Losing Streak (The Lane)

by Kristine Wyllys

  I tapped my nails against the tabletop, trying to focus on the dull clicking rather than the thoughts swirling in my head. It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t. How could it when I felt him? When he was close, so bloody close, and yet it felt as if all of time and space still separated us.

  He’d been gone for two years. Two fucking years of silence, of knowing he was out there somewhere, living and breathing, but not near me. And that had been bad. That had been unbearable. But it’d been nothing compared to getting the news he was back. Suddenly I was thrust into a reality of having to function knowing he was somewhere nearby. That we walked the same streets, haunted the same places, existed, but not together.

  I knew all too well, because it had happened before, when he came back from his first job in Canada. I’d watched for him, constantly, out of the corner of my eye, both dreading and praying for the day he’d be there. I longed to see him, yet was terrified of the pain it would cause.

  And then I did. Just once. And I died a thousand deaths.

  He’d been in the Tap Room with Luke Turner and the rest of Luke Turner’s team. The same Luke Turner who lost that fight so long ago and who Brandon was now forced to patch up after every fight as his cut man. Bri Martin and Jackson had been with them, the latter’s presence filling me with a sick kind of anxiety, seeing him so close to the very world I was trying to shield him from. I’d spent much of the night avoiding looking in that direction, convinced I was openly bleeding, only there was no blood to be found. Then I was shoved there in front of him by a pushy Bri and a cruel Joshua.

  It hurt. God. It burned and it tore at everything. Every piece of me throbbed and wailed at the nearness I’d been denied for so long.

  Two months later, Joshua had casually mentioned he was gone again. Back up north. It was both easier and harder to breathe once more. I could focus. I could shove through. A piece of me had been ripped away, leaving a gaping, bloody hole, but it wasn’t out there somewhere in the same night as me.

  Except now he was back. We had just over two months to go and I’d been charged with bringing in the biggest contract to date and here he was, like a poison and a cure.

  It was only by sheer force of will that I didn’t drop my head in my hands and let out the frustrated scream welling in me. Fucking Joshua. Fucking ruthless, coldhearted bastard. Fucking Charles MacBain taking his sweet-ass time, leaving me to stew in shit I couldn’t afford to stew in.

  Luckily, the latter chose that moment to make his appearance.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting but Charles MacBain wasn’t it. He was a massive man who wore a matching-sized scowl on his ruddy face, his ham-sized fists clenched at his sides as he marched toward me. Over his shoulder, I spotted Mrs. MacBain back behind the bar, watching her husband with a look of hope and adoration.

  I turned my attention back to the man now towering over me, feeling a grin tug at my lips. This was better. This I could handle.

  “Mr. MacBain.”

  “Let’s get something straight right now, lass. Ye can say what ye will about Charlie MacBain but never accuse him of being a coward.”

  “No?” I laughed, hoping it didn’t sound quite as forced as it was. It must not have, considering how it earned me what was probably the blackest look in his arsenal. “Is hiding behind your wife not cowardly where you’re from, Mr. MacBain? Because where I’m from, it definitely is.”

  “Where I’m from, the devil is brave enough to come knocking himself should he be looking to collect souls.”

  “Yeah, well here the devil is busy and doesn’t need to. He’s got me.”

  “Ye say busy. I say a coward.”

  “If you were wise, you wouldn’t say anything,” I warned. “And for God’s sake, sit down. There’s no need to crowd me. I get it. You’re bad and bigger than I am, but we both know I’m not really the threat here. Not right now.”

  He crossed his arms over his substantial chest and fixed me with a look that I’m sure was supposed to scare me. Too bad it didn’t work. It did, however, tell me that he wasn’t impressed with being bossed around in his own place. I filed it away just in case.

  “Or not. You could just stand there. That works too.”

  “Ye wasted your time coming here. I ain’t budging. I run a clean place and I won’t be getting mixed up with the likes of yer King.”

  I felt for him. I did. But there was no way I was going to show him my sympathy. Not when it wouldn’t change what needed to be done.

  “I don’t think you understand. Joshua will get his way. He always gets his way. However, if you cooperate, if you play nice, you’ll be well compensated for your troubles.”

  “Is that how he got ye then?” He bent slightly at the waist, just enough to be almost eye level with me. “Ye being well compensated, lass?”

  I gave him a bored look.

  “Despite how hard you and your wife would like to turn this around on me, I’m afraid that this is entirely about you. He’s not asking for much, and believe me, the longer you resist, the more that will change.”

  “He ain’t getting an inch from me. Not even an inch. Ye tell yer King that.”

  “Refusing him is dangerous.” It slipped out before I could stop it but I felt no desire to take it back. It was the truth and MacBain should know it.

  “Aye.” He straightened. “And so is giving in to him.”

  We glared at each other for a minute before I slowly rose from my seat to stand in front of him.

  “You have a daughter, correct?” I asked in a low voice, hating myself instantly for what would come next. But I needed him to agree. The quicker, the easier, the better. For both of us.

  “Aye. Sixteen. But ye already knew that, didn’t ye?”

  I ignored the last part. “A wife and a daughter. I’ll assume that you love them. Love them fiercely. To a point where you can’t imagine life without them. I bet you’d do anything for them. You’d probably move heaven and hell to keep them safe. Am I right?”

  “Aye—”

  “Then do this. For their sakes. Joshua is not someone you want to try, and in the scheme of things, he’s really not asking for much. Push a few things. Turn a blind eye every now and then. Do it to protect them.”

  He shook his head firmly, but his eyes softened just a fraction.

  “That’s exactly why I’m saying no, lass.” He stepped back, giving me room to step around him. The intention was clear. Leave.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that while I was going, no one else would be coming in to fill up those bar stools after I left. But something about the way Mrs. MacBain was watching me made me pause. We made eye contact, just for a moment, and in it, I saw another woman with a proud face despite her lot.

  Damn it.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Think about it, Mr. MacBain. I know you’re new around here. Ask around to the other owners. Ask what happened to the last owner and why this place was up for sale for you to buy. Be careful how you word it, though.”

  “This the part where ye tell me the walls all have ears?”

  “Nope. But I will tell you to never assume they don’t.” I started toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Ye needn’t bother,” he called to my back. “My mind won’t be changing.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said, too low for him to hear before I stepped out into the mild night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Any other time, the encounter at Molly’s would have plagued me for the rest of the night, maybe even for days afterward. I wouldn’t have known how to function around it. I would have been dogged with warring emotions: guilt, remorse, maybe even some defiance because I was only doing what I had to. Tonight, however, when I walked out, everything was immediately shoved away as I steadied myself.

&
nbsp; The Lane was just as busy, though still peaceful. Still steeped in a pleasant partying air that hadn’t yet turned sour or aggressive. That would change soon. One o’clock was usually the witching hour, the point when that jovial, celebratory camaraderie between strangers veered sharply toward chaotic and ugly.

  Rice and Brandon were waiting for me with identical curious looks on their faces, Brandon’s a little more intense than Rice’s. The motives behind that curiosity were different and it was for the self-serving one’s sake that I answered vaguely.

  “It’s handled.”

  Rice nodded, his expression shifting into a thoughtful one. He’d be calling Joshua as soon as I walked away. The weasel.

  I didn’t need to look over at Brandon to know he was fighting back, at least, a look of concern, and I knew the longer I didn’t glance in his direction, the harder that fight would become. Rather than give in, for both of our sakes, I turned toward the end of the street.

  “All right, then. I’m off. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “We were told to redirect for the rest of the night.”

  I flashed back to Mrs. MacBain’s face and I felt my brows knit together. Then I glanced over my shoulder and fixed Rice with a hard stare.

  “I said it was handled. Let people back in. MacBain should enjoy one last night of business as he knows it now.”

  “But King said—”

  I whirled and pointed my finger at him before he could finish, aware that Brandon was watching the entire exchange carefully.

  “Joshua isn’t here, is he? I am. And I said to move on.”

  “My orders come from King and only King.”

  I stalked forward, crowding into his space. Next to us, I felt Brandon stiffen, instantly on guard.

  “Let’s get something straight, Boy Wonder. When I tell you to do something, you’ll do it.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Rice’s eyes narrowed until they were little more than slits.

  “King is my boss. Not you. I don’t care what you say.”

  What could I say to that? He sounded like a child. Worse than a child. I couldn’t even remember Jackson saying shit like that during his most difficult phases.

  “Fuck you,” I finally shot back, knowing it wasn’t the most original response.

  “You wish.”

  “Not even a little bit.” I laughed, and I could feel the desperation, the need in Brandon’s gaze, but I continued to steadfastly ignored it. “Now I have shit to do. So get yours together.”

  With that, I turned on my heel and marched off, and a minute or two later I felt Brandon follow at a discreet distance. A prickling sensation slid up my neck, and my skin felt tighter somehow, though not exactly unpleasantly. It was as if, under his gaze, it fit properly for the first time that I could easily recall.

  * * *

  The Tap Room was one of the shabbier bars on the Lane. It lacked the frills and fuss the other places boasted but it was busier than I anticipated. A small crowd surrounded the main bartender, a bald-headed, dark-skinned guy named Nick whom we all called Fury, mostly on Jackson’s insistence that he looked like some comic book character.

  I stood off to the side, quietly and patiently for the first time all night, and waited for him to finish with his costumers. Watching him made me recall when Jackson and I had been behind a bar, flipping bottles in our matching tweed, being frequently confused for twins. I never missed it, never longed to be back there. I never desired to go back to being just another bartender on a street full of them, wondering how I was going to get us from one night to the next.

  Fury finally spotted me once his last customer scooted farther down and he exclaimed, “Rosie-love!” as if I hadn’t seen him a mere two days before. But that was Fury. He made you feel important. He made everyone feel important. Even if they weren’t.

  Hell. Especially if they weren’t.

  “Good night?” I asked.

  “The fucking best. Always the fucking best. Boss man will be happy with sales.”

  “Which one?” I winked and he laughed as if we were sharing an inside joke. Maybe we were. Certainly no one else around us realized that the Tap Room was yet another extension of Joshua’s kingdom. I lowered my voice. “Speaking of sales, have your deposit ready?”

  Fury shook his head playfully at me.

  “Now when’s the last time you known me to be late before?”

  “Fair enough.”

  The bell above the door jangled, making us both glance in that direction. I fought to keep my face impassive as Brandon made his way toward us, stopping within feet of me, eyes resolutely on Fury.

  “What can I get ya, boss?” Fury asked, arching a dark eyebrow.

  “Just a Bud. Gonna need an extra napkin too.”

  My eyes wanted to slam shut as the sound of his voice washed over me. It was the same, exactly the fucking same, and yet there was something foreign about it. As if I knew it from a dream and not from anything solid. But I held them open, and they felt wild in my fight to keep them focused ahead and not sliding over to the boy next to me. The one who made my side hum with his nearness and my lungs struggle to draw in a breath. I wanted to hear that voice again. I was terrified of hearing that voice again. I was terrified that hearing it would cause any resolve I had to shatter around me in pieces.

  “Thanks,” he replied, when Fury passed a bottle across the bar to him. And then he was moving away, and his hand brushed my elbow as he did, too deliberate to be unintentional. I stared down at the place our skin had touched with a frown.

  Fuck.

  I turned back to Fury in time to catch the thoughtful expression that stole over his features as he watched Brandon over my shoulder. It made my scalp prickle, that look. I didn’t necessarily distrust Fury, but I also knew better than to not be suspicious of anyone.

  “I’ll grab it on the way out. Your deposit,” I clarified upon seeing his confused look. That thoughtful look fell away as he grinned at me, teething flashing white and even.

  “Not a problem, Rosie-love. Not a fucking problem.”

  I picked up the glass of wine he’d poured me and tipped it in his direction in a silent toast before walking to the farthest booth with the single occupant whose back was to me. I was both disappointed and slightly relieved that I was able to avoid passing by the table Brandon was sitting at without it being obvious

  Jackson didn’t look up from his phone as I slid in across from him, pushing aside a lukewarm beer that had been waiting for me, and set my wine down on the scratched tabletop.

  “Thought you weren’t gonna show.”

  He said it lightly, with a tone I knew well and always attributed to him and him alone, both joking and serious. A statement with a laugh behind it, but there was something different about it now too. A dark edge that hadn’t been there before, as if that lurking laugh was no longer good-natured. As if it were a mocking one now.

  “Nah. Business just ran later than I expected.”

  “Yeah?” He arched an eyebrow as he took a sip from his beer. “Could have called.”

  “When did that start?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You got plans I’m keeping you from or something?”

  Jackson shrugged and shook a cigarette free from the pack next to him and lit it, taking a long drag. I wrinkled my nose at the smell and from behind the bar, Fury yelled something about nonsmoking laws, cursing when Jackson merely flipped him off. “Business is all. You should understand that.”

  Oh, what the hell.

  “What crawled up your ass, Jackson Young? And don’t you dare tell me nothing either.”

  “You ain’t my mama, Rose,” he replied in a quiet but firm voice as he flicked his ashes on the floor, causing a fresh bo
ut of curses from Fury.

  Had I been holding my glass, I likely would have lost my grip on it.

  “I know that,” I snapped, partly out of indignation and partly, more than I wanted to admit to, out of a dull but sudden ache of hurt.

  “Think you forget sometimes.”

  “No. I don’t. I know exactly who I am. I’m your sister. I’m also the girl who helped raise you and it wouldn’t kill you to show me a little bit of damn respect for it either.”

  “We raised each other,” was his response, still so low, so even. Such a stark contrast to my own voice, which was slowly rising as the heat inside me did.

  I gave him a look full of exasperation.

  “That’s what you think, huh?”

  “No. That’s what I know.”

  I shook my head, as if to clear it. “Whatever you want to believe, Jackson. Whatever makes you feel better. Is that it? You need to feel better? You need to believe I wasn’t just as much of a mother to you as ours was? If so, go right on ahead. Believe whatever makes you feel like a man.”

  “Thanks for giving me the permission to believe the truth. You might have made me dinner and given me medicine when I was sick, but I took care of you too. We looked out for each other.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “At least until you went to work for Joshua and decided I suddenly needed to be protected. You didn’t tell me half the shit he was into. All that fucking time and you didn’t tell me even half of it.”

  “God, Jackson. There’s nothing to tell. Nothing you need to know.”

  “That’s a load of horseshit.”

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead. How had I ever dealt with this boy sober for years? He was enough to make the pope cuss.

  My hand clenched suddenly around my glass as I felt, rather than saw, Brandon suddenly get up from his table. It took every ounce of will I had to not watch him go.