Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  The orchids.

  The fact she cared.

  I thought I’d fallen in love with Amy Randall, but I’d only paid for Amy Randall because I was so hung up on Melissa Martin, even though she was faceless, even though she ran from me when I called.

  “You didn’t need to be Amy,” I tell her. “I already wanted Melissa.”

  I know my words pain her. She flinches as I say them. “Please don’t,” she whispers. “It hurts enough already. I can’t bear to think I lost it all in vain.”

  But she hasn’t.

  She hasn’t lost it.

  As much as I want to hate her, I can’t.

  As much as I want to turn my back and leave her here, I can’t.

  I can’t run without her.

  I don’t want to run without her.

  If my father’s associates don’t put an end to me, I’ll put an end to myself.

  Today, or tomorrow, or further down the line when Brutus has long breathed his last breath.

  When the boys are all grown up and don’t even call anymore.

  When there is only me.

  She made me feel alive again, without her I’ll want to die again. It’s only a matter of time.

  I’m about to say it when a cry sounds through the wall.

  It jars my senses, just as it did all those years ago when my boys were so young.

  “Shit,” she says. “Joseph. He has nightmares sometimes.”

  “Go,” I say, but she’s already on her way.

  I wander through her living room as the cries continue. I hear her singing and she has such a beautiful voice. Such a sad voice.

  I wait ten minutes and the kid’s cries are still fraught.

  Fifteen minutes go by and I can’t hold back. It’s instinct.

  Parental instinct.

  The strength of it takes me aback.

  I knock on the door so gently. “Melissa?”

  “Come in,” she says over his sobs.

  I push the door open slowly, and there she is, rocking so gently with that sweet little thing in her arms. He looks like her. Even with his face all crumpled with tears, he looks like her.

  His little nightlight glows on the nightstand, and this must have been her parents’ room. Their bed is still made up neatly. A piece of floral fabric still pokes from the wardrobe doors.

  It must break her heart every day to come in here.

  I know, because my boys’ bedrooms broke mine, even though I still saw them every Sunday.

  I had to take them apart in the end. They’re magnolia now. Empty.

  “Matthew used to get night terrors,” I tell her. “I used to point out the stars. He liked that.”

  She smiles. “You did?”

  I nod.

  “I think he still dreams of them,” she tells me. “I do, too. It hurts so bad when I wake up and find they’re not there.”

  She looks so tired. She looks fragile and willowy and lost.

  I hold out my arms. “Maybe I could try?” I offer, and she bounces him on her hip before she hands him over.

  “This is Alexander,” she whispers. “He’s very kind. He’s going to show you the stars. He showed me them, too.”

  That little boy’s eyes are so wide as they stare into mine. My heart is thumping as I take him.

  “Hi, Joseph,” I say. “I’m Alex.”

  “Alex?” Melissa whispers and I nod. “I like Alex.”

  So do I.

  I take that little boy through to the living room and pull back the curtains. The city glows orange, but you can just about see them, the little pinpricks of white in the sky.

  He forgets to cry as I point them out. His little hand grabs my finger as I gesture to the few constellations I can see.

  “Stars,” I say. “They’re magic.”

  I’m aware Lissa is at my back. I feel her eyes.

  “Can you count them?” I ask, and he laughs at me. His laugh is the sweetest sound.

  “You’re good with him,” Lissa whispers.

  The triumph thrills me.

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “More than me,” she says. “I’m still learning.”

  She’s doing a great job and I tell her so.

  “Dean does most of it,” she says, and I remember he still lives here. I remember he’s coming back soon. “Time for bed now,” I say to Joseph, and he’s happy to go back to Lissa when she takes him.

  I watch from the doorway as she settles him back down and sets his twinkle mobile playing.

  She eases the door closed when he’s asleep.

  “Thanks,” she says. “Sometimes it takes hours.”

  I don’t have hours.

  I don’t even have minutes.

  Every breath takes me closer to disaster.

  So I say it. I have to.

  “Come with me,” I say. “Both of you.”

  Her eyes fill with tears. “But I can’t… you said you don’t even know me, and you don’t know Joe, and what about Dean? Dean’s been so good to us, and he has nobody. His parents are assholes.”

  I know that feeling.

  “Then I guess we get to know each other, Lissa. You, me, Joseph. Dean, too. We’ll all go. Fresh start.”

  She shakes her head, and it’s not a refusal it’s disbelief. She crumples to the floor and I head down there with her, and it feels so nice to be back in her arms.

  “It’ll be scary for the first few months,” I say. “We may need to keep moving.”

  “I don’t care,” she says. “We’ll go wherever you go, all of us.”

  I hear the key in the front door, and kiss Lissa’s forehead before Dean comes through.

  “I need to pack,” I say. “You do, too. Come over this afternoon when you’re ready. Pack as light as you can. We’ll leave from mine.”

  She nods. “We’ll be there.”

  And I know she will be.

  I’ll be waiting.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  ALEXANDER

  I CAB it back to mine with my heart in my hands.

  Make or break.

  Life or death.

  And I’m excited.

  This rollercoaster isn’t done yet.

  We’ll leave under darkness, when anyone watching thinks I’m all tucked up for the evening.

  I’ll organise a hire car and get it delivered before midnight, and we’ll take off for somewhere far away. Anywhere.

  Maybe the coast. Brutus will like it there. So would Joseph, I’m sure.

  Brutus wags his tail as I step on in. I bolt the doors up tight and get to work.

  I sort through my paperwork and take the few pieces of documentation I need.

  I pack my photos and the few of my gemstones that made it through my rage unscathed.

  I choose my favourite suits from the sea of black in my wardrobe, and contemplate whether I’ll still be wearing them in a few months’ time.

  Choosing the things from my boys’ old bedrooms takes the longest. It’s a ladder into the loft job, rooting through boxes I’d packed in a hurry. Some finger paintings, and their first teddy bears and Matthew’s reward chart that I pulled down from the kitchen door.

  Two cases is all I need. My whole life packed in two cases.

  The second of them is mainly filled with the contents of my safe.

  My father tries to call at seven a.m. and again at eight and nine on the dot.

  He leaves a voicemail at eleven, but I don’t listen.

  It’s when I get a text from an unknown number that I know the rumour mill has started.

  Ronald bastard Robertson.

  I wish I could give him the scoop before I go. One last confession of my father’s seedy business for his tabloid.

  He attempts to call me at lunchtime. Pings an email to my work address asking for a puppet master exclusive.

  I ignore that, too.

  There are only two things I have left to do.

  Order a hire car, and wait for Melissa.

&nbs
p; I get to work ordering the hire car.

  MELISSA

  “WE’RE REALLY GONNA DO THIS?” Dean asks and I nod.

  “We’re really doing this.”

  He helps me with Joe’s things, packing them into one of Mum and Dad’s old suitcases as Joe tries to pull them back out again. It’s a slow process but a happy one.

  Dean hardly has anything for himself. One single rucksack stuffed with clothes and his phone charger.

  I hardly take any care with mine, just throw in the clothes fit for purpose and my crystals along with them. It’s when I get to my parents’ room that things become a bit harder.

  Photos and memories. Too many to pack.

  But I guess I can send for them when we’re settled.

  Months, Alexander said.

  “You’re sure he’s down with me coming?” Dean asks and I nod.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “And things won’t be… weird?”

  “Not if we don’t let them be. Fresh start, right? This place is so full of memories. Good and bad.”

  “A fresh start sounds real good.” he says. “For all of us.”

  Yes, it does.

  The cash is the last thing I pack, wedges of notes that I was waiting to deposit into Joseph’s account when I got the chance.

  It feels weird to pile it in amongst my clothes.

  I’ll give it back to Alexander. He can take care of it, for Joe.

  I hope he can take care of all of us.

  I hope he lets me take care of him right back.

  Our things are piled up in the hallway when I call a cab. We’re out of breath when we’ve lugged it downstairs, but I fasten Joe in with a smile.

  “Wave goodbye to our old house,” I say and he does. He waves b-bye.

  “This is it then?” Dean asks as the car pulls away.

  “This is really it,” I say.

  ALEXANDER

  MY HEART THUMPS when their cab pulls up outside the house.

  I tell Brutus to behave. Tell him to sit fucking down and be nice for once.

  I unbolt the front door with a smile, bounding out without thinking to help them inside with their cases, and a tap on my fucking shoulder nearly gives me a fucking heart attack.

  Ronald fucking Robertson outside my fucking house.

  His gormless photographer snaps a shot of us with the cases and I nearly knock his front teeth out.

  I send Melissa on in with Joe and wait till the boy is out of earshot.

  “Don’t you even fucking dare think of printing that,” I say.

  Ronald shrugs. “I think we can keep it out of the final draft if you’ll give me a few words about what’s going down? Family feud, right? Is it true you’re gonna expose your father’s gangland clients?”

  “Like fucking hell it is,” I say. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

  He holds up his hands. “Just saying what I heard, Henley, that’s all. Can’t believe you’re getting a fucking conscience at your old age.” He laughs. I hate his fucking laugh. He gestures to my front door as Dean lugs the last of the cases inside. “That pretty little thing got anything to do with it?”

  “That pretty little thing is none of your fucking business, either.”

  I leave him at my gate where he belongs.

  “Give me a scoop!” he shouts. “Your side of the story!”

  “I have no fucking side of any story,” I say. “I’m fucking done!”

  I close the door behind me, and close the fucking curtains so the cunt can’t see inside.

  MELISSA

  IT’S SO nice to be back in Alexander’s house.

  It’s so nice to wander around the rooms and smell his bedsheets for one last time.

  They won’t be his bedsheets in the new place, they’ll be ours. The thought makes me giddy.

  I show Dean around the place I’ve come to know so well, and he knows we’re just killing time, chasing away the nerves that are thrumming from Alexander even though he tries to hide them, but we play along anyway.

  Even Brutus is a good boy as we introduce him to Joe. He doesn’t even snarl at Dean either.

  It’s like he knows.

  Dogs know their own people, just as I said to Alexander, and Brutus knows us. He knows we’re all bound together, destined for pastures new. I can tell by the way he sniffs the cases, his tail thumping at the leash draped over the top, just waiting to go.

  “Are you sure we can trust the guy?” Dean asks as Alexander lets Brutus out into the garden.

  “I’d trust him with my life,” I say, and I would. I’d trust him with anything, even Joseph’s.

  “Alright,” he says. “This is some crazy ride.”

  It is, and I know it’s about to get even crazier. Good crazy.

  Just as soon as we’ve left the city behind.

  “The hire car arrives at ten,” Alexander tells us when he heads back in. “We should be safe to go then. We’ll have to be quick.”

  I nod. “We will be. We’ll make light work of it, the three of us.”

  HE PACES as the evening draws in. He smiles but I know he’s edgy.

  I settle Joseph down on the plush cream sofa, and try to settle down with him, even though my nerves are on fire.

  Dean talks about everything, waffling on about inane crap to keep us all from fizzing over. His jittery fingers are the only tell that he’s not as calm as he makes out.

  But that’s okay.

  He’s doing a great job.

  Alexander sighs with relief when the knock comes at ten to ten.

  He tells me to hold Brutus back while he takes the keys from the driver and I do. I leave Dean with Joe in the living room and take tight hold of Brutus in the kitchen. I crouch to the floor along with him and hope he doesn’t drag me right out of there.

  “Be a good boy,” I say. “Please, Brutus, don’t be a dick.”

  But he is a dick.

  I feel it in every fibre of him when Alexander heads to the front door.

  His snarl is vicious and his muscles are wound up tight, much tighter than I’ve ever seen him.

  Alexander looks back at me as he slides the bolts open. “Keep hold of him,” he says, and I nod.

  And I do. Even though it’s hard. Even though he’s pulling like a truck and I have to dig my heels into the floor to stop him tearing his way down the hallway. Even though he’s so savage he shows every single one of his teeth.

  “Calm down!” I hiss but he doesn’t listen. “Brutus, please,” I say, but he doesn’t want to know.

  He lurches forward and I shunt along with him, and I have to tug him back with all my strength as Alexander pulls the door open.

  I’m still tugging him back when the bang sounds.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  ALEXANDER

  I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN IT.

  I trust Brutus easily as much as I trust myself.

  I should have known it wasn’t mindless savagery that sent him fucking livid as I went for that door.

  And I should have known my father would never just chance me disappearing into the night.

  There’s no hire car outside when I open the door, just a man in black with his hood pulled down low.

  It’s not like Hollywood when I see the gun in his hands. There’s no heated showdown where he tells me how much my father wants me dead, or passes on some cryptic message.

  There’s just a bang. A bang and a flash.

  It feels like a punch. A punch right in my gut.

  Only it makes my ears ring.

  And everything slows down, just like it did when that cricket ball smashed my temple at twelve years old.

  The whole world slows down.

  I think I stumble before I fall. It feels like that.

  Melissa’s scream is so far away, and I wish I had the breath to tell her to stay back, but I don’t.

  I notice the tiny things in those slow seconds.

  The shock on the gunman’s face as my shirt pools wi
th blood. The widening of his eyes as he looks past me into the hallway, his gun still smoking as Brutus charges him down.

  I’m waiting for a second shot that doesn’t come.

  It can’t.

  Because Brutus is a savage beast when he needs to be.

  And in that one slow moment as I prepare to meet my end, I’m glad he is.

  I feel the heat of him as he lunges between me and the man at the door.

  I hear the crunch of his teeth as they sink into flesh and bone, and the bang as the gun unloads onto my doorstep.

  I’ve already fallen by the time the gunman screams. I don’t see Brutus tear his arm open and lock back on for more.

  I do see Melissa, though.

  Her blonde hair is like an angel’s under the ceiling light. Like the inclusions in her lucky crystal as she stares down at me and pulls my head into her lap.

  My hand is over my stomach.

  It feels as if I’ve been kicked.

  Only a kick isn’t wet and warm.

  A kick doesn’t feel like your life is slipping away from you.

  My life is definitely slipping away from me. I see it written in her pretty eyes.

  “Call an ambulance!” she screams, and it’s not at me.

  It’s so hard to raise my arm. So hard to brush her cheek with my thumb.

  Summoning my breath is the most painful thing I’ve ever done, but the most beautiful release I’ve ever felt.

  “I love you,” I say, and I wish I’d said it a lot sooner.

  I wish I’d have said it that day on the street when I chased her, even though I didn’t know her name.

  I wish I’d have told her when she turned up at my hotel room door last night, before I half killed her.

  I wish I’d have told her when I still had the strength to kiss her goodbye.

  But it’s perfect all the same.

  She’s perfect.

  And she was worth it.

  Worth dying for.

  Her fingers are gentle in mine. Her eyes streaming as she tells me I’m going to be fine, that an ambulance is on its way.

  She promised me she’d never lie again, but I think I can forgive her this one.

  I love the irony of this insane thing we call life. If I was a man who believed in mumbo jumbo, I’d say fate has a wicked sense of humour.