by Evelyn Glass
“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Chance asks, hands in his pockets, never once taking his eyes from the crowd. Luckily there are so many people that this isn’t conspicuous.
“Nothing,” I say, not wanting to admit it. Though, I’ll have to tell him sooner or later, won’t I? I can’t hide it forever. He’ll want to know why I’m being sick all the time.
“Nothin’?” Chance mutters. “You’re over there chewing your cheek so loudly I can hear it.”
I blush. “I do not chew my cheek!” I protest, but now that he’s mentioned it, my cheek does hurt.
“Course not,” Chance says.
“I was thinking about my mom,” I say. “She used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid, every day during school holidays sometimes. It was when my dad was busy with his mob stuff, you know? A way to get me way, way out of that life and into this one, a way to bring me somewhere safe where she knew I’d have a good time and not have to see any of that business. Last night you said I might have another reason for wanting to come. Maybe this was it. I wanted to try and reclaim a little of my mom.”
“You don’t see her much?” Chance says, his eyes tracking a man with his hands in his green bomber jacket and a cigarette clutched between his teeth. It seems like he’s hardly listening to me, but when I don’t answer, he says, “Do you go to California to see her?”
“No,” I say. “I haven’t been down there yet. I—it’s silly.”
“What’s silly?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He grunts out a half-laugh, half-snort. “Tell me, Becky.”
“It’s just that I keep thinking I can make dad better.” I talk quickly, aware that I’m revealing something that makes me feel very uncomfortable right now. “Even after he sold me to Julian, even after he shouted at me that I better still be a virgin, even after everything, I still think there’s some good left in him. He and my mom used to be really happy, Mom tells me. Before he started getting into gambling and drinking and he was just a regular old enforcer. Or maybe there isn’t such a thing as a regular old enforcer.”
“Maybe not,” Chance says. “What’d that look like? Most of ’em are fucked, Becky. And hitters are worse.”
I see that his gaze is following a young boy and his father, both of them laughing, the father leaning down to hand the boy some cotton candy. Chance watches them for a long time, and I’m sure there’s some hurt in his eyes. I know he isn’t the intimate type, but after spending almost two months with him, I’m getting to know his looks pretty well. And the expression he’s wearing now is something close to pain. Without stopping to think how he’ll react, I place my hand on his arm and give it a squeeze. He flinches as though ready to turn on me and go into hitman mode, but then he relaxes, hands buried in his pockets, eyes fixated on the crowd.
“What were you thinking about, just now?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he grunts.
“Chance!” I snap. “I want to be close to you, I want to be here for you, but how am I supposed to when you won’t tell me what’s going on in here?” I tap his chest with my finger.
“I never asked you to figure out what’s goin’ on in there.”
“Now you’re just being a jerk.” I give his arm another squeeze. “You were looking at that boy and his dad and you were thinking about something. I saw it in your face.”
“Saw it in my face?” Chance laughs darkly. “Nobody sees shit in my face, Becky. That’s part of my job. I’ve gotta be unreadable.”
“Well, I saw it, and I think you’re skirting the question because you know I’m right.”
All of Chance’s looks are smaller versions of other men’s. When he smiles, it’s a slight, shadowed smile instead of a wide, cheesy grin. So when the corner of his lip twitches downward, I know that he’s acknowledging what I’m saying. I know that I’m right. I lean close to him, whispering in his ear. Maybe I’m coming on a bit strong, but he’s the father of my child and I know very little about him. It’s not good enough.
“After all we’ve shared, you can tell me, Chance,” I whisper. “After all we’ve done, you don’t have to be nervous around me.”
He shrugs, and then says quietly, “I don’t know what good talkin’ about shit does, Becky. Never saw the good in it.”
“Humor me,” I say. “Just think of it as doing me a favor.”
He mutters something I don’t properly hear—it sounds like, women, but I’m not sure—and then says, “You’re a goddamn psychopath, wantin’ to dig deep into a man who’s empty inside. For no damn reason.”
There is a damn reason, I want to say. I’m pregnant with your child and you’re still half a stranger to me, even if your body is well known to me now.
“Fine, I’ll tell you what I was thinkin’,” he says. “I was lookin’ at that kid and his dad and I was thinkin’ about the time Boss took me into a room with an enforcer called Irish Mick who Boss said might adopt me, ’cause my mom was gone and my dad was dead. I was young then so I was pretty damned excited about it. Stupid little kid. I even put on a fancy shirt, the one Dad used to make me wear to church, and went in there all ready to be accepted by a new daddy.” He shakes his head. “This Irish Mick knelt down, took my face in his hands like I was a fuckin’ prize dog or somethin’, and said, I don’t like the look in his eyes. He looks like trouble. And that was that. See? Not very exciting, eh?”
I feel like I’m going to be sick all over again, but somehow I manage to keep it down.
“Chance,” I say. “Irish Mick is what they call Mikey, my dad. Did this man have dark eyes, and—wait, back then he would’ve had black hair down to his shoulders, a sort of greasy look?” I remember seeing a photo of him and my mom from a few years ago and thinking he looked like a hippie.
“Yeah,” Chance says. “Damn, so maybe it’s the best he didn’t take me. We would’a been brother and sister.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, hugging close to him. “I’m sorry you never had a home, Chance. I know that must’ve been hard.”
He pushes away from the railing, walking back toward the crowd. “Come on,” he calls over his shoulder. “We don’t wanna miss all the rides, do we?”
Chapter Sixteen
Chance
Becky jogs after me, and I find myself reachin’ down and taking her hand. It’s warm, in the pink glove I bought her at the superstore, and I think to myself how it ain’t so bad holdin’ her hand, much easier than all that talkin’ shit. The Family’s a small life, when you really get down to it. A few hundred hitters and enforcers. So it’s not too unlikely that her dad was the man with the dark eyes, turning me away. But still, it hurts. It hurt back then and it hurts now, is the truth, even if a man like me shouldn’t be hurt by anythin’ like that. Even if a man like me should be above shit like that.
“You want a bear?” I ask, gesturing at the air rifle game.
She looks down at my hand holdin’ hers like she can hardly believe it, and then at the game, and then nods in this quick, cute way. I go to the machine, lay down a bill, and the guy hands me an air rifle. You’ve gotta hit these tiny metal targets set within a jungle of other shit that ain’t related to it, like an old toy train and a beer bottles and dangling clothes pins. I aim the rifle, shoot, and a minute later, the guy behind the counter is handin’ me a big fluffy pink bear and lookin’ none too happy about it. Becky holds it in the crook of her elbow on one side and clings to my hand on the other. We stroll through the Solstice Shakedown, through the shivering crowd, and for the first time in my life, I begin to find some sense of peace that ain’t to do with drinkin’, fuckin’, or killin’. It’s damn strange, that just walkin’ through here and holding her hand can do that, but it does. We go on the bumper carts, Becky almost sitting in my lap in our cart ’cause she’s so small and I’m so big. I laugh like a fool. We both do, crashin’ into the other carts, laughing our asses off. Then we pass the Tunnel of Love, and I think Becky might stop, but we carry on instead, ending up
at the Ferris Wheel.
She raises her eyebrow at me. “Are you scared of heights?”
“Nah,” I say. “Are you?”
“A little. Not really.” She giggles, her cheeks red from the light snow that’s just started fallin’. “I think with you there to help me, I’ll be okay.”
“Alright, then.”
We must be the rare brave couple, ’cause when we go to join the line, we realize we’re the only ones. There’s some performance on the opposite side of the park, a fire-eater or somethin’, so maybe that’s why there’s no one else here. But I’d rather ride the Wheel with Becky. The guy waves us through after I pay, muttering, “Wouldn’t you rather see the show?” It sounds like he wants to sneak off to watch it, and we’re stoppin’ him from doin’ it by going on the Wheel. But I don’t really care. I shake my head, and we go into a booth.
Climbing into it together, Becky puts her leg over mine, that damn fine leg, sexy as fuck even in her jeans. The guy goes to the control booth and in a couple’a minutes the icy machine is creakin’ and hummin’ its way to the top, our booth rocking lightly back and forth. Brookyln, New York, the whole State—the whole damn world—becomes small and meaningless below us as we rise higher and higher, both of us not lookin’ down on the city but at each other. Wind whips into the booth, makin’ Becky shiver, so I grab her under the armpits and lower her onto my lap. Fuck, but feelin’ that ass, even in the denim, makes my cock hard right away, pushin’ hard against my zipper. I reach around and slide my hands up her legs, can’t help myself, up and up all the way to her pussy, which is hot and damp even through the jeans.
“Chance,” she whispers, a moan in her voice. “We’ll be down there soon! Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I reckon I can finish you off before we get down there,” I say, pressin’ my middle finger down on her clit, or where I reckon her clit is through all this material. “We both know my little whore comes damn quick when I tell her to.”
She makes that moaning noise which always drives me fuckin’ wild, but then reaches down and grabs my wrists, tryin’ to pry ’em away. “Chance, there’s not enough time—” She lets out a scream as the machine makes a deafening cranking noise and then comes to a stop, the sound of ice shattering comin’ from somewhere below. Twisting around and clutching her hands around my neck, she squeals. “Chance! Chance!”
“Hush,” I say. “Calm down.”
I lean over the side of the booth and call down. “The fuck’s goin’ on down there?”
The guy calls up, “System malfunction. Nothing to worry about. Should be up and running in about fifteen minutes. I’m really sorry. It’s just that—”
“Fifteen minutes, alright.”
I lean back into the booth. Becky is staring at me with wide, suggestive eyes. Becky has really come out of her shell since I took her virginity a couple months back. Before she was all nervous, all unsure, that first time, at least…but now, now she’s a proper horny freak. And I fuckin’ love it. But this is more than that, I sense. She’s lookin’ closely at me, almost like she wants to say somethin’ that might start with the letter L. I lean in, kissin’ her, kissin’ her tenderly like I’ve never kissed anybody in my entire life. Before Becky, I’ve never kissed anyone at all, not really. So when I begin groaning, and she begins moaning, and I start movin’ my hands over her slowly, instead of roughly, I shock myself as much as her. Her lips’re soft against mine, soft and warm despite the cold. Down below, I can hear the guy talkin’ to another guy, someone messing with the controls. But I don’t care.
I lift Becky up, holdin’ her in front of me. “Take off your jeans and panties,” I tell her.
“You’re so strong,” she whispers, lookin’ at my arms as I just hold her there, hovering.
She doesn’t waste any time, just strips her jeans off and wriggles out of ’em, puttin’ them onto the seat beside me. When she’s done, I set her down and pull my own jeans down around my knees. Seein’ her perfect legs stickin’ out like that from beneath her hoodie, skinny and pale and still with her socks on, is the best sight a man could see, I reckon. I lift her up again and then lower her, slowly, onto my cock. But instead of just takin’ her, or buryin’ my head in her neck, or just going crazy and thrusting until we’re both spent, we stare into each other’s eyes. I see affection in her eyes, affection which almost makes me believe there’s somethin’ beatin’ in my chest. It’s the sort of affection I thought I’d never get since I was a kid, since I was cast out by everyone who came into contact with me. And then it’s like, in this moment with this woman, all of that don’t matter no more. All that matters is the feeling of warmth inside of her and her perfect, open face.
We don’t fuck. We make love, which I’ve only ever heard about in movies and songs. She reaches down and interlocks her fingers with mine and starts rocking, softly, tenderly, and I start rockin’ with her, all the while snow drifting past us and the wind addin’ to her rocking as the booth pendulum-swings back and forth. I move my fingers over the palms of her hands, tracing the lines, as we passionately move together. My cock slides deep, and then slides out, but it’s more than that. It’s like that’s only a part of it, and not even the main part. The main part is our eyes, the way she’s staring at me. I feel the urge to look away ’cause it’s making me uncomfortable, despite the pleasure, but Becky takes her hands from mine and clasps my face.
“Stay with me,” she says. And then she starts moanin’ and I feel her cunt goin’ tight, as it does every time before she comes. But more than that, I see her face, and I notice how her mouth makes that O shape and her eyebrows raise and her eyelids flit and she cranes her neck back, and all of the things I never noticed before ’cause I was too busy pumping. She moans a song for me and then releases, throwing her head forward, laying her forehead against mine, breathing her pleasure warmly onto my winter-cold cheeks.
And then I can’t take it anymore, either. It’s too much, too hot, too close, and I feel myself emptyin’ inside of her, and that’s what it is, I reckon. ’Cause in this moment at least, I’m giving her absolutely everything I have.
When we’re done, she lifts her arms, gesturing to me that she wants to be picked up. I do it, lifting her to the floor, and we both start gettin’ dressed. I feel strange now, exposed. I feel like I’ve just walked into a shootout with all my weapons back in the car.
I look away, not sure what to say. That was the closest I’ve ever been with a person, hands down. And in my experience, bein’ close always ends with somethin’ bad happening.
“I’m falling for you, Chance,” Becky says, voice barely a whisper. “I…I really am, and it’s more than just sex. That was more than just sex. You know it was. You have to know it was. I know it might make you uncomfortable, or scared, or worried, but it was and we both know it. I’m falling for you, hard. And I think you might be falling for me, too.” She pauses, and then adds, “Or maybe I just hope you are.”
There’s loads I reckon I’d say if I was a different man, but I can’t change who I am, so I remain silent.
Becky sighs, disappointed it sounds like, and then jerks the booth around by throwing herself half over the edge and vomiting into the air. I grab her by the waist, holding her back, as she is sick for around a minute, the chunks flyin’ away in the wind.
“You were sick in the motel, too,” I say. “The fuck’s goin’ on with you?”
“I missed my period,” she says. Her voice is shaking, but I get the sense there’s a calmness under that, somewhere. “I’m pregnant, Chance. I’m sure of it.”
She looks at me with an expectin’ sort of face.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
I turn away, stare at the snow, waitin’ for the Ferris to start up again.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
Before this woman came into my life, I was a machine, nothin’ but a machine, and if I wasn’t happy, at least I wasn’t worried and scared and—and fuckin’ human.
Pregnant…
I shiver. It seems colder than it was a few minutes ago.
Chapter Seventeen
Chance
The Wheel starts turnin’ again and I get to thinkin’ about how the wheel of time is turning, too, and how it’ll just keep on turning for nine months until a life comes outta Becky, a life half mine and half hers, and for a few seconds I reckon I’ll lean over the booth and start blowin’ chunks into the air just like she did. I feel her eyes on me, but I keep my eyes on the city, on the snow. I can’t look at her ’cause that’d mean talkin’ about it and I’ve got no clue what to say. I don’t wanna jump up and down with joy and tell her how happy I am, ’cause that’d be a damned lie. I ain’t happy. I’m terrified. A child. A fuckin’ child.