“Nothing.” Astor pushes back from the counter and stands. “I’m not feeling well. I think I should go.”
“Really?” All joking falls aside, and Locke studies his sister. “You don’t look so good.”
“Thanks for that.”
“No—I mean, you haven’t been seeming so hot these past few days. What’s been going on?”
“I asked her the same thing,” I said, and yes, it was the exact wrong thing to say.
Astor glances between us like we’re ganging up on her. “I’m allowed to have a bad day, okay?”
“Astor…” Locke tries.
“Leave me alone, Locke.”
“Is Mike home at least?” I ask, and I honestly mean it. I don’t want to think about her going home alone when she’s—
“It’s always about fucking Mike with you, isn’t it?” Astor whirls, facing me with her teeth.
I raise my hands. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to—”
“I can understand it coming from my brother,” Astor says. “Since he naturally hates anything with a Y chromosome that comes near me. But you? Why the fuck do you give a shit who’s waiting at home for me, Ben? Especially since—” she cuts herself off, even before I narrow my eyes in warning.
The room, once raucous and boisterous with the sounds of cooking, yelling, and Lily, has gone silent. Astor stands in the middle, an unwilling compass arrow pointing in the direction of a story neither of us want released.
Locke…I don’t know what Locke has heard about what went on with me and Astor years ago. All I know is, I don’t want him to find out about it now.
Astor deflates, and I notice the shine to her eyes before she stares at the ground. “Just—I’m going home.”
“Astor, hey.” Carter comes up from behind, her voice the softest out of all of us. “Let me walk you out. Locke?”
Locke nods and takes up the reins of watching Lily.
I want to be the one to walk Astor out. I want to be the man who’s waiting for her at home, an arm slung over the couch, making a space for her where only she fits.
That errant thought, that surprising tug of need, is why I keep quiet and let her turn her back on me.
Astor, she doesn’t open up to many people and keeps a lot of things to herself. It means anything that brings her turmoil, she lets it storm and rage inside her, until the lava that coats her cools and becomes black rock.
It happened with her mother. I noticed, when she thought I wasn’t looking. And it’s occurring now.
I have to put a stop to it, except I remember the last time I tried to cover up and prevent the truth from breaking free. I broke Astor so badly she cracked in half. I can’t do that to her again.
Astor grabs her purse she dropped near the elevator, and mumbles her apologies and goodbyes. The boys wave, respecting Astor’s boundaries by letting her go without urging her to stay, and avoiding mine by letting Locke take the lead on anything he might want to ask me.
He doesn’t. Locke’s more concerned with what his daughter’s up to as she finds suspicious kernels on the ground and instantly pops them into her mouth. That action alone is concerning, because any other dude, and Locke would have a knife down their throats asking why the fuck his sister is so upset.
Then again, Locke has two other women to add to his list of protectees. He may just decide to divide the duties, and conquer me later.
Right now, I’m focused on Astor and the way she moves without the usual pop to her hips that mesmerize me every time, and her refusal to turn and look back as Carter slides the doors shut between us.
All I feared is coming to fruition. Astor becoming involved, digging where she shouldn’t. Looking into the Delaney family would only bring destruction by pissing off the wrong people. It unearths grief that should’ve been shed over twenty years ago. It exposes a boy who doesn’t exist anymore.
I’m unaware of how much she knows, what Astor’s found, but it’s enough to carve hollows underneath her cheeks and shade the sky in her eyes. It’s more than enough to worry me.
Ryan Delaney is poison.
And he’s already in her veins.
14
Astor
Carter doesn’t say anything to me on our creaky descent down to the first floor and out of Ash’s apartment.
That’s good, because I don’t know what words are supposed to float past my lips.
I hate being seen as weak, and that’s exactly what I’d become up there, in front of everyone. In front of Ben. The worst part is, I don’t know why this case is becoming all-consuming, or why Ryan Delaney’s spirit haunts my soul in ways no client, nor boss, no lawyer, has ever weighed upon me.
I haven’t even seen pictures of him. Other associates barreled into his public school files, which couldn’t be deleted, and found his pre-school picture. The pre-victim, the happy boy with the healthy, whole family.
I didn’t want to see it, because there is too much Lily in my life for it ever to be okay to scrape over the facts of a child-related crime.
There it is. I’m worried. Terrified that by caring for a baby, I’ve made myself wounded prey in a cage full of hungry apex predators. And one of those feral creatures is Mike, my now ex-fiancé, a man I guess I never truly knew. Yet, I still wear his ring.
We’re outside, and I’m in the middle of thumbing my phone to call a car, when Carter speaks.
“You’ve got a tough case you’re working on.”
I briefly look up. “It’s nothing I can’t get over.”
Carter does a quick jig on the pavement, keeping warm. She didn’t bring a coat with her to walk me out, and even though I didn’t ask her to escort me, I’m pretty sure I’m a jerk for making her wait outside.
“C’mon, let’s go back into the hallway and wait,” I say.
We step inside into a small corridor, low-lit with a lot of exposed brick. Asher’s place is a converted warehouse, and while there are a lot of luxuries, there are still a few quaint original touches. Like no doorman, or lobby, or any public area, really, with proper heating.
“What is it about this one that has you so upset?” Carter persists, but it’s gentle.
Maybe it’s her kind voice, instead of the gruff, blunt arguments I’m used to hearing, that has me mellowing, so I admit, “There’s a child. He survived, but he’s been hidden. And my boss wants me to flush him out.”
Carter nods, but her eyes, normally a shining gold, have darkened. “And you’ve figured out a way.”
“Maybe. I haven’t told anyone, because I don’t know if I want to do it. And that scares me. I’ve never second-guessed successful decisions. Ever. But there’s something about this boy…”
I rest a hand on my forehead, closing my eyes for a few precious seconds.
“Lily.” Carter comes forward, resting a hand on my upper arm. “Locke isn’t the only one she’s healing.”
I drop my hand. “Healing? Who says I need fixing?”
Carter angles her head. “You know, every time I saw you before tonight, you used to play with your engagement ring. Spin the diamond around, feel the ridges as you spoke, rest it against your lips as you thought. These past few times I’ve seen you, you haven’t touched it.”
I glance at her through slits of vision. Sometimes, I don’t enjoy how perceptive she’s becoming. It’s like she’s starting to know me well, and I’m not sure how I feel about another woman recognizing my every flaw. “I’ve been stressed.”
“Mike hasn’t been around.”
“Oh, not you, too.”
“Astor, I’m not them.” Carter raises her chin in the direction of the floors above us. “I’m not going to dismiss what’s going on. You’re either fighting with Mike or you’ve broken up, and neither are wonderful scenarios. You’re hurting. Please, talk to me.”
“I…” I shake my head.
Carter sighs. “Fine. If you won’t talk to me about it, then I’m going to have to go to Plan B. And you’re not going to like it.”
&n
bsp; I back away suspiciously.
“I’m going to hug you.”
“It’s really not necess—” Too late. Her surprisingly strong arms are around me, and despite the bulk of my coat, she’s got a good, boa constrictor grip.
Thankfully, she doesn’t hold it for long. She squeezes for about the length it takes for me to soften and submit to her concern, before she lets go.
“One thing I hated when my best friend, Paige, died,” she says, “is the amount of people saying ‘I’m here for you if you need me.’ The sentiment was there, obviously, but it was so clear that people didn’t know what to say after that. And they have no idea what an empty promise it is. Did they think I was going to call them up and say ‘I need you here for me?’ No. I felt alone, adrift, and was afraid to call anyone, because I didn’t want to depress them or make them more uncomfortable than they already were.”
My car’s pulling up outside, but I look back at Carter. She’s hitting notes in my memory like a conductor drawing out the crescendo in his orchestra.
“My one remaining friend, Sophie, she was different,” Carter says. “Every morning, she’d send me a text and say I’m downstairs with two cups of coffee. Come visit whenever you’re ready. I’ll wait for a few hours. If you don’t come, that’s okay, too. But I’ll be here tomorrow. And the next day. I’ll wait for however long you need.”
Carter’s eyes are shining, this time with bittersweet tears.
“So, this is what I’m going to say to you,” Carter continues. “Tomorrow, I’m going to have lunch around your office for an hour or two. You can take a break, come meet me if you want.”
“I might be busy—”
“If you can’t, that’s okay, too, Astor.” Carter smiles. “I’ll wait for however long you need.”
My lips are moving, but I don’t know what to say. No one has ever given me this kind of offer before, of patience. A willingness to accept my personality for what it is, but be available anyway.
“Thank you, Carter,” I say, and mean it. I head to the clear glass door to exit.
“You’re welcome.”
I pause at the threshold, my hand on the glass, pushing the door open and letting in an ice-driven wind, but I say to her through the chill, “My mom.”
Carter’s brows rise, probably jarred by the fact that I’m creaking open the door to my soul, just a little. “Yeah?”
“When it comes up in conversation, that she’s dead…I’m so tired of making other people feel okay that they haven’t lost theirs.”
Carter’s lips part with a gentle smile. “You never have to do that with me. Tell me all of it. Every painful, sad, grief-stricken detail, and I won’t ever make you feel bad for it.”
I give a closed mouth, tentative smile back. I wave goodbye, and turn and shove my beanie on my head before she can see any tracks of water down my face.
15
Ben
I’m doing something stupid.
It’s incredibly obvious as I stand in front of a fifty-story luxury apartment complex in the Financial District, one hand holding a plastic bag steaming out its scent so passerbys think I’m an incredibly large delivery boy.
Night’s fallen, causing the wintery frost of New York City to become a dark ice pit of Hell. Yet here I stand, my breath blowing out cold, puffy clouds, my face numb, and my ears prickling like a tiny elf is stabbing them with icicles.
I don’t step forward through the doors and into the warm interior of the gold-washed lobby.
“Excuse me,” someone says from behind, and brushes my shoulder as they walk by and cruise through the revolving doors. The person looks back once, twice, and the third time I cock a half smile at their recognition.
“Are you…?” he begins, but the doors are forced to circle by someone else stepping in, and off my wayward fan goes, tripping over his own feet as he tries to keep up with the swing.
Hey, at least it wasn’t Mike.
That’s the risk, isn’t it? I’m standing in front of Astor’s building, and at any moment, Mike could spot me.
It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. I’ve been around Astor plenty of times before and Mike hasn’t given a shit—his mistake, really, but he’s got the instincts of a trash panda, so no surprise there. If I see him, I can just say Astor wasn’t feeling well and I was bringing her a to-go bag of Ash’s cooking.
I screw up my mouth into a sneer. The fact that I’m attempting to figure out excuses to say to fuckin’ Mike is more of a clue I’ve been standing out here too long than the frostbite forming on the tip of my nose.
Onward.
I’m through the doors and striding through the lobby like I own the place, in no mood to announce myself to Astor before I arrive, lest she employ a few deadbolts in anticipation. I simply nod to the on-duty security guards (always hardcore fans of football with those little TVs they got going there), smile widely and with a lot of white teeth at their stuttering recognition, and I salute them and promise a picture when I return.
Which could be in the next two minutes.
I have a feeling Astor is alone up there, in her thirty-sixth floor apartment. Anyone with a clue could see how distant she was at Ash’s, but we’re all so wrapped up in the group atmosphere, it might’ve been hard to spot, had I not been close by and noticing her murderous glances at her ring finger.
Not only that, but I gotta figure out what she knows.
The latter is exactly what I tell myself as I ask Ash for an extra helping, letting him assume I’m going to demolish it later when back at my place. It’s the mantra I repeated as I plugged in Astor Hayes’s coordinates when calling a car.
None of it has to do with concern and making sure she’s alright.
Nope. Not a bit.
I palm the bottom of the bag, ensuring it’s still retained some warmth during the dri—dammit, I don’t care if she eats it!
The doors ding open and I stalk through, scowling at my inability to do my own detective work. I should’ve called Aiden for pointers, except that would mean I’d have to tell him about Astor’s snooping, and fuck knows how he’d feel about that.
Cool. Unfeeling. I’ll draw inspiration from the winter cloak over this city if I have to.
I push the doorbell at the center of her door and cover the peephole.
The light padding of bare feet sounds on the other side, and I envision her covering her slim, pert ,lace-clad body with a satin robe, ‘cause why not?
I imagine her peering through the hole, and, unable to see anything, say—
“Who is it?”
“Delivery,” I reply.
Astor left Ash’s place without eating anything, not even the crud plate or whatever the fuck Ash called the veggies he had out on some platter. Odds were, she’d order delivery at some point, and it looks like I’m just in time, as I hear the locks click open. She has at least three, and I wait patiently.
I’m unprepared for the bare arm to stick out through the crack, palm open.
“Hand it over, asshole.”
I step back, holding the bag out of the way like she can see it. “How’d you know it was me?”
“Security called downstairs.”
“But…I didn’t say who’s apartment I was going to.”
“I’m Astor Hayes, genius. Sister to Locke Hayes, the only other NFL-related person in this building. They did the math.”
I still don’t like it. “It’s a fifty-story building. How the fuck do they know who’s who—”
“Because I give them excellent Christmas bonuses and they like me. Now give me my food and go away.”
“No. You’re not saying thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re not asking why I’m here.”
She sighs again, and I still can’t see her face. I’m talking to a fucking door with an arm.
“Because Locke probably made you bring me food,” she says. “He never thinks I eat properly, since I don’t touch his weird athlete diet of
kale and protein.”
“‘Cause your diet of coffee and anger is so much better.”
“Food. Now,” she grits out.
“I’m not here because Locke told me to,” I say, keeping the bag well away from her. “I’m here because…I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
My molars clang together at the way she says it. So quick, so flat, like she says it a thousand times a day and doesn’t know its meaning any more.
“Let me in, Astor.”
“No.”
“Please. I’m freezing my balls off and if I go back out there without warming up some. They’re gonna crack right off.”
“That’ll be a lament heard ‘round the world.”
“A cup of coffee. That’s all I ask.”
She wavers. I know she does, because her exposed fingers curl like she’s thinking, and I spot the dent in the finger where her ring should be.
Astor’s arm retreats. The door open wider.
Naughty, dirty thoughts crash in at the exact wrong moment. She’s in an oversized grey sweatshirt that falls off one shoulder and hits her mid-thigh, her legs exposed, tanned, and flawless. They’re long—like insanely, impossibly long—with curving lines of muscle in all the right places. They’d wrap all the way around me if I lifted her up, palmed her ass, and rammed—
“See, I’m totally fine,” she says. “You can report back to my brother that all is well.”
The impulse to do her up against the door I’ve gotten to know so well disappears as soon as my eyes connect to hers.
They’re rimmed in red, her cheeks abnormally flushed, and her lips cracked in places like she’s been picking and biting at them.
“I’m coming in now,” I say, and there’s a rough edge to my voice. I don’t like the thought of her hunched over her computer, crying and chewing at her lips as she tries to figure out a boy who should’ve died with his parents.
Surprisingly, she steps aside, but nabs the bag as soon as it’s within reach. Astor strides to the kitchen to the left of the small foyer, and I follow after kicking off my boots.
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