by A. Zavarelli
This is on her.
7
IVY
THE BLISTERING COLD has seeped into my bones by the time I wake, and even though I’m tempted to go back to sleep, I need to move around.
The exhaustion never leaves me. I don’t know if it’s the hell of the last year or the constant hunger pains, but it’s obvious I won’t be able to continue on like this much longer. When I think about my reality- the fact that I’m sleeping in an alleyway behind a dumpster with one sack of clothing to call my own- I want to break down and cry. In fact, I do. It’s become my morning ritual. But when I’m done, I always manage to pick myself up and carry on, knowing that it won’t be like this forever. Soon, everything will be okay.
A glance at my watch confirms that it’s still early, and I have almost the entire day to waste before I go back to work tonight. Realistically, I should be looking for another part time job in the day time, but so far, that hasn’t panned out. I guess people aren’t too eager to hire you when you show up in a pair of tattered jeans and a hoodie.
I stand up and shake out my limbs as I try to figure out what to do. There are a lot of things I could be doing, but most of them are too risky. Unlike the other homeless in this city, the shelters and foodbanks aren’t an option. Not when the Locos are looking for me. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me, and that’s exactly what would happen if I chose to go that route. They want me dead, and they aren’t the kind of men who will spare anyone in the process, innocent or not.
There was a brief moment after Muerto’s death when I considered going to the cops. I had nowhere else to turn, and everything had been stolen from me. My entire life was gone, and I found myself suddenly free with only a handful of options, each one of them a potential disaster. But I couldn’t forget what happened the last time I went to the cops. In the end, I was still on my own. A piece of paper wasn’t going to protect me from the Locos or anyone else. It was up to me, and me alone.
Every day that I’m out on the street is a gamble, but it’s one I’m willing to take for a better life. And even though I know I shouldn’t, I want to take another gamble today. Jumping on a bus and heading up interstate 93 to New Hampshire is the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore. It’s been three days already. Too long, and yet not long enough. Every visit is a risk, but I can’t live without them.
I stash my belongings behind the dumpster and gather up my cash from the night before, zipping up my flimsy jacket and throwing on my hood and the sunglasses I plucked from a table at Sláinte. The bus station is a short walk, but every step feels like a mile.
Out of habit, I check over my shoulder often, never able to shake that feeling I’m being watched or followed. But this early, in this part of the city, everything is still quiet.
I make it to the station intact, and an hour later I’m nestled into the back of the bus where I can keep an eye on everyone. It’s a sparse crowd this time of day, and I’m tempted to nod off again, but I don’t. I can’t let my guard down. Not when it comes to these trips. If anyone even looks twice at me, I won’t hesitate to jump off and head back to Boston.
The bus arrives just a little past eleven, and my joints creak with the stiffness that comes from sleeping on a cold ground when I get off. But one sniff of the New Hampshire air makes all my aches and pains disappear. I can’t contain the smile that tugs at my lips as I beat it down the sidewalk and begin my four-block journey on foot.
I’m grateful that Conor took pity on me and bought an entire box of donuts this morning because without them I’d be feeling pretty weak right about now. Trying to dissect that kind gesture can only lead to a headache, especially when he’s insistent on reminding me that he hates me.
The man is confusing, to say the least. One minute he acts like I’m nothing, and the next I catch him staring at me with an intensity that could melt the sun. I’ve already caught myself giving him way more thought than I can afford, but I can’t and won’t let myself get caught up with a guy like him. Not when I have so much at stake. I’m reminded of that when I find myself on the doorstep of the beautiful white house with the red door.
I ring the bell, and Lacey checks the video intercom before she opens it. “How are you sweetie?”
“I’m good,” I offer an automatic lie.
Lacey doesn’t question it. She knows I’m not good, but she also knows better than to delve into it. She’s an old friend from my beauty school days, but our lives have gone in wildly different directions. She married a rich stock broker and stays at home now, and I landed myself in the sites of Muerto. Enough said.
She gestures me inside. “He’s upstairs. He’ll be so excited to see you.”
I follow her in and she takes my coat with a frown. “You need something thicker than this. It’s freezing out there.”
“I know,” I mumble. “I just grabbed this in a hurry.”
Another lie. It’s all I have, but Lacey has already done so much for me. The last thing I need is her feeling like she needs to supply me with clothing too.
“Archer, will you come down here please?” She calls up the stairs.
I wait anxiously as the small footsteps bound across the upper level and down the stairs, and when his face comes into view, I almost burst into tears again.
“Hey baby.” I kneel down and brace for impact as the little angel with brown hair and blue eyes flings himself into my arms.
“Hey mama!” he squeals as he buries his face into my neck. “I missed you.”
I choke down a sob as I squeeze him in my arms. “I missed you too. So much.”
“Are you hungry?” Lacey asks. “I could fix us all some lunch.”
“No.” I pull Archer up and hold him against my hip. Even though he’s getting too big for this at four years old, I can’t help it. “I think if you don’t mind, we might go down to the park and play for a while.”
“Of course.” Lacey nods in understanding. These moments with Archer are so precious that I don’t want to waste one second of them. “Let me grab his coat and gloves.”
Five minutes later, Archer and I are walking hand in hand down to the local park. It’s a nice community, and I’m grateful that he’s here. This is a safe place for Archer. Far away from Boston and in a house that’s secured like Fort Knox. Something Lacey insisted on when she had her own son.
“Tell me what you’ve been doing.” I help Archer onto the swing set and give him a little push.
He flutters his legs and shrugs. “We built an airplane.”
“You did?”
He smiles. “Lego airplane.”
My heart warms at his happy, easygoing expression, and I can only hope that in the end, when we come out of this, he will be okay. I hope someday he will understand that everything I’ve done is to keep him safe.
“Mommy got a new job,” I tell him. “Do you know what that means?”
“What?” He curls his arms around the chains and stares up at me with a face untainted by the darkness in this world.
“We’re going to be together very soon.”
He beams at me with a smile that could melt even the iciest of hearts. “Really? Can I bring my Legos?”
I laugh as tears spring to my eyes. “Yes, you can bring all your toys.”
For the next hour, we burn out all his energy and mine while I chase him around the park and utilize every square inch of the playground. It amazes me every time I come here to see how much he’s grown and changed. Even if it’s only been a few days, it seems like a lifetime.
As happy as I am to see him, it’s always bittersweet because I know it will be over soon and I’ll have to leave him again. And as much fun as we’re having, I can’t help the nagging sensation of doom in my gut. It’s potent today, and I find myself glancing around the park more often than usual, seeking out potential threats. Archer even asks me several times what I’m looking at, and I try my best to assure him that everything is okay, but I can’t shake that awful feeling that we’r
e being watched. As we’re leaving, it finally becomes apparent why.
Acid burns the back of my throat when I recognize the black BMW with Massachusetts plates parked across the street. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but when our eyes lock through the window, I know he’s done hiding.
“Please.” I shake my head as terror clogs my voice. “Please, no.”
Conor rolls down the window and gestures to the passenger seat. “Get in.”
I shake my head again, and Archer looks up at me. “What’s wrong, mama?”
“Nothing, sweetheart.” I give him a smile for his benefit. “Everything is just fine.”
“Don’t make a scene.” Conor’s lips flatten. “Just get in the car. It’s too bloody cold for you two to be out here like this.”
I’m trying not to lose my shit, I really am. But my son. He’s seen my son. My whole world is crumbling, and I don’t know how to handle this. No matter what, I lose.
Conor opens the door and gets out of the car, letting me know he’s done fucking around. I don’t want Archer to be afraid, and running is pointless. I cling to Archer’s hand with mine, desperately trying to think of a solution. My legs feel weak, and my heartbeat is thrashing in my ears. I don’t know Conor well enough to understand his character. But what else do I really need to know about him?
He’s mafia.
The mafia that I convinced myself it would be a great idea to go work for. “Please,” I whisper. “Leave him out of this.”
“Ivy,” Conor’s voice softens as his eyes meet mine. “Your son is safe. On that, I give ye my word.”
I pull Archer into my side, wanting so badly to believe it’s true. But Conor can see my doubt isn’t going anywhere, and he takes matters into his own hands, kneeling down so he’s face to face with my baby.
“Hello there, wee fella.” He ruffles Archer’s hair with his big hand. “My name is Conor, what’s yours?”
Archer giggles. “You have a funny accent.”
Conor’s lip tilts at the corner. “I know, aye.”
Archer puffs up his chest proudly. “I’m Archer. And I’m four years old.”
“Glad to meet ye, Archer,” Conor says. “Ye must be cold. What do ye say we sort ye out a hot chocolate to warm up those bones?”
Archer nods eagerly, and my body turns to stone when Conor takes him by the hand and leads him toward the car.
“Conor, I—”
“Get in.” Conor shoots me a look that warns me not to fight him on this. “I promised the boy some hot chocolate. If ye’re good, I’ll buy you one too.”
I watch helplessly as he buckles Archer in, debating my options. But the truth is, I’m out of them. Conor knows about him, he’s seen him, and there’s only one way out of this. I’m going to have to make a deal with the devil. I’ll need to talk my way out of this. Make him promises, blood sacrifices, give him my body. Whatever it takes. Because I can’t go through this again. I can’t lose Archer again.
Conor presses his hand against my lower back and urges me forward, leading me around to the passenger side. He helps me in, and then buckles me in, hesitating only briefly as he looks up at my face. There is a softness in his eyes I’ve never seen before, and it scares me. It scares me because it makes me feel like I can trust him, and that’s the worst possible mistake I could ever make.
I want him to tell me everything is going to be okay, and for a second, I foolishly believe that he might. But instead, he retreats to the driver’s side and punches a few buttons on his phone, pulling up a café on Google maps. A glance back at Archer ensures me that he doesn’t suspect anything. He doesn’t know how dangerous this man might possibly be.
We drive in silence, and I can’t stop watching Conor, waiting for the bomb to drop. My anxiety is crawling through my veins like poison, and I don’t know what to do.
“Ivy.” Conor reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Quit staring. We’ll talk about this later.”
With some difficulty, I manage to redirect my attention to the road, and after a few minutes, Conor pulls into the café. He ushers us into the shop and directs us to sit down while he orders. Archer and I wait quietly before Conor returns with hot chocolates in hand.
“Here ye go, wee lad.” He slides one over to Archer and then me.
“Be careful,” I tell Archer. “That’s hot.”
“It’s not too hot,” Conor says. “I told them to make it just right.”
I study him, wondering how he would even have the foresight to do something like that. “Do you have kids?”
“No.” He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “But I had a little brother to look out for.”
There’s a vulnerability in his voice that catches my attention, but I don’t ask him to elaborate. Right now, my focus needs to be on surviving. Conor was following me for a reason, and there’s only one reason that could be. He knows what I know, and I’m fucked.
I try not to think about it while we drink our hot chocolate and he tells jokes to Archer like it’s completely natural to him. Like we aren’t sitting at the table with a man who works for the Irish mob.
The trip back doesn’t do anything to allay my fears either. I’m wound up so tight I can hardly breathe when he pulls into Lacey’s driveway without even asking for directions. Further proof that he’s been following me all morning. Possibly even longer than that.
“Time to say goodbye,” Conor tells me. “Give the lad a kiss and a hug and send him inside.”
I can’t look at him or think about what those words might really mean. Instead, I take Archer inside and squeeze him like I’ve never hugged him before. And then I manage to make it all the way back to the car before I break down completely.
8
CONOR
SHE STARTS SOBBING the moment she gets back into the car, and I can’t handle it.
“Jaysus.” My fingers squeeze the life out of the steering wheel. “You have a fecking kid?”
“Please,” she chokes out. “Please don’t hurt him. He has nothing to do with this.”
It isn’t the bleeding kid I’m worried about. I can’t even look at her, knowing that she’s a mam. That changes things. It changes every goddamned thing.
When I saw her in that park with that little boy, I nearly lost my shite. He was so small. So innocent. All I could think of when I first saw him was Brady. I can still remember when he was that age, scared and alone in this world with only me to protect him.
And now I’m supposed to take away this kid’s mammy? The tiny creature sitting next to me who couldn’t hurt a fecking fly on her best day?
Ivy’s voice rises to a crescendo as her panic grows, and she blurts out anything she thinks will save her. Promises to do whatever she’s told. Working for free. Offers to give me anything I want. I glare at her, and she reaches out for me frantically, clinging to my jacket.
“I won’t say anything, I swear it. I swear, Conor. I never saw anything.”
“Don’t—” I try to tell her to shut up because I don’t want to hear what she’s about to say. I don’t want her to seal her fate. But Ivy is past the point of reason.
“I don’t care. Honestly, I wanted him dead. You guys did me a favor. You freed me. I would never say a thing to anyone. I haven’t so far, can’t you see that?”
“For fucks sake,” I growl. “Just stop talking before you condemn yourself any further.”
Her tears continue in soft, silent sobs all the way back to Boston. And I can’t think. I can’t figure out how I’m supposed to sort her out. We end up back at my townhouse. I’ve never brought a woman here, and I don’t know what I’m thinking doing it now.
Ivy sniffles as I drag her inside. “What are you going to do?”
I don’t have an answer to that. Crow is counting on me, and he was right about her. But chrissakes if I want to kill a mam.
I haul her into my bedroom and point to the bed. “Sit.”
Blonde strands of hair fly around her face as she shakes
her head, arguing and carrying on all over again. I can’t deal with this shite right now. I can’t even look at her. And maybe it’s cheap, but I’m not going to manhandle her, so I yank my Glock out from the back of my jeans and gesture to the bed again.
“Sit. The. Fuck. Down.”
A flood of tears leak from her eyes, but this time, she doesn’t hesitate to do as she’s told.
“I’ll do anything you want.” She closes her eyes and bows her head. “All the cash I earn dancing, it’s yours. I can clean your house. Cook. Whatever you want, Conor. Please…”
She looks up at me with a face so broken it physically hurts me to see her this way.
“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” she blurts. “Just give me your word that he’ll be okay.”
“Stop carrying on like that,” I snarl. “Did I ask ye to spread your goddamn legs for me?”
She curls into a ball and sobs harder. “I don’t know what you want. I’m desperate, can’t you see that? I’ll do anything! I don’t care.”
“Just stop fecking talking!” I edge my way toward the closet and rifle through the duffle bag I keep there. After a few minutes, I finally find what I’m looking for. Ivy freaks when I approach her with the rope, and this time, she tries to scramble for the end of the bed.
I catch her around the ankle and drag her back, climbing on top of her and using the weight of my body to pin her. It doesn’t take much. She’s only a wee thing, and I didn’t think she had much fight in her, but she’s wilder than I imagined. She bucks and screams and tries with all her might to wiggle from my grasp, and we’re not getting anywhere like this.
“Ivy.” My fingers clamp down around her jaw, forcing her to hold still and look at me. I brush the tangled mess of hair from her eyes, and when she looks up at me, chest heaving and lips wet, I freeze. An unbidden image of her lying naked beneath me comes to mind, and I have to shake myself out of it.