by Cecy Robson
Instead of making things better, my words seem to confuse them more. “You’re in law school,” Finn repeats, like he doesn’t believe me.
“Ah, yes. I attend the University of Pennsylvania.”
“You seriously don’t do nails?” Wren asks, unable to move past this concept.
Sofia and Killian exchange another round of flabbergasted glances. Finn shakes out his hand. “Wait, wait, wait. I got this.” He looks at me. “What’s the cube root of seven hundred and twenty-nine?”
“What the fuck, Finn?” Killian asks him.
This is clearly a test. One I’m obviously failing, but one I can’t just walk away from. I give it some thought. “Nine?” I offer.
“Sofe, is that right?” Wren asks her.
She nods slowly. “It sounds right.”
Finn whips out his phone. “Siri, what’s the cube root of seven hundred and twenty-nine?”
“Let me check on that,” Siri says.
Killian snatches the phone out of his hand. “Quit being an asshole.”
“The answer is nine,” Siri responds.
“Holy shit,” Finn says, grinning back at me with what appears to be newfound respect.
Heat flushes my skin, and it’s all I can do not to climb out of the booth and run. Killian leans in. “Tess, ignore these morons. You have to understand, Curran doesn’t usually bring women around.”
“And when he does, they’re not of your…caliber,” Sofia adds.
“Hell, they can’t even spell ‘caliber,’ ” Finn quips.
“Neither can you, dumbass,” Wren fires back. She looks at me. “So you’re in law school?”
“Yes.”
“Ivy League, even.”
“That’s right,” I say, nodding like an imbecile.
“And you’re with Curran?”
Not after tonight. I straighten and clasp my hands together. “Yes.”
“Why?” she asks. “You’re not—what I’m saying is, you’re not—”
Finn huffs. “Psycho, money-grubbing, evil.”
Wren points at him. “What he said. You see, Curran usually dates outside his race. He’s a white Caucasian male, and his women are typically demon spawn from the planet Slut.”
My eyes widen. “So his typical companions are these, ah, fanatical, unemployed, hellish manicurists?”
“Yes,” they all answer, taking a drink.
Wren downs her beer. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot here, but you’re one hell of a breath of fresh air from what we’ve had to deal with.” She nudges Killian. “Remember crazy Miranda—the hairdresser? Do you think that asshole could have warned me he dumped her before I walked into her salon?” She pours herself another beer. “Freaking nutcase came after me with scissors, yelling about him having no dick. I was like, ‘Yo, you can’t be spreading rumors about my brother having no dick, seeing how you straddled that shit in the back of his car.’ ”
Killian laughs. “What about Crazy Alexis? The girl with the pet monkey?”
“Or Shania?” Finn points excitedly. “Oh, remember Shania? The one who spray-painted ‘LYING PUSSY’ on your truck, thinking it was Curran’s.”
Killian’s stare turns deadly. “I’m still pissed at him for that.”
“Well, I assure you I’m not unstable,” I offer, making a face. “Nor do I own a monkey.”
“So then what are you doing with Curran?” Finn asks.
They all quiet, waiting for me to answer. “He’s sweet to me,” I tell them, honestly. “And he treats me well.”
No one moves as they seem to infer a lot more than I intended.
“How long has Curran been ‘sweet’ to you?” Wren asks, adding finger quotes over the word.
I think about it, realizing how inseparable we’ve been. “Well over a month now,” I answer.
Once more, they exchange surprised glances. Sofia is the first to smile, a flicker of recognition brightening her small features. “I know you,” she says. “My sister Lety told me about you.”
“I’m sorry,” I answer, slowly. “But I don’t know anyone named Lety.”
She laughs a little. “You may not know her by name, but I believe you know her boyfriend, Brody Quaid Moore.” She clutches Killian’s arm. “Tess is the same girl Curran was willing to throw down for at that political fundraiser. That was you, wasn’t it?” she asks, turning back to me.
I can barely speak, warmth overtaking every inch of me. “Y-yes. That was me.”
It’s then Curran finally returns, three pitchers of beer gripped in one hand and a drink for me in the other. He’s followed closely by the waitress hefting a tray packed with food. “Move over, will ya, Finnie?” he says to him.
He places the pitchers down while Finn scoots out, and immediately sits beside me. Everyone then helps spread the plates of food across the large wooden table. Everyone but me. Curran pauses when he catches sight of my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing.” I shrug. “Your family here was just explaining your preference for psychopathic and avenging monkey-owning manicurists who wield scissors they purchase with their welfare coupons.”
He freezes before veering at his family. “I leave you alone for fifteen fucking seconds and this is what you tell her?”
Wren meets him in the eye, smiling. “Curran’s got a girlfriend,” she sings.
His brothers laugh, and I can’t tell who’s redder in the face, me or Curran. Sofia reaches across the table and pats my hand. “They mean well,” she assures me.
“Yeah, we do. She’s nice,” Finn tells Curran, laughing. “Not like that bitchy girl who tied you up in college….”
Chapter 19
Curran
“Available units to Stewart and Monroe. Suspect entered Old Mill Cannery. Officers O’Brien and Supreski in pursuit.”
Joey races ahead of me, cutting right. Goddamnit. What the hell are they teaching these recruits at the academy? He didn’t let me sweep first. Just charged in. I check right, then left, before springing forward and taking cover behind a stack of barrels reeking of stagnant salt water.
Joey crouches on the opposite side, behind another row of barrels. Even from where I huddle, and despite the darkness, I catch the gleam in his eyes. This rookie is raring for a fight. The first two we went to blows with hadn’t been enough to soothe his adrenalized rush. But he needs to settle down if we stand a chance of finding this perp.
I reach for my light, positioning it against my drawn weapon. “Philly PD,” I bark. “We know you’re in here. Step out with your hands up.”
Something metal hits the concrete and rolls to our far right. Joey whips around, aiming his gun and light in the direction of the sound. “Wait,” I snap when Joey lurches forward.
My guess is the perp tossed a can or something away from him—an old trick to lure us away—and I’m right. From the opposite side of the warehouse, something crashes. I prowl forward, keeping low, my gun pointed in front of me and my focus sharp.
It’s then I hear the subtle intake of pained breaths, 30 degrees to my left.
I turn toward the sound, keeping close to the barrels. My light nails the kid in the face. “Freeze. Hands where I can see them. Hands where I can see them, now!”
His wild eyes lock in my direction as his hands shoot above his head. Jesus, he looks twelve. “It’s okay, kid. It’s okay. Don’t move and keep your hands up, understand?” His head jerks toward the sound of screaming sirens. “Cover me,” I say to Joey. “I’ll cuff him.”
“I-I-I didn’t want to do this,” the kid says.
“Tell it to the judge, loser,” Joey mumbles.
“Zip it,” I tell him.
“I-I-I didn’t want to do this!” the kid stutters, this time louder. His entire body is trembling as bad as his voice, rattling the barrel pressed against his back.
The distant wails of sirens draw closer. “It’s all right, kid. No one’s going to hurt you,” I repeat, keeping my voice even. Judging by his te
ars, this has to be his first attempt at a felony. “Call it in, Supreski.”
“This is Officers Supreski and O’Brien. Perp located at the Old Mill Cannery on Stewart and Monroe. No need for backup.”
“Repeat, Supreski?” the dispatcher questions. It’s Gina, and she’s pissed. Like me, she’s probably figuring Joey has a lot of balls.
“Don’t tell them that,” I growl, taking over the call. “Perp located, appears to be unarmed. Immediate assistance requested.”
“I didn’t mean it—I had no choice, you hear me? I had no choice!”
“Kid’s scared shitless,” Joey says, like I’m missing something.
He’s right about the kid being scared. But a scared perp is a dangerous perp. I catch that familiar flash in his eye—the one you expect on cornered beasts. Fight or flight. I don’t want the kid to do either, or to force him to do something he’ll never be able to take back, so I keep my voice steady and my motions careful. “Easy, kid,” I say, edging closer. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The kid swears and starts bawling. He reminds me of the kids from my old neighborhood. Maybe that’s what makes me a little soft, and more than a little stupid. Any other perp would be thrown on the concrete, cuffed, and shoved in the back of my squad car.
“Just cuff him, already,” Joey mumbles, sounding annoyed.
“Shut up, and cover me,” I snap back. Joey expected more of a fight, and the adrenaline pumping through him is making him edgy. I know the feeling, and have felt it a thousand times over, but he needs to stay sharp.
“Turn around, kid. Hands against the wall.”
“I can’t go to jail!” The kid loses his shit, breaking down.
“I said turn around!” Another stupid kid from the street who ruined his life. Armed damn robbery. What a waste.
The kid shakes as he slowly turns and places his hands on the wall.
I tuck away my flashlight and house my weapon, using Joey’s light to see as I reach for my cuffs. Before I can blink, the kid snatches a gun lying on top of the barrel.
“Gun!”
I barely spit the word out. He spins out of reach and into the darkness. I dive as the first shot’s fired, the blast so loud it cuffs my ear.
Five more shots cut through the air. Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow. This time, I don’t hesitate. Kid or not, he wants us dead. I throw my arm out and over the old drum, shooting the kid dead center in his chest, narrowly missing his heart. He slumps to the ground, screaming.
I pounce on him and flip him over, wrenching his arm back and cuffing him. I ignore his agonized screams and yell into my radio, “Suspect shot and apprehended, need EMT at—”
A gurgling sound forces me to whip around. Through the funnel of light streaming from Joey’s discarded flashlight, I see Joey’s slumped form convulse as if seizing.
I kick the perp’s gun out of reach and bolt to Joey’s side. Blood seeps through his open wounds, his gun lying near his outstretched palm. He didn’t get one shot in. Not one. But he took at least three to the chest.
I yell into my radio, “Officer down. Repeat, officer down. Ambulance and immediate backup needed.”
The warehouse doors are kicked open, the voices of my brothers in blue and their racing footsteps echoing from all sides. I’m not alone, but it sure feels that way.
Joey’s trying to form words, words garbled from the blood oozing from his mouth.
I wrench off my jacket, bunching it and pressing it against his wounds, yelling at him to stay with me. But when I look down, Tess’s face looks up.
It’s her broken body, her blood, her eyes fading into death, her hand lifting toward my face.
“Curran!” she cries.
“Curran!”
—
“Curran!” Tess’s voice snaps me out of sleep; so does her grip on my arm.
“Oh, God,” she says, her thin arms reaching for me.
I snatch her to me, pulling her tight, breathing hard.
Her hands smooth down my back. “It’s okay. I’m all right. I’m all right,” she repeats, struggling to take a breath.
I loosen my hold on her, only because I’m afraid I’m killing her.
Killing her.
Jesus.
She died in my arms because I failed to do my job. Just like I failed Joey. My arms go numb, and I sense her and reality slip away.
“Baby, stay with me,” she whispers. “Everything is okay. You’re all right.”
No. I’m not. In my dream, Tess’s blood soaked my knees as it seeped out of the holes in her back. It painted my face red when she reached up to touch me and tell me goodbye. “No.”
“No? No what, sweetie?” she asks, keeping her voice soft.
“You weren’t all right,” I answer her.
“Curran…” She sweeps her lips over my crown. “Do you want to talk about it? Maybe tell me what happened?”
Tell her what happened? Tell her how the bullets punctured her delicate skin—and how her eyes glazed over with death? How about I tell her that all I did was watch, since it was all I could fucking do?
She felt heavy in my arms. Dead weight? Is that what they call it?
My eyes sting as I grip her hips, but it’s Tess who cries. “Baby, tell me how to help you.”
Her heart breaks right then and there as I hold her. She wants to help; she just doesn’t know how.
But I do.
I place her on her back and bend to kiss her eyelids. “Don’t cry,” I tell her. “Please don’t cry.” I pass my thumbs beneath her eyes, wiping the tears moistening her cheeks as my lips press against her forehead, her nose, her chin.
I wait for her to settle, then slide my hand down the center of her chest before returning to knead each breast. Tess covers my hand with hers on my second pass, keeping it in place. “I don’t want to be just someone you have sex with,” she says. “I want to help.”
“This helps,” I tell her, truthfully.
She seems sad, like she doesn’t understand, so I do my best to explain. “I’m not good with words. But when I’m with you, I don’t need them. I only need to know you’re here, and real, and safe.”
Slowly, Tess drops her hand away. “This will help you?” she asks.
I nod, feeling myself get hard. “Yeah. It will.”
She shifts her body and lets her legs fall open. “Then let me help you.”
I lower myself on top of her and find her lips with mine. My fingers drag down her body. Against her soft skin, my world is less harsh. In her breaths, I find the air to fill my lungs, and in her warmth, the coldness fades, and I become alive.
There isn’t time to play.
I need her, and everything she gives me.
Jesus, my body is starved for her.
I reach between us and push inside of her, causing her spine to bow and a gasp to break our kiss. I cup her face, locking on to her sea-glass eyes as my hips withdraw and plunge.
Back. Thrust.
Back. Thrust.
Back. Thrust.
My eyes drill into hers and my hips pound. Her fingers clench my shoulders as the heat between her legs builds, slicking me, inviting me to go faster. I tilt her head forward, bringing her face and that expression of shock mixed with lust closer to mine.
This is good. So good. And just what I need.
My arm slinks behind her to tilt her pelvis, giving me access to that perfect spot. She whimpers, letting me know I found it. And when her whimpers grow more desperate, I know she’s peaking.
It’s exactly what I need to hear. That, and maybe a little more.
“Are you going to come for me?” I ask, breathing hard.
Her response releases in a long moan. “Yes.”
“Then come for me now,” I gasp. “I need to feel you come.”
Her expression breaks and tears stream down her face. Her eyes squeeze shut and she thrashes, her body losing control as she cries out my name.
I slow my rhythm but drive in deeper, prolonging he
r experience, and mine.
God, she’s everything.
My hips grind against hers as I fill her. I kiss her lips, taking my time before pulling out.
Carefully, I edge down and lower my head between her breasts. Her heart pounds against my ear, proof that she didn’t die, that I haven’t lost her, and that she’s mine.
If I let myself, I’ll fall asleep and stay this way until morning. I’m sure of it. But I need to keep hearing that heartbeat.
When it finally slows, I feel her fingers skim through my hair.
“Tell me about your dream,” she says.
Chapter 20
Curran
“Please tell me,” Tess says, again. “By the way you lashed out, and the way you were yelling, it must have been horrible.”
My knuckles brush along the curve of her waist. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“It was too much” is all I can say.
“Because it involved me?” She swallows hard when I don’t answer. “It’s okay if it did.”
“No, it’s not.” I stare at the pile of law books stacked on her dresser without really seeing them. “I can’t lose you, Tess,” I admit. We’ve been together for more than two months now, and while it doesn’t seem like a long time, I can’t picture her and me not being together.
Her hands splay along my shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You did in my dream.”
Her hands stop moving. “It was just a dream.”
I shake my head against her skin. “No. It played out like the night Joey was shot. Only this time, you took his place. You took those bullets. I failed you, and because of it you died in my arms.”
My words should freak her out—hell, they freak me out. But I couldn’t stop them from shooting out of my mouth.
Shooting? I huff. Nice.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“I am, too.”
Her voice remains calm as she strokes my hair. “Curran…I think you have PTSD.”
“I know what I have, Tess.” I’m not yelling at her, but I am yelling at myself. Mostly because there isn’t shit I can do to stop it. My frustration is, I should be able to stop it—turn it off like a switch or something. I’m better than this. Damnit, I know I am.