by McLean, Jay
Phone to my ear, I listen to the ringtone repeat over and over. When he picks up, I don’t wait for him to talk first. “Parker.”
Voice scratchy from sleep, he says, “DeLuca? What fucking time is it?”
I have no concept of time. “I need you to meet me. Now.”
Without Bailey beside me, I can’t sleep, can’t think. And every thought goes back to images of them together. That’s where the hatred starts, where it builds.
“Where?”
“I’ll text you.”
“Are you a cop?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee. The moment Jerry hears the words come out of my mouth, he busies himself on his phone. He wants to be here, and I want the same. He’s a talker, and I want this interaction to get back to the ones who care: Benny and Franco. I’ll play the part, have them believe I’m on their side.
Then I’ll find a way to end it.
And then I’ll end them.
“Do I look like a cop?” Parker murmurs.
My eyes narrow. “What’s your story, Parker?”
“I’m between jobs,” he says, his tone even.
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, who are you? Have you got a wife? Kids? Pets?” I know the answer to all of these, but buttons are made to be pushed. “What makes you tick? What makes you wake up in the morning?”
What makes you think you’re good enough for Bailey?
After a sigh, he leans back in his chair, widening the space between us. “What’s your point?”
A bitter laugh forms in my throat. “I don’t trust you.”
“I don’t trust you, either, so I guess we’re even.”
I give myself a moment to gather my thoughts. “You don’t need to trust me. That’s the thing, Ky. You’re completely replaceable to me. That built-up rage you have—the one that’s worked its way so deep inside you that you can’t breathe—that’s there forever. And you have no other outlet.” And I get it, I don’t say. “I’m your ticket; I’m your outlet.” I tilt my head, look right into his eyes—at the emptiness I see when I look in the mirror. “I’d love to know what happened to you. And I know it’s not the war. No… that’s not it. Not all of it, anyway. So, what happened?” I fake a smirk, tap, tap, tap at his buttons. “Did you fuck the wrong girl?”
The muscles in his arms bulge, and I can tell I’m getting to him.
I’m getting to me, too, Parker.
I laugh once. “That’s it, isn’t it?” I lean closer. “Or at least part of it. Is that why you enlisted—to get away from her? I bet you disappointed a lot of people when you left, huh? Your perfect parents. Your brothers and sisters?”
His jaw locks.
“Yeah, that’s it. And guilt. I bet that guilt eats away at you, burning every last piece of your soul to the point where you’ll never let yourself be happy. I bet—”
His chair scrapes across the floor when he lunges for me, but I knew it was coming, saw it in his eyes.
We’re the same, Parker.
My gun is steady in my hand, the end pressed to his forehead.
I could kill him.
Here.
Now.
I’d happily serve the time.
Maybe that could be my out.
I process the idea a beat while his eyes stay on mine, and it’s in this moment—a single flick of his lashes—that I see it: fear.
And I feel it, too, in some weird, fucked-up way—a single shared emotion. I wonder if he realizes, like I do, how close to death he is… and I wonder if he’s thinking about her.
“I own you now,” I whisper, but it’s so far from the fucking truth. I lower the gun and leave the confined space of the deli. Out in the open air, I fill my lungs and empty my mind of the realization that Parker and I, we’re more alike than I want to admit.
Chapter 35
It had been silent. There were no closing of car doors, no footsteps, no whispers. The first sign that anyone was there was the busting open of a door followed by their shouting. When they found me, their flashlights were blinding. Still, for a moment, I fought to keep my eyes open. Searching. I was looking for Nate. Because at some point during the years I was held there, I’d convince myself that he would be the one to rescue me.
That he’d never stop searching for me.
There were times when desolate nights turned to days, and I’d wake up wishing, praying, that today would be the day. That I’d never have to go another night without his arms wrapped around me. That I’d wake up and he’d be beside me. And he wouldn’t fill my mind with bullshit lies or try to convince me that it was all a bad dream, a nightmare. He’d say, so simply, that this is life, and that was the past, and this is now.
Our future.
Our forever.
Two nights ago, I’d fallen asleep thinking my prayers had finally been answered. But when I woke up, he was gone… And that future? That forever? That was the bad dream. The nightmare.
“That’s him,” Ky says, pulling me from my thoughts as he leads me toward a corner booth of a bar with his hand on my back.
I recognize Detective Jackson Davis from the photograph the agents had shown me and force a smile. Inside, my heart is hammering while nervous energy flows through my bloodline.
Asking to meet the man Ky considers a brother was a risk, but when I’d pressed him about it, there was an emotion in his eyes I’d recognized: a longing.
Spending time with Ky the past few days made me realize that he, like me, was just another pawn in someone else’s game. And even though I didn’t have control of much of my life, I had control of the decisions I made when it came to him. If, somehow, I make it through all of this, I wanted to do something right. And Ky—he was the right in this world. I wanted to do what I could to take away that ache inside him, that need for someone to guide him in the right direction. Because I knew—more than anyone—what it felt like to be lost.
And I’ve realized, since getting to know him, that loneliness isn’t the act of being alone. Loneliness is the feeling that no one cares. I’ve been both lonely and alone, and I wouldn’t wish them upon anyone. Ky—he’s lucky. He has people in his world who love him, who care about him. People who would never abandon him. And if this is my purpose, my right, then I’d take the risk a thousand times over.
“Jackson,” Ky says, stopping beside the table.
His brother looks up, smiles when he sees Ky, but the smile widens when he sees me, and I exhale, relieved, noticing the lack of recognition when he looks at me. I wait for them to hug in greeting and let my grin show when Jackson faces me. “You must be Madison.”
“And you’re Jackson?” I ask, throwing my hand out between us. Ignoring my offer, he brings me in for a hug, and I… I melt into it. Like what I assume one would do when they meet a new family member over the Thanksgiving holidays. It’s a strange reaction, a foreign emotion. One that I don’t get to latch on to for too long before the guys start arguing over who’s buying beers. The banter between them has me giggling. Warmth floods my chest when I look up at Ky, see the genuine joy in his smile that lights up his handsome face. “Boys!” I interrupt. “You can both go.”
They laugh in sync, and then Ky asks me, “Are you good?”
I nod, right before he leans down, presses his lips to my temple. And then they’re gone, walking to the bar together, and that’s when I see him.
My heart stops.
Standing at a doorway to the left of the bar, Nate tracks my every movement. Swear, he can see my throat move with my forced swallow. I glance at Ky, then back at him, my eyes conveying please don’t out me.
His smile is wicked when he pushes off the wall and makes his way over to me. I suck in a breath, hold it steady while I sit in the booth. He slides in opposite me, his back to Ky, not a care in the world. “What’s up, sleeping beauty?”
I stare at him, right into his eyes, try to read his purpose. “Are you stalking me?”
“No.” He laughs once and keeps a smile on his lips when he adds, “Do
you want me to stalk you?”
Shaking my head, I hiss, “What are you doing here, Nate?”
He motions to the door he’d just been watching me from. “I had some business. Tiny’s down there now taking care of it. Swear, I had no idea you were here on a date.”
“It’s not a date,” I whisper.
“No?” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re dressed like it is.”
I scoff. “You don’t know how I dress. You’ve only ever seen me in basement attire.”
His smile falls immediately, and he leans closer, his forearms on the table. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to make things harder for you, Bailey. I could’ve sent you a text, but I wanted to tell you in person…”
Every word he speaks is a new drug added to my system, pulling me under while making me high. “Tell me what?” I breathe out.
His smile returns, building slowly. “That I’ve worked out the secret to chess.”
“Chess?” I almost laugh. “You want to talk about chess?”
He licks his lips, leans back in the seat. “Your boyfriend’s coming.”
I look up just in time to see Ky drop the beers on the table, and how Nate sensed him approaching before I did, I can’t begin to comprehend.
“Well, if it isn’t my old friend Parker,” Nate croons. “I was just telling—”
“Let’s talk,” Ky interrupts.
I swallow my fear while Nate stretches his arms across the top of the seat. “I’m right here.”
Leaning down, Ky says something into Nate’s ear, while Nate watches me, his stare void of any emotion. Without another word, Nate stands up, and the two of them walk away, Nate’s eyes never leaving me.
I watch with bated breath, unable to hear their conversation, but it’s clear Ky’s letting Nate have control of the situation. It only takes seconds before Nate’s eyes are back on me, and then they shake hands, and what the fuck is happening?
They walk back, shoulder to shoulder, and sit down in the booth. I ask, in the calmest way I can muster, “Everything okay?”
Ky’s the one to answer. “It’s fine.” Then he picks up my hand and kisses my palm, and I can’t take my eyes off Nate. “DeLuca, this is Madison—Madison, DeLuca.”
“Madison,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s ever called me by my fake name. I nod, watch as his gaze flicks to my hand joined with Ky’s. He rubs his thumb across his bottom lip and looks up at me with those eyes that bleed his feelings. I see everything in them he refuses to say out loud—the sadness, the hopelessness. My chest tightens. “Well, Madison,” he croaks, a bittersweet frown marring his strength, “you can call me Nate.”
I want out.
I squeeze Ky’s hand. “We didn’t eat. I’m a little hungry.” Please please please get me out of here.
Nate raises his hand to get the server’s attention, and I should’ve chosen another excuse because Nate’s Nate and he thinks that he loves me and that he cares about me and he knows I’ll get sick if I don’t eat, but that’s not what this is and why can’t he look in my eyes and see that? “They have awesome burgers here.”
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to be sitting opposite a man who continually cracks my heart open… while sitting next to a man who could potentially heal it.
Chapter 36
Every pawn has a purpose, and Nate’s is business as usual, which is what he was doing. So I have no right to be pissed, and honestly, I don’t even know what I’m pissed about. I guess I’m annoyed that Nate found it necessary to force himself into a situation where nothing good can come of it. He saw things he didn’t want to see, and he hurt himself—not my fault, as Brent keeps having to remind me. Besides, that was Ky’s time with his brother, and it bothers me that he ruined that for them.
Yeah… annoyed is probably the closest word I can use to describe this nagging in my gut, this—this gnawing in my chest that won’t fucking quit.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Brent asks, pulling up to the curb.
No. I have no idea what the purpose is of what I’m about to do, but… “It needs to be done.”
“Okay,” he says incredulously as he chews his lip and looks out my window. “I’ll wait right here.” I start to get out of the car, but he stops me, his hand on my elbow. “Take this.” He holds a gun out between us.
“No.”
“Bailey, you don’t know what’s on the other side of that door.”
I tug my arm out of his hold and get out of the car, saying over my shoulder, “I’d rather die before I pull another trigger.”
I cringe when the buzzer sounds at the sliding doors being opened, but the salon’s so busy, no one would notice. No one besides the petite blonde with glove-covered hands who, without looking at me, calls out, “Just one second.”
Through the mirror in front of her, I watch as she says something to the girl working beside her, then removes her plastic gloves, throws them in the trash. She plasters on a smile—so beautiful—and turns to me with a skip in her step. But then those steps falter, and the spark in her bright, blue eyes fade. She knows who I am, and I…
I don’t know what I’m doing here.
She moves slower as she approaches, stopping only feet away. An entire head shorter than me, she has to crane her neck when she speaks. “Hi.”
I push down my nerves. “Hi.”
Rubbing her hands together, she looks as nervous as I feel. “He’s um… he’s not here.”
“I know,” I say, nodding while fighting the urge to turn and run away.
This was a bad, bad idea.
“Did uh… Did you want a cut or color or… something else?” Her voice is as small as she is.
“Honestly,” I say, casting my gaze to my feet, “I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s okay.” She perks up, and when I look at her, she’s smiling again. “We can work it out.”
“We can?”
She nods. “Yeah, of course.” She reaches out, fingers a strand of my hair, and I freeze, hold my breath. “Your hair’s already perfect,” she murmurs, then drops her hand to her side. “You’re perfect.”
Tears form in my eyes, and she looks away, her chest heaving with her inhale. “Maybe just a wash?”
“Okay,” is all I can say.
I follow her to a chair with a sink behind it and let her guide me to the right position. She’s gentle as she places some sort of apron over me and clips it around my neck. “Have you ever had your hair washed like this before?”
“No,” I reply, closing my eyes to hide the tears there.
I don’t know what I expected when I walked in, when I came up with this stupid, pathetic idea to come face to face with Nate’s wife, but it wasn’t this overwhelming sense of… of… I don’t even know.
I hear the water run, the temperature turning from cold to warm. “I’m Ashton, by the way.”
Why does this hurt so much? “I know who you are.”
“Oh, I wasn’t sure if he—”
“He has,” I cut in.
Her palm is soft against my forehead as she swipes the hair away from my face. “Just let me know if the water’s too hot or too cold, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, and I don’t know if she can hear me, but it feels like the walls are closing in, and it’s just her and me and these deep, dark emotions we carry.
These secrets.
I keep my eyes closed as she dampens my hair, her every move as gentle as her tone. “I try to convince Nate to let me wash and cut his hair,” she says, “but he doesn’t like me touching it too much. He uh... he says it reminds him of you.”
I push back my sob. And as much as it hurts me to speak the words out loud, she deserves to hear them. “He says he loves you. That he cares about you.”
The water’s stopped running, and a moment later, her hands are back in my hair, palms spreading, fingertips massaging my scalp. “He’s never said it to me, not those words, but he does things to
show me. Like, these sinks? He had them specially made so I didn’t have to go on my tiptoes to get the job done.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Is this okay?” An involuntary moan falls from my lips, and she giggles at that. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Moments of silence pass while she resumes her work, and I close my eyes again, continue to fight the emotional war brewing inside me.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, stroking a stray droplet from my cheek.
“Sure,” I choke out.
An entire minute passes before she speaks. “When Nate first told me about you, about everything that you’d been through before he met you, all I wanted to do was hug you.” Her voice wavers, and I bite down on my lip to keep the sob from escaping. “It’s strange, right? I was falling in love with a guy who was clearly deeply, deeply, in love with someone else, and yet—all I wanted to do was hug that someone else, take care of them… of you… and what we’re doing here, it may not be a hug, but it’s as close as we’ll get.” She sniffs once, and I force my eyes open. Tears well in her eyes when she looks down at me. “I’m married to a man who’s never going to see me the way I see him. He’s never going to love me the way he loves you, and that…” Her shoulders drop. “That breaks my heart… but not as much as it would if it were anyone else but you. You—you’re everything I’m not, and I’m—”
“Stop.” I sit up, my drenched hair coating my back with dampness. Thick air fills my throat, but not my lungs, and I tug on the apron choking my airways. “I can’t hear this.”
She helps unclip the suffocating cloth. “I’m just glad you’re here, Bailey. That’s all I wanted to say, and I’m sorry if I said something to upset you.”
I’m on my feet when I say, “Please don’t tell him I was here.”
She shakes her head, slowly, slowly. “I can’t do that.”
“Please.”
“I’m sorry, Bailey, but Nate and I—we don’t keep secrets.”
Chapter 37