I stand outside the restaurant, checking my phone and looking around the parking lot again for his car. Stop freaking out. You probably just fucked up your period because you missed the pill a few times. I was actually due for my period two days after he slept with me—no, fucked me. I was able to push that to the back of my mind and believe it was stress or missing the pill for a while. Now? Now I’m not so sure. I should just get a pregnancy test and be sure one way or another, but I can’t bring myself to take that step. That will make it permanent, real. Right now it’s just a maybe, and nobody’s life was ever derailed by a maybe.
Then again, my life left the tracks a long time ago. I think back to the conversation I had with Mom yesterday. She sounded hopeful about the latest report from her doctor, but all he said was the tumor hadn’t grown since her last visit. It wasn’t shrinking, it just wasn’t getting any worse. I tried to sound excited for her, but I couldn’t help thinking about the inevitability and unfairness of it.
Where the hell is he? I move around the side of the restaurant, not sure what I’m expecting to see. It’s not like he’ll be wandering around trying to find the entrance and needing my help. All I see is a white Cadillac driving slowly around the parking lot looking for a space, but they keep passing perfectly good spots to park. Morons.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve taken off my heels and I’m sitting on the bench, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. Of course he didn’t show up. Guys like him don’t jump through hoops for women. They stick around until they get tired of the sex and move on to something new and fresh. He probably realized I wasn’t giving it up easily enough and decided not to waste his time. I don’t know if I can even blame him. I probably seem like a total mess. What kind of woman throws away so much for a few minutes of pleasure?
I rub a hand on my stomach and feel tears welling in my eyes.
The host steps outside the restaurant and gives me a worried look. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
I sniff, wiping away tears and smearing my makeup. “No, these are tears of fucking happiness.”
He reels back, rushing inside like I just flashed fangs at him. I sigh, cradling my head in my hands and letting the tears flow freely. When did I become such an idiot?
Four Years Later
“Roman! Get your shoe out of your mouth!”
Roman gives me the cutest guilty smile imaginable and slowly lowers the shoe. “Sorry, Mommy.”
I sigh, kneeling down and hugging him tight. I still can’t believe how much I love him. He’s my little guy, and he’s the one thing in this world that keeps me sane. I can see so much of Leo in him. He has Leo’s long eyelashes, dark hair, and mouth, but he has my pert nose and green eyes.
“Can you maybe play with some of the toys I worked so hard to buy for you instead of eating your shoes?”
He giggles and runs off, yelling out something between a war cry and a scream. I smile as I watch him go. I really don’t know what I’d do without my little man. There has been so much pain and strife in my life, and it has all been packed into such a short span of time. I think it would break most people, but I’m still standing. For now, at least.
I look at the mail stacked on the kitchen table and mentally brace myself as I tear open the first letter. I know what it is going to be before I even open it. We just got the bad news that mom’s cancer came back last month. I haven’t had the heart to tell Roman yet, and I don’t know when or if I ever will. I don’t know what good it would do for him to know. I also haven’t figured out how I’m going to help her pay again. I’m still paying off loans I took to get her through her last treatments. She has her social security checks, but she can’t work anymore, and the bills are astronomical. There’s just no way for her to do it without my help, and I’m not going to watch my mom suffer idly.
Still. It’s one thing to say and another to do. I look at the bill from Bayside Hospital—four thousand seven hundred dollars. All I want to do is bang my forehead on the table and give up, but I can’t. I have mom depending on me and Roman needs me to be strong, so I suck it up and set the bill to the left, in the “what the hell am I going to do about this” stack. The rest of the mail is mostly reminders about outstanding debt, new bills, notices of what is going to be shut off and when if we don’t pay soon. Too bad I can’t just burn it all down.
I stand up when I’m done and look over at Roman. “Where are your pants?” I ask.
He straightens, frowning at me in confusion and then looking down at his little tighty whities. His mouth forms a surprised “O”. He points toward the bathroom.
I go to pick him up but he runs from me. I laugh, chasing him through the house as he giggles, bobbing and weaving beneath furniture that only he’s small enough to fit under. When I finally catch him, we’re both huffing and puffing. “You little gremlin! I’m not taking you to Lauren’s without pants on.”
“Why not?” he asks, still smiling.
“Because it’s not civilized.”
I find his pants on the bathroom floor and Roman puts them back on. “I want to be civilized.”
“Good,” I say, bending down and ruffling his hair. “Because civilized little boys make mommies happy.”
“I’m not little. I’m almost four.”
I grin. “Civilized young men.”
I sink into my office chair and try not to sigh in despair. Ever since I had Roman, I’ve made an extra effort to cheer myself up. My mom was always such a positive force in my life, and I want to be that for him, too. Especially since he’s having to grow up without a father. That thought skids across my consciousness so often I should be numb to it by now, but it still makes my eyes sting. My little man doesn’t have a dad. He doesn’t have someone to look up to or to teach him how to throw a baseball. I’ve done my best to do that with him, but I can’t do it all, no matter how hard I try, and it breaks my heart.
Ted opens the door to my office. He sits in the chair opposite my desk and leans back, squinting his eyes in the fake way he does that he thinks makes him look sexy. It just makes it look like he’s constipated though. “Looking great, as usual, Julia.”
“I have an appointment in a few minutes, Ted.”
He rolls his eyes and moves to stand behind me, putting his slimy hands on my shoulders and giving a sad excuse of a massage. “A few minutes is all I would need.”
“I’d be shocked if you needed more than thirty seconds,” I say.
His hands freeze on my shoulders and then his grip tightens until it’s painful. “Be careful. Do I need to remind you what will happen if you make me unhappy?”
I grit my teeth. “No.”
I can hardly believe he still holds it over my head after so long. I’m even tempted to just test him on it and see if he really could get anyone to believe him four years after the fact, but I can’t. Whether I like it or not, Ted is highly connected in the industry. If I give him a reason, he can make sure I’ll never see another patient again. He might even be able to get me fined. The only way I have to keep my son fed and with a roof over his head is to put up with Ted’s shit. Now that mom is sick again, even this isn’t going to be enough anymore. I may have to start working nights, but I’m already away from Roman so much. I can barely stand the idea of having to be gone even more. Lauren is nice enough to watch him during the day because she’s a stay-at-home mom now. She says he’s no trouble, but I know how huge a favor she’s doing for me. I can’t ask more of her.
The door opens and a woman with tattoos and a severe case of resting bitch face walks in and sits on the couch, folding her arms and staring at the wall. Ted reluctantly takes his hands from my shoulders and walks to the door. He glares at me once before closing it behind him. Sometimes I just wish Leo would come back, even if it was only for an hour. I’d love to see Ted try his bullshit when Leo was around. The thought is enough to cheer me up, and I turn to my patient.
“So, tell me how you feel.”
36
Leo
&nb
sp; I wipe my prints from the gun and toss it in the sewer grate. I already filed off the serial number when I bought it off a dealer, so there will be no trace. Angelo waits in the car, face grim. Carlito sits beside him. He’s thinner now. He’s been hitting drugs. He won’t admit it to us, but it’s painfully obvious. He’s always got the shakes and he’s getting thinner by the day, but I can hardly blame him. The life we’ve been living isn’t a life I’d wish on anyone. We live on the run, moving from hotel to hotel, always looking over our shoulders. The Morettis want our blood, and they haven’t stopped sending crews after us since Angelo killed Nico so many years back.
I tried to get away from the violence and forge a new life for myself, and now look at me. I’m still on the run, still up to my elbows in blood. Still missing her.
I pull open the car door and Angelo tosses me a rag.
“On your neck,” he says.
I check the rearview and see a light dusting of blood. I’ve gotten better about placing the bullet just right to avoid splatter, but he flinched. I pour water from a bottle and scrub the blood from my skin. I look at my hands and see the dark crusted red under my fingernails that never seems to fully wash out. No matter how much I seem to try, there’s always blood on my hands.
“We good?” asks Carlito. “I need to stop by Lakewood and grab something from a friend.”
Angelo and I exchange a wary look. A while back I would’ve said something. I would’ve put my foot down and told him to stop being so stupid with the drugs, but now I can’t bring myself to care. We live our lives at night and sleep when the sun is out. We move in the shadows and we have to kill or be killed. All that’s left is the violence and the desire to make them suffer more than they make us suffer, to take from them more than they can take from us. But haven’t they already taken everything from me? Haven’t they taken Julia?
Not everything. I punch Angelo on the shoulder and he smirks back at me. My little bro. He may be a fuckup and he may have a temper like a Chihuahua, but I’d kill for him. History can attest to that.
Still, she has never left my mind. At first, I thought I’d be past her in a few weeks, then it was a few months, then it was next year. I think about her every day. When women throw themselves at me now, I can’t bring myself to care. I brush them off because I can’t be bothered. I know without even trying that they won’t be like her. They won’t be like my Julia. No one ever will, and I don’t want to dilute the memory of fucking her by being with anyone else, even if I have to die celibate. I don’t care.
I drive past the place we’re staying to Lakewood, where shitty, crumbling apartments line the road, leaning ominously like they could fall over at any moment. Carlito must really not give a shit anymore if he’s asking us to drive him to a place like this. At least before he had the courtesy to be sneaky about it. He directs me to a place near the end of a street with no lights and asks me to park. I raise my eyebrows at him and he frowns.
“It’s cool man. Don’t worry about it. I know these guys.”
We wait as Carlito shuffles out of the car and heads into the building. One of the windows turns yellow with light. What the fuck were the people in there doing, sitting in the dark? Carlito is out of sight just long enough to make me wonder if Angelo and I are going to have to go kill some junkies, and then he emerges, shoving something into his jacket. I notice dark shapes moving around the car as Carlito approaches. I nudge Angelo and he nods back at me, hand already on his pistol.
Carlito sits in the car, hugging the drugs inside his jacket to his body and twirling his other finger. “Let’s go, man.”
Metal clicks on my window. A sickly thin man with tattoos is pointing a .22 caliber at me. I see another on Angelo’s side of the car as well. Without needing to give each other any kind of sign, we both slam our doors open at the same time. The junkies are knocked back, guns pushed aside long enough for us to squeeze off two or three rounds in them.
Gunshots tear through the silent street, making my ears ring and my hand tingle from the recoil. The scent of hot smoke and blood reaches my nose, smells I wish weren’t so familiar to me.
It’s over in seconds. Lives ended as easily and carelessly as if we had just stomped on a few ants.
I look at the body, feeling disgusted. Killing the Moretti guys who come after us is one thing. Those are professionals, guys who know what they signed up for and are out to get us first. This feels lower, cheaper. I wonder, not for the first time, what the end-game is for me now.
I holster my gun, glancing toward the house to make sure no one is planning to take pot shots at us from the windows. I doubt it though. People like this don’t rob because they are violent or capable, they do it because they are desperate and they don’t expect resistance. Whoever’s inside is probably just hoping these dead fuckers have some drugs on them to steal. I get in the car, gripping the steering wheel and twisting.
“You happy?” I ask Carlito without looking to the back seat.
“S-shit, man. I didn’t know they would try that. But you guys handled it, so no big deal, right?”
“No big deal,” says Angelo as he settles back in his seat.
Yeah, I think, starting the car up and driving away from the two fucking bodies on the street that wouldn’t be there if Carlito didn’t need drugs. No big fucking deal.
37
Julia
Callie smiles at me over her wine glass. She’s beautiful, as always. I still remember the first time I saw her walk into The Spot where I used to bartend. I thought she was beautiful then and now that I know the personality underneath, I know she’s even more amazing than she looks.
“It has been way too long,” says Callie. Her smile shows no hint of accusation, even though we both know the reason it has been so long is me. I’ve been dodging her invitations for years now. I call her every once in awhile, but it has been years since we met in person.
I finish chewing my bite of caesar salad, taking my time to pick the right words. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Callie frowns, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Hey. Don’t apologize. You’ve been busy as hell. I just wish you’d let me—”
I hold up a hand, stopping her because I already know what she’s going to say. “I can’t take any money from you.” Callie is sweet, and she means well, but she doesn’t understand how hard it would be to live with myself if I took her handouts. I know I’m a terrible person for it because I’m letting my pride get in the way of good sense, but I just can’t do it. Before my dad passed away, he always pushed me to be a strong woman, to break the stereotypes and to find success on my own. I’ve tried to live by that as much as I can, and anything else feels like it would be a betrayal.
She purses her lips. “Will you at least tell me what’s going on? I promise I won’t offer to give you money again. But let me in at least. You can’t just keep bottling all these things up.”
I feel my lips quiver and my eyes grow heavy. I really am holding in so much. Way more than I should. If anyone knows how much I should talk, it’s me. But I’ve built a sort of mental dam, and I’m worried even opening a small crack to let some of the pressure through would bring the whole thing down, and I don’t know if I would survive that. “I’m fine, really.” I say. I can hear the strain in my own words, the lack of inflection.
The level gaze she gives me says she sees straight through my lie. “Julia. I say this as your friend...you have a son to look out for. You can’t take care of a child if you don’t take care of yourself first.”
I love her, but her implication that I’m doing anything less than the best for Roman rubs me the wrong way, even if I know there’s truth in it. “I’m doing all I can. Talking about any of my problems isn’t going to make them better. Do you know how it feels to spend all day sitting in my chair, trying to get people to talk through their problems and help them heal, knowing I’m always the most fucked up one in the room?
“The worst part is none of my problems are intern
al. I know how to help people like a doctor, looking at symptoms tracing them back to the cause. Except this shit I’m dealing with isn’t treatable. The diagnosis would be malignant life fuck-ups, resulting in acute pissed-offedness and suffering.”
Callie smirks. “Is that really a diagnosis?”
I can’t help smiling a little, already feeling better from venting. “No. But it should be.”
“Why don’t you just tell me the thing that’s bothering you most. Right now. What’s the top of your list of problems?”
“Ted,” I say without hesitation. It feels good to voice it. Of all the crap I deal with, Ted is the culmination. “He has been blackmailing me for years now.” Saying it out loud makes me feel vulnerable like I’m suddenly naked in the crowded cafe.
Callie’s face scrunches in sympathy. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? You said he went to the board with his evidence and they overturned it. Is this still about the thing between Leo and you? I’m sure Damian could get a lawyer to—”
I shake my head, interrupting her. “I’m sorry, but I knew you’d just worry if I told you. He never went to anyone with his evidence. He’s still holding it over me, and if he turns it in, I’ll lose everything. So he knows he can get away with pretty much anything he wants. For a while it wasn’t so bad. He would just give me the shittiest clients and constantly make it known that he wanted to date me. Now I think he’s gotten into something bad. He’s been showing up to the office looking harassed and stressed, and he has been taking money from my paychecks. I think he may have taken some loans out and can’t pay them back.”
“Can you please tell me where to find this guy? I’ll go deck him myself. Better yet, I could tell Damian what you just told me. I think Ted would rethink his ways pretty fast.”
I smile, touched by how much she cares about me. I can hear the sympathy and worry in her voice and the genuine desire to hurt Ted she has. “I’ll figure something out.” I feel a stab of anger toward Leo. If he had stuck around, none of this would be happening. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve thought those exact words, I’d be set.
Savage: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance Page 21