by A. Zavarelli
More, more, more.
We are greedy. And when we come, it is explosive.
When he collapses beside me and buries his face in my chest, he doesn’t say the three little words I dread so much. He says only two.
“Thank you.”
27
RORY
“HEY, HOT STUFF,” Mack greets me with a slap on the ass.
I glance across the room at her husband- my boss- and his attention is otherwise distracted, thank fuck.
“Are ye trying to get me fingers cut off?” I ask her.
“Oh please,” she says. “Lach knows better than to try to put a leash on me by now.”
“Aye.” I take Keeva off Mack’s hip to give her a cuddle. “I suppose so.”
“Who are you fighting tonight?” she asks.
“Nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“I’ve some other business to attend to,” I say. “With Alexei.”
Mack is quiet, but observant. The woman is too bloody smart for her own good, and I haven’t a clue how Crow keeps up with her.
“She won’t like that,” Mack tells me.
“I don’t follow.”
“Don’t go digging around in her past,” she insists. “She needs to tell you herself.”
I keep myself occupied with the baby, but Mack is still after it.
“Scarlett will turn on you so fast you won’t even see it coming,” she says. “It isn’t easy for her to let people in, Rory. And she will see it as a betrayal if you go behind her back.”
“She’s already told me a few things,” I admit. “I just need some names.”
She stares at me, and I don’t like it.
I’ve been patient. I’ve let a lot of things slide with Scarlett that I wouldn’t have if it were anybody else.
And everybody’s on my arse about what they think is best.
Just this morning, Crow was bitching and moaning about me taking too long to get to the club when he needed me. He’s all bent out of shape because I set up this meeting with Alexei in the first place.
But he did the same for Mack when he was in my position.
And she’s done the same for her friend Talia when the situation warranted it. Yet here they both are, calling the kettle black. Leaving Scarlett to her own devices and hoping she doesn’t get murdered by one of these pricks is not an option. And if they can’t see it that way, then it’s their issue.
I hand Mack the baby and she frowns.
“I mean it, Rory,” she yells as I retreat. “If you do this, you’re signing the death certificate on this relationship. That’s a fact.”
The door closes with a slam behind me, and Crow rings me a minute later.
I ignore it and get into my car.
“Drink?” Alexei asks as I take a seat in his office.
“No thanks, mate.”
He nods and gets down to business, which is what I like about the bloke.
If there’s someone that needs being found, Alexei will do it. He can do just about anything on a computer, the extent of which I probably don’t even want to know.
And while he’s not technically part of our syndicate, he’s an ally. So, he helps us from time to time in exchange for our assistance when he needs it.
He has the file on Scarlett already, sliding it across the desk and leaving me to it.
The level of detail is more than I was prepared for.
Every part of Tenly Albright’s life is chronicled in these papers. Important milestones. Report cards. Photographs and news articles.
They are all right here in my hands.
I am hungry for these details. And it doesn’t feel wrong, like Mack said. I want to know these parts of her, no matter how ancient.
It comes as no surprise that the girl was a genius, even twelve years ago. But she certainly doesn’t look like the shy, somewhat awkward girl in the family photos. The girl dressed in ball gowns and school uniforms.
She’s not smiling in any of the photos. And there’s a sadness on her face that she doesn’t wear openly anymore, but it still exists inside of her.
I want to know her thoughts as she poses next to her friends and a family that looks so different from her. She doesn’t belong in that world, and she never did.
I am possessive of her now. And a very selfish part of me likes knowing how much she hates that world and everyone in it.
Because she’s in my world now. In my bed and my car and my thoughts and on my lips.
They don’t even know she’s alive.
The missing persons case is still open, unresolved.
But the news articles have been scarce over the last five years. The occasional anniversary post and photo of Tenly, asking if anyone has seen her.
They have all moved on from her. Left her memory to diminish over time.
It’s no wonder she goes it alone.
To be so easily forgotten by everyone you once knew. Forsaken by your own family. I ache for her, and I touch her face in the photos. Wishing I could turn back time. Wishing that I could save her.
I can’t change the past.
But I can make it right now.
The thing I really want isn’t in this file, and when I look up at Alexei, he knows it.
“She never reported it,” he tells me. “So finding the names will not be easy. But I’ve printed off the most likely candidates, given what you’ve told me.”
His report has well over fifty names on it.
“Are ye bloody kidding me with this?” I ask. “Is there not another way?”
“There is,” he says. “But I suppose it depends on how badly you’d like this to stay quiet.”
28
RORY
I HAVEN’T SPENT a whole load of time in New York.
Boston is generally where I conduct business and spend my free time, other than the occasional ticket back to Ireland to see mammy every couple of years.
It only stands to reason that Scarlett dragged me up here to set into motion the events with Ethan that night. I wonder how many other trips she’s made that didn’t include me.
The address on file is Park Avenue.
When I walk inside the building, it’s a far cry from where Scarlett lives now.
A doorman greets me and asks who I’m there for.
I give him the names of Scarlett’s parents, and he promptly tells me I’m not on the list. When I mention I’d like to speak to them about their daughter, his polite disposition withers.
He makes a phone call and then ushers me to the elevator without another word.
When it opens, I’m greeted by another woman in a maid’s uniform, who ushers me into a foyer.
“You have something you’d like to say about my daughter?”
I blink, and like an apparition, a waif of a woman appears. She is nothing like Scarlett. Her face is severe, and she is cold. Too tall and too thin and I’ve left a bitter taste in her mouth already.
She appraises me, in my jeans and faded tee shirt, like a bag of trash was just dropped at her doorstep. And in her hand is a checkbook.
This isn’t right.
None of this is right.
Scarlett in this place. Touching any of these things. Wearing these clothes. Talking to this woman who is nothing like my mammy.
“Well?” she says.
“Can we start over?” I ask. “My name’s Rory Brodick, Mrs. Albright.”
“I don’t care who you are,” she snaps. “What do you want to say about my daughter?”
I give her the benefit of the doubt. She’s a mother who has lost her daughter. I can only imagine what these last twelve years must have been like for her, wondering and waiting for her to come home. I need to believe that this is what turned her so bitter.
“Actually,” I say, “I was hoping that ye might be able to tell me some things about your daughter. I’d like to help.”
She shakes her head.
“You aren’t a reporter,” she says. “Or a New Yorker, for
that matter. Where are you from?”
“I live in Boston.”
She sighs and gives me a resigned nod.
“I figured as much.”
She places the checkbook down on the table and scrawls in a dramatic fashion before she pauses to look up at me.
“How much?”
“Pardon me?”
“How much is it going to cost to keep you quiet?” she demands.
“I only want to help,” I tell her. “I’m just looking for some answers.”
“I have none to give you,” she says. “And if you keep poking around in this, you won’t get a cent from me.”
“Do ye not have any desire to know what happened to your daughter?” I ask.
“I know what happened to my daughter,” she says. “She had social deficits from the very beginning. She didn’t want to listen. She was too wrapped up in herself to care about what was important. And now she’s ruined this family, living like trash the way that she is.”
“You must be bloody joking me,” I snarl back at her. “You knew she was alive?”
“Of course I know.” A dry sound puffs from her mouth.
“But the case…”
“The media doesn’t need to know about this,” Mrs. Albright states with finality. “They’re better off thinking she’s dead. And so are we, for that matter. So tell me how much it’s going to cost for you to keep your mouth shut.”
“I don’t want your money.”
She scoffs again, and the woman is the worst of humanity. I see that now. The mothers who breed their pedigree children and parade them around like show ponies.
Scarlett deserved better than that.
She deserved better than a mammy like her.
“The only thing I’ve ever wanted was for your daughter to be happy,” I tell her. “But I see why she left this place. Why she left you.”
“You know nothing,” Mrs. Albright snarls.
“I know that if ye were any sort of a mother, you’d have moved heaven and earth to find her. To avenge her. But don’t ye concern yourself with it now. She’s got a new family. One who actually looks after her.”
29
SCARLETT
TIME TO DUST off my broom. The bitch is back.
Whiskey has made himself right at home in Rory’s place.
I’m still waiting for him to ask where the cat came from or why he’s here, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask anything, and he doesn’t tell the cat to get out of the bed or off his clothes, and on more than one occasion I’ve caught Rory petting him. Things have started to appear. Cat things. Toys and bowls and food. A litter box, even.
I didn’t buy them, so that leaves only one possible culprit.
There are things for me too. Small things. With more accumulating each day. A toothbrush. A hairbrush. A blow dryer.
They appear out of nowhere when I’m not looking.
Rory doesn’t ask why I’ve spent the last week here.
That makes it easy, and it’s better this way. He’s happy and I’m not out wreaking havoc and I think the thing he loves most is having me in his bed at night. Waiting for him. Rory is a creature of habit. He comes in late at night, showers, and slips into bed behind me.
There’s always a few whispered words between us, and then he’s inside of me. On top of me.
The way he likes it.
Tonight, as we’re lying in the darkness and he’s on the verge of drifting off to sleep, I wonder how long this can go on for.
I can’t go back to my apartment.
Alexander is out for blood and I can’t be lounging around Rory’s all day and getting soft.
I need to find him first.
I need to end this.
“You haven’t been back to your apartment.”
Rory’s voice startles me.
He always falls asleep after he fucks me.
Tonight, though, Whiskey is on his chest, purring up a storm. I’m a little miffed that the cat has taken a liking to him so quickly. I had to earn that shit. But Rory? He was in with bro code and a single pat on the head.
Typical fucking men.
“Would you rather I were home in my own bed then?” I ask.
He plops Whiskey between us and tangles his legs with mine, reaching over to touch my face.
“I’d rather you were in my bed every night,” he says. “If we’re being honest.”
“Well if we’re being honest, I like it here. So maybe I’ll keep crashing for a few days. I think I’m going to need a new apartment, anyhow.”
“I know ye haven’t had an easy life, Scarlett,” Rory says. “And I know that ye have your reasons not to trust anyone. But there’s something I want to say.”
I fall into his neck and breathe him in, relaxing into his body. There are moments like this, when his strength is so tangible to me, so potent, nothing else can touch me. I’ve never leaned on anyone this way. It’s easy to get lost in these moments. To forget why I was so hell bent on destroying my only real ally.
Rory is strong, both mentally and physically. But he has one fatal flaw.
And that’s caring for me.
“I told ye once before that I didn’t want to play games with you,” he says. “That I was done with it. With you. I was wrong, Scarlett. Because if there’s one thing I need ye to know, it’s this. I’m not ever going to give up on you. I’m not ever going to be like the people who walked out of your life and hurt you. I’m in your corner, always. And I will go to battle for ye every single day for the rest of my life, so long as I have you by my side.”
I don’t know where any of this is coming from. But it makes me paranoid. Something has changed, and I need to know what it is.
“I’m going for broke here,” he says. “I’m just going to lay it out for you, baby doll. I want to do everything with you, Scarlett. I want to fuck shit up. I want to get ye in a family way. I want my last name to be your last name. And I’m willing to fight for those things. For as long as it takes. So you can push me away, but I’m not going anywhere. And I need ye to know that.”
Christ.
This is it. This is how I’m going to die.
I’m having a heart attack. I can’t breathe and I’m dizzy and all I can focus on are the words he just seared into my brain. Babies and marriage and things that will never happen.
I sit up and clutch my chest.
“I told you to stay away from me,” I yell at him. “You should have listened. I can’t give you those things, Rory.”
He’s quiet, but his hand reaches out for mine. Our fingers tangle together and that line inside of me is going berserk.
I don’t know how this happened.
I was supposed to be the one to fuck him up.
But he’s got me all fucked up instead.
I’ll never admit it.
I’ll never admit that he’s done this to me.
And I need something to grasp onto. Something to make me feel like my old self.
“You got my files,” I accuse him. “Didn’t you?”
Dead silence.
His fingers stiffen around mine, and I have my answer.
“I had no choice,” he says. “I needed to know what I was dealing with. I need to protect you.”
“Did you like what you found?” I ask. “Do you feel vindicated now? Because I’m just so goddamn helpless?”
“I saw your mother,” he blurts.
That’s it. There goes the flat line. Back to where it belongs.
“Fuck. I don’t know why I did it, Scarlett. I only want to take care of you.”
The mental image of him and my mother together in one room, speaking about me… it’s too much.
“Fuck you.” I lunge from the bed and grab for my clothes.
He comes after me, and I yank out my knife and aim straight for his heart.
“Come any closer, and I won’t miss this time.”
“Scarlett.”
He is sad and broken and all the things I knew he would
be. But he did this to himself, and I’m out of generosity as far as Rory is concerned. As far as anyone is concerned.
“You should have stayed away,” I tell him again.
“Don’t leave.”
“I told you,” I say. “I fucking warned you. And now, you better watch your back, Rory.”
30
SCARLETT
The fault is not in our stars, but our hearts- those immortal instruments which beat on in spite of our most valiant efforts to destroy them.
I DON’T KNOW why I’m here.
Nothing has changed.
My mother is shopping and day drinking, the same as she does every Wednesday afternoon. I watch her through the window, perfectly coiffed and utterly miserable.
She alone could keep Botox in business.
Because she doesn’t want to give away anything real or true.
She’s always been this way. She was born miserable, and she will die miserable.
But she will take that secret to her grave.
All that matters is how her life looks on the outside.
People don’t care that there’s a feud between the employees in the back when there are glamorous objects up in the store window. My mother keeps her storefront stocked with glamorous things.
Pretty words and practiced topics of conversation. Conservative but fashionable clothing and a face that is immune to time and gravity.
She fell in line like she was supposed to. The way an Albright was supposed to. She married into old money, and she had a baby, like she was supposed to. That was when things went terribly wrong for her.
I never could fall in line, the way that I was supposed to.
I had so much privilege it was nauseating. I had been blessed with everything. There was one critical problem with the whole situation. I couldn’t play the role I had been cast in. I gave it a fair effort, but I wasn’t her. She could never understand that.
She fought for what she had her whole life. She fought tooth and nail for it.
She never knew any other way.
And all I ever did was disappoint her.
I watch her drink her thousand-dollar champagne through the window, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly sorry.