The After Party (A Badboys Boxset)

by Karr, Kim

  I rang the doorbell and immediately heard the sound of little footsteps coming my way.

  The door swung open. “Put ’em up or I’ll shoot,” William drawled.

  William was Erin’s oldest and at seven, he was quite a little man.

  I raised my hands. “Don’t shoot.”

  Disappointment flickered on his face. “That was too easy, Elle. Next time you have to draw your own gun.”

  Little did he know, I was toting a real gun in my purse. “You mean like this?” I pretended to have a gun pointed at him.

  “Whoa, you’re fast,” he said, his eyes like saucers.

  “Elle, is that you?” Erin called from the kitchen.

  “Hi, Erin. Yes, it’s me.”

  “Come on in. Clementine is just finishing dinner,” she said.

  “Race you to the kitchen,” I challenged William.

  He promptly took off, practically mowing over Conner on the way.

  “I want to play,” Conner said. Conner was five and always wanted to be doing what his older brother was doing.

  While they sped ahead, I walked past the family room, which was completely littered with toys, and stepped on a Lego or two in the hallway. Erin’s house was always chaos, but the kids always seemed to be laughing and having fun.

  Given that, I guessed, what did a little mess matter?

  I passed dozens of pictures on the wall. Mostly of the kids, who obviously ruled the household. I stopped at one in particular. It was of a family of five. I knew it was Michael and Erin and their parents, but I wasn’t familiar with the third child. He was an older boy, and his eyes were just as ice blue as Michael’s and his mother’s. I would ask Erin, but she didn’t like to talk about her parents. She and her father didn’t get along, and for that matter, neither did Michael and his father.

  The kitchen was in the back of the house and I knew just when the boys reached it.

  “I win!” William yelled.

  “No, I win,” Conner countered.

  “I think you both won,” I said from the archway.

  I knew better than to look around but I still did, growing a bit uneasy at the mess. Bottles, cups, and bowls covered almost every inch of the counter. Pots and dishes filled the sink. Crayons and markers were all over the table, and I couldn’t help noticing someone had decided to try his hand at sketching on the wall.

  Finally, my eyes landed on a little treasure. Clementine sat in a booster chair with a tray of food and beside her in a high chair sat Braden. Braden and Clementine were practically the same age. I think Braden was a month or two older.

  Erin turned around in her chair. She was wearing sweatpants and her fiery red hair was in a disheveled ponytail. She looked how I felt—exhausted. Taigh, who was six weeks old, was at her breast. I think she was still breast-feeding Braden and I wondered how that worked.

  “Mama!” Clementine shrieked when she saw me.

  My heart stilled and panic struck at the same time.

  With uncertainty, Erin’s eyes darted to mine.

  “She’s never called me that before,” I managed to say, not sure how to respond to either Erin or Clementine.

  Erin waved her free hand dismissively. “It’s the only word Braden knows. They’ve been copying each other all day. She even wanted to drink from my breast.” Erin let out a laugh. “And he wanted to drink milk from her sippy cup.”

  Okay then.

  Perhaps that was all it was. With a smile, I crossed the room to greet the happy little girl. “Hi, sweet girl. How are you are today?” I cooed.

  My heart still wasn’t beating as it should and I had to fight back the urge to cry. She wasn’t my daughter. She had a mother. And hopefully her mother would be returning to her soon. But all of that didn’t make the moment any less special.

  “I couldn’t get her to eat the peas,” Erin said, switching breasts.

  I looked at Clementine’s tray and had to laugh. Green mushy blobs were everywhere. “Yes, I can see that.”

  Erin blew a loose piece of hair out of her eyes. “At least she ate all her applesauce and macaroni and cheese.”

  Clementine’s navy-blue dress showed signs of both. “Thanks for feeding her.”

  “Mommy, he hit me.”

  “No, Mommy. He hit me.”

  The older boys were yelling from the other room, but it didn’t seem to faze Erin a bit. “John, the boys are fighting and they need a bath anyway. I’d like to go to early Mass tomorrow,” she called to her husband, who must have been elsewhere in the house.

  I hadn’t realized he was home. John was a doctor and usually took call on the weekends. Weekend call made it easier for him to be home at night during the week, and it was important for him to see his children. He was a nice, respectable man who took care of his family with more than just money.

  “I’m on it,” John answered from somewhere upstairs.

  His response didn’t surprise me—he was always helping with the boys.

  So different from how I’d grown up.

  “Come on, boys,” John called. A moment later I heard laughter and the boys giggling as they ran up the stairs.

  “I want to go first,” William said.

  “No, I do,” Conner whined.

  With a tight grip on the sticky handles, I carefully removed Clementine’s food tray.

  Giving the kitchen my full attention now, I couldn’t help but think about what a stark contrast this house was to the one I grew up in. Everything in our home always had to be clean, orderly, in the right place. We had to eat everything on our plate, we weren’t allowed to yell or scream, and we always tidied our own messes. And my father never helped my mother with anything except for disciplinary issues.

  I wanted Clementine to grow up in an environment like this. Not one where order ruled over chaos and one man reigned supreme.

  “Will you take her tomorrow?” Erin asked, jostling me from my thoughts.

  I lifted Clementine from her seat. “Take her where?” I asked.

  “To church. I know Michael tries not to miss a Sunday.”

  “I don’t typically attend Mass with him.”

  “Oh,” was her only response.

  I didn’t add that I gave up on God a long time ago.

  Clementine put her hands on my cheeks, reminding me that this wasn’t my dark past. I shook off my thoughts and looked at her. “Let’s get you changed, silly girl.”

  Erin was patting the baby’s back.

  “Is his reflux any better?” I asked.

  Just then, projectile vomit answered my question. Erin grabbed a burp cloth and wiped the baby’s mouth. “Not at all.” She juggled the baby and cloth without frazzle or tears.

  “Can I help?” I offered.

  She shook her head. “No. Clementine’s diaper bag is on the couch in the family room. There’s a pair of pajamas in there and a change of clothes, but I have to warn you, she didn’t take a nap. She was too busy watching the boys.”

  Erin was no-nonsense and had all her ducks in a row.

  “Thanks for the warning.” I smiled.

  Clementine was pointing to the milk on the floor. “Messy,” she said.

  With a laugh, I leaned my forehead to her. “Speaking of messy, little miss, pajama time for you.”

  Erin had Taigh laid across her thighs and was patting his back again. “You’re good with her, you know.”

  I looked at her and how good she was with her kids and then at Clementine’s smiling face. “You think?”

  The baby burped again, and this time Erin caught the small blob of spit-up with the cloth diaper in her hand. “No, I don’t think, I know. I can see it. Elizabeth always seemed afraid around her, like she might break her. But you’re different.”

  I shrugged. “Isn’t everyone?”

  She cradled Taigh in her arms. “Yes, that’s true. I’m sure when Elizabeth returns she’ll embrace motherhood. Any word of when that might be?”

  The lies were getting to me.

&nbs
p; I couldn’t answer her because I had no idea if Lizzy would return and, if she did, what kind of shape she’d be in. I shook my head. “I’m going to get her changed now so I can pop her straight into bed if she falls asleep in the car.”

  Erin stood and set the baby in the bouncy seat on the counter. “Elle.”

  I turned back.

  “I don’t think I’ve told you how much I admire you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  She picked up some dirty dishes from the table. “You put your life on hold and moved here to help take care of your sister’s daughter. Not everyone would do that.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “That’s just it, Erin. I didn’t put my life on hold.” I kissed Clementine. “I started living it.” I didn’t explain any further. I couldn’t. Some emotions were too painful to discuss.

  On shaky legs, I turned and left her in the kitchen as she bent to clean up the vomit on the floor.

  The family room was quiet, but I could hear water splashing upstairs and Erin talking to Braden and Taigh as she cleaned up.

  Their house was messy but it was anything but a mess.

  It was filled with laughter, not tears.

  It made my heart warm to know Clementine was part of a family that was happy.

  And that’s the way every child’s life should be.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LOGAN

  The place smelled like piss.

  Brighton House was the top facility for elder care in Boston.

  And it still smelled like piss.

  I hated coming here and hated not, in equal measure.

  Gramps didn’t really have to be here, but after his last fall, my uncle insisted on it. Uncle Hunter is my father’s older brother. He was the one who’d been able to stay away. He went to college, and then made his own way, free and clear of his Blue Hill Gang ties. My father had done the same. That is, until my stupidity drew him in. I was the only reason he was pulled into a world my grandfather didn’t want him to be a part of. And I lived with that guilt every day.

  Gramps didn’t try to stop it, though.

  He couldn’t.

  Rules were rules.

  A life for a life—dead or alive.

  I wasn’t there for the conversation my father had with Killian, but I was certain it went something like it’s either him or me.

  Maybe that was why Gramps didn’t try harder to fight it.

  Nobody could have seen what was coming. That Patrick owning my father would bring my grandfather down. Looking back now, it seems so obvious. Once Patrick had my father, Gramps was under his thumb. With the tables turned, Patrick moved quickly, merging the smaller Dorchester Heights Gang with the infamous Blue Hill Gang. That’s when he unofficially began running things. Gramps was the boss by declaration, but everyone knew Patrick made the decisions.

  I stood in the doorway to Gramps’s room and just watched him for a few minutes. His mind was sharper than a tack. But sadly, it was his body that was giving out. After years of fighting, I don’t know how many gunshot wounds, and myriad broken bones, he had a hard time getting around.

  Dark eyes glanced over.

  I gave him a nod. “Hey Gramps, how’s it going?”

  The old man tore himself away from his crossword puzzle. “Logan, back so soon?”

  I walked in and took a seat on his bed. “Yeah, I guess I missed you.”

  Gramps looked more than delighted to see me. “Buttering me up?”

  With a shake of my head, I just grinned at him.

  He shifted in his favorite chair as if he couldn’t get comfortable. “No matter—that’s always good for an old man to hear.”

  “You okay?”

  He nodded. “Just been sitting too long today.”

  I smiled at him. Old age had a way of softening even the hardest of men. And Killian McPherson was one of the hardest.

  When he was on the street, that is.

  When he was with me, he was just the man who wanted to make sure I knew how to take care of myself. Since Uncle Hunter never married and my father never remarried, I was his only grandchild, and he hated that the guys referred to me as the Silver Spoon. A few suffered broken bones as soon as those two words escaped their lips in his presence. He didn’t mind my trust fund ties, but he wanted me to fit in both of the worlds I was raised in. He was all for cotillion and mixing with New York City’s high society, but he also wanted me to learn the ropes of Boston, more specifically those of the Blue Hill Gang.

  My parents believed they could shelter me from the latter; he knew that wasn’t possible. So he took it on himself to teach me what I needed to know. He’d tell my parents he was taking me for ice cream and we’d go to watch a fight instead. He’d tell them he was bringing me to a Red Sox game and we’d sit with one of his bookies while he’d show me the ropes of illegal gambling. He’d tell my parents we were going camping and we’d spend the weekend sparring. He taught me how to shoot, to fight, and to take care of myself.

  At the time, I was young and I didn’t know any differently. I looked up to him. I liked to be with him. Thought of him as my hero. Looking at him now, I know he’s done bad things but he’s always loved me. He’d do anything to protect me.

  The truth of the matter is Grandpa Ryan might have taught me to be book wise, and Gramps McPherson might have taught me to be street wise, but both are skills I’ve never underestimated. And honestly, both worlds are ruthless in different ways. Grandpa Ryan uses money to get what he wants, whereas Gramps McPherson used to use muscle. Psychoanalyzing their worlds wasn’t going to change anything. The bottom line was that after everything I’d done in my life, and the trouble I’d caused my family, I now walked on the right side of the law and wanted to stay as close to it as I could.

  Shaking off these thoughts, I rubbed my palms on my pants. “I need to talk to you.”

  He put the newspaper on the table and tucked the pencil behind his ear. “I’ve seen that look only twice before in my life.”

  I bunched my brows.

  What the hell was he talking about?

  “Once when I looked in the mirror after the first time I met my Millie, and again when your father came home from college with your mother at his side.”

  Okay, so maybe his mind was going.

  My huff of laughter wasn’t deliberate. “I’m not in love, Gramps. You know me better than that.”

  He eased forward with a groan. Moving around was difficult on him. “Pull that chair over here and sit closer.”

  The look in his eyes told me I’d better do as he said.

  Once I was sitting directly in front of him, he placed his hand on my knee. “I’ve taught you many things, Logan, but I think I neglected to teach you that you don’t decide when you fall in love. Love decides that for you.”

  I lowered my head and raised my eyes. “What’s the matter, old man, got chicks on the brain? Don’t tell me the cute blonde who gives the hand jobs while she bathes you has been standing you up?”

  Gramps gave me a wicked laugh. “Think I’d still be here if that were the case? She makes her rounds, don’t worry.”

  I couldn’t help my smirk. There was the guy I was used to.

  “I assume you’re not here to ask me about the birds and the bees, so cut the shit and tell me what you are here for.”

  I gave him a hesitant nod.

  “Go on.”

  “There’s this girl.” I cringed at the first words that left my lips.

  He slapped his hand on my leg and smiled like a motherfucker.

  I held my hands up. “Wait—it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  Gramps had triumph in his eyes as he eased himself back, looking very proud. “It never is, my boy, it never is.”

  I scooted my chair back and rested my forearms on my thighs. “Let me start again. Patrick had my father go on a drug warning last night.”

  As soon as I said the words, I felt the temperature in the room drop, and it had nothing to do with the t
hermostat. The old man’s eyes darkened as the playfulness I’d just seen evaporated into the hard man from the street. Faster than sin, he took the pencil from behind his ear and plunged it into the chair cushion. Some kind of animalistic growl left his throat, and then he brought himself to his feet. “That wasn’t how we left things. Take me to see Patrick,” he barked.

  Looking into his dark eyes had me jumping up. “That’s only going to stir shit up and you know it.”

  “Now!” he demanded.

  “Talk to me first. Listen to what I have to say,” I pleaded.

  His disposition didn’t change and his scowl remained.

  Worried things would only get worse, I reasoned with him. “Please, this isn’t about your son. I’ll take care of him. He’ll be fine. I’m here because I need some advice. Some insight. Or innocent people are going to end up hurt or, worse, dead.”

  Gramps reluctantly sat on the edge of his bed. “Go on.”

  I told him everything that I knew that had taken place so far between Patrick, O’Shea, and Elle, which wasn’t much. Even about how much Elle looked like Emily. I kept my voice even, but it broke more than a few times. Finally, I shared my plan to bail O’Shea out if I had to.

  He listened intently. When I finished, he scratched his chin and seemed to think hard for a few moments before he spoke. “Let me get this straight. Someone has been funneling cocaine through the high-society circuit and when Patrick got wind of it, he went ballistic because he doesn’t own a piece of it; and then true to form, he put Tommy on it, who in turn questioned everyone, beat doors down, made threats, but whoever was running the ring remains a ghost on the street.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Makes me think he’s running more than just the small, wealthy circle.”

  “I have to agree. This source is bigger than even Patrick thinks.”

  I was certain he was right.

  “And you think it could be this chick you mentioned?”

  “Yeah, O’Shea’s wife. I’m not one hundred percent on that, but that’s what I’m told.”

  He harrumphed, since his old-school beliefs meant a chick could never pull something like that off. “I don’t think so.”

  “Gramps,” I started to say, but he cut me off.