along. Me and her. Together. I want to reach out and touch her but I hold myself back, just savor the feel of this thing between us.
“What’s wrong, Lo?” I ask her.
“Besides the fact that you won’t get out of my bar?” she says. “None of your business.”
“We can disagree about that,” I say, leaning over the bar. The closer I get to her, the stronger I feel, and I think about hopping over, picking her up, burying my face in her neck. Goddamn. “But I can still help.”
She works her jaw, and I can tell she’s grinding her teeth. “I don’t want your help,” she finally says.
“You need it, though.”
“How the hell would you know?”
I study her for another second, give her a look, like come on, you know the answer to that. “You don’t look like that unless you need help,” I tell her. “Because you hate needing help.”
She’s stung
that I know this, that I can still read her face. And I have to admit it isn’t fair.
“Fuck you,” she says softly.
I glare at her. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to stand here until you cave?”
Harlow looks at me, her lips pursed, and then she sighs. She knows I really will just stand here until she tells me. She used to call me her pit bull, I was so stubborn. Still am.
And she’s still smarter than me. Knows when to pick her battles.
“The septic tank at the house is apparently busted,” she says, her tone flat. “Septic tanks are also apparently expensive.”
And she turns to wipe down a part of the bar that’s already clean, not wanting to have to look me in the eye any longer, as though the conversation is over, which tells me all I need to know.
“You don’t have the money?” I ask.
She stops, freezes, like that hurt her. Then she looks back at me, standing up as tall and straight as she can, so I can see how she’s kept her body up, her skin luminescent in the low light. I feel like an asshole for noticing, but I think most men would. Then again, most men are assholes.
“I have the money,” she says, and she’s gone full ice queen.
“But?” I say.
“But I was going to spend it on something else,” she spits out. “You know, like people do with money.”
“What were you going to spend it on?”
“Jesus Christ, Marcus, can’t you just leave me alone?”
“I should tell you, Lo, that’s the one thing I’ll never do again,” I say.
She stops.
Those big blue eyes lock on me while the rest of her just…stops. I can tell she’s holding her breath. Waiting. Not sure of what to say, what to think, what to feel. She blinks and it looks like there’s water in her eyes, and I know I got through to her, said the thing she wanted me to say, and maybe also the thing she never wanted to hear. Maybe it will always be this way with us now, the thing you love and the thing you hate all wrapped up in one.