She glances back out of the window, and I slow to a stop on the side of the road because I want her to hear me. She’s trapped in the car this way, no escaping the conversation, which is where I need her for this confession. I want to be ready for whatever reaction she has. She frowns when I pull out my phone and compose a text, holding up our meeting. She watches me expectantly when I shoot off the message and face her.
“We’re going to have to have one of those conversations now.”
“Tobias—” She shakes her head. “I understand why we need security.”
“There’s more to it.”
She bristles. “Goddamnit, isn’t it always something?”
“Yes. That’s my point. There will always be something. Always. No matter what, there will always be something, and you have to decide if being with me is worth this never-ending hassle and, more importantly, losing your life. Your life, Cecelia, because once you make this decision, there’s no going back.”
“I made the decision years ago, until you decided for me, remember?”
“Stop being so fucking flippant about this,” I bark. “And maybe I’m thinking that it’s still a decision for you because maybe you don’t feel the same way anymore.”
“I’m not being flippant. I’m adjusting. What haven’t you told me?”
“Everything I need to because you haven’t given me a fucking chance!” I clench my fists, trying my best to level out my temper. “And I get it, okay? I do, but this really is that serious.”
She licks her lower lip, her eyes remorseful. “I’m trying.”
“I know. Dom’s body wasn’t even in the ground before Miami retaliated.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“They came from Florida guns blazing and declared all-out war, just as we finished cleaning up the mess at Roman’s house. We were completely unprepared.”
“Jesus.”
I turn in my seat and fully face her.
“Within a week, they hit every fucking southeast chapter of the brotherhood and successfully killed a raven in every single one, including Alicia’s brother. That’s how we met, at his funeral. I was there the day they buried him.”
She nods solemnly.
“But that’s not when we got together. That funeral was just one of a dozen I attended in the month after you left, including Dominic’s.”
Her eyes fill with nothing but empathy, the reaction of a true queen, not a jealous ex, as she tries to wrap her mind around what I’m telling her.
“They came in droves, Cecelia, and all for. My. Head. You have to remember that only a few founding members knew of my association. Once I was outed by Miami, I became enemy number one. Sean and I split the chapters, amped-up security even though we weren’t really on speaking terms. We weren’t on any kind of terms at that point, but our dedication was unshakable, and we worked together, and both stepped up. That war lasted a solid six months before it finally started to die out. And it only reinforced my decision to keep you far, far away.”
“But…I thought all of those defecting in Miami were killed that night?”
“Some got away, and when they did, they armed up and came back with a vengeance. Miami was one of our best crews for a reason. They were the largest and had the most connections. A few of them had mafia ties, and they were not fucking around. They went straight for the head, me, and it got bad. When that news spread after that shitshow at your dad’s house, my authority and control was put into question by the brotherhood. Some thought I’d turned my back for personal reasons. News got muddled, and word spread fast. And it didn’t help that we were losing brothers left and right. Families got pissed, and all of them blamed me. It was my worst fucking nightmare. I was sure we were all about to get exposed, and every time I lived past a new threat, I assumed it was about to be over. The longer it went on, the more funerals I attended, the more I tried to right the world of the families that got destroyed before the government stepped in and snatched me. For the first year, I was sure it was all over.”
“But nothing ever came of it? No authorities caught wind?”
“The war was spread out across several states. Thankfully, we had enough feds with wings on our payroll to destroy the tie of the markings in the media, but as far as leaving a trail, as careful as we were, I wasn’t sure about it because it was an all-out street war by that point.”
She swallows. “How many died?”
“Too many,” I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Way too fucking many on both sides.”
“Those scars on your back. They’re from gunshots?”
I nod.
“When?”
“A year to the day I sent you away, to the day Dom died. Not a coincidence. I was finishing a run a block from my Charlotte office when I got gunned down on a fucking city street. Just more evidence that it wasn’t over, which only convinced me I was a fool to think about ever coming for you.”
“Did you,” her voice clogs, “did you…”
“Almost die? Yes. I was touch and go for about a week from what Tyler said. And honestly, at that point, I didn’t give a fuck if I did. It would have been a relief for me.”
Her eyes water. Tentatively, she reaches out and cups my jaw. I cover her hand with mine.
“The aftermath of that night turned out to be far more than we could handle. I was in no position to drag you into that mess, no matter how much I wanted you back. I had eyes on you everywhere. So did your father up until the day he died. It was a silent partnership with my birds and his added security.”
She winces.
“I’m not saying this to guilt you, Cecelia. I just want you to know they may seem like excuses, but they are good reasons for me, reasons why I couldn’t contact you, couldn’t come to you. It was way too fucking dangerous the first few years. Those still wearing wings, still dedicated to the cause, were heavily vetted during that time. To some others, the ones we weren’t sure about, we made them believe the brotherhood was dissolving, becoming a thing of the past. Once all hell broke loose, we shrank in size, and in the end, Sean and I decided it was for the best. We knew what we were doing as far as you were concerned. It was safer for us to hurt you emotionally and for you to hate us for it. The more you resented us and stayed away, the better off you were.”
She runs her tongue along her lower lip, her eyes searching mine before she pulls her hand away.
“After all this time, you and Sean really never…talked?”
“I tried,” I admit, “Of course, I tried. I tried to get him into the business side when his son was born to keep him safe, to keep Tessa safe. But no, Sean and I haven’t been the same since the day they returned from France and saw us together.”
Her voice is distant when she speaks. “All this time, I thought at least you had each other.”
I shake my head. “I had my precious fucking club, and that was all I had left, and it was falling apart day by day. Everything I worked for went up in flames the night Dominic died. And I didn’t care at that point, but it was the people that depended on me, on us, that kept me going. When the fog of war finally lifted, I got lost. I got lost in my head. And I guess in a way you could say—I went a little crazy.”
“I’m…”
“Sorry? Don’t ever be. It was only the first real taste of reaping what I’ve sown. I told you long ago I knew it would catch up with me at some point. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon. There’s more, and it’s coming, but they’re waiting for us.”
She nods as I turn the ignition and glance in the rearview at the necklace hanging from it. I reach up and pinch the metal wings between my fingers. “When I got here, Sean texted me, asking about you, and for the first time since Dom died, he asked about me. I think he’s finally trying to forgive me.”
Dropping the necklace, it sways back and forth as I put the car into gear.
“We’ll never be the same, but I knew that when I chose you over him, and that was before,” I exhale, and dread cloaks me
as I fill her in on the rest. “Cecelia, they will always be after me, and I use the term loosely because the they is interchangeable. The night I came to you with that head wound? That was the result of another attempt on me that I wasn’t fucking expecting. I put more holes in him than necessary to make sure that was the end of the threat, but instead of doing what I should have and erasing any more threats, I laid low and came straight to you that night.”
“Who was it?”
“A house call from an enemy I made in France in my early days for an associate. And there’s a really good chance that’s not the last retaliation. There are long memories in this game.” She mulls over my words. “With you, I continually broke my number one rule. With you, I wasn’t thinking like I should have. I never really did after we got together, but I didn’t want to be without you.”
I stare at the open road before us.
“If we do this, really do this, you need to know, if they ever get to you, the most valuable thing in my fucking life, it’s game over for me, Cecelia. End of. I can barely handle dealing with the possibility of losing you. I’ve only survived this long without Dominic, and losing you, and Sean, my respect, my purpose, I just stopped fucking caring about everything that mattered to me personally. I became someone I didn’t recognize, and there was no one there to stop me from…” Flickers of the nights I let depravity consume me flash briefly, shadowing the rest of the light of day in darkness. I reach into those memories in an attempt to describe my state of mind. “I felt better not fucking caring, liberated in a way I have never been because I had nothing to lose. I had no one close to me anymore to worry about, and I was relieved. My head wasn’t racing so much, and I wasn’t….” I shake my head. “If they get to you now,” I grit out, “they take everything. So, this meeting is more than necessary. But all of this can stop right here, right now. I can’t walk away from you again, I can’t push you away again, and I never will, but you can order me away. If that’s your decision, I’ll respect it, because Cecelia, there’s a very real chance you could die for loving me, and I can only promise to try to keep you safe.”
It only takes her a second to nod before she straightens in her seat. “Like I said, I made the decision a long time ago, Tobias. Let’s go.”
Age Twenty-One
Walking under the cover of the canopy of trees at the entry of the park, I shove my hands into my jeans keeping a leisurely pace. A lone bird swoops in from above, catching my eye as it flies overhead before landing on one of the low-hanging branches. Eyes fixed on the bird, I feel his watchful return stare following my progress as I stroll past. My mind wars with the significance of its appearance as my gut tries to decipher if it’s a warning or a signal to keep going. I decide on the latter, walking further along the outskirts of the park. It doesn’t take me long to spot the group of men gathered in pairs at a cluster of tables, most of them older, mid-to late-sixties. All of them are situated across from each other, chessboards in between. Only one man sits alone, the pieces on his board scattered as if mid-game, the chair opposite of him empty. Pulse kicking up, I take the last few strides positioning myself amongst them before sliding into the vacant chair. The men surrounding us don’t so much as spare me a glance, too immersed in their own games.
The man I’m sitting across from doesn’t acknowledge my presence in the slightest when I survey him, his face etched with years of wear, deep lines in his forehead and around his lips. His thick, greying hair is on the longer side, and his worn clothes are slightly wrinkled—as if he gave no thought about his appearance and simply rolled out of bed. He situates the board pieces delicately, caressing each one with the pads of his fingers before releasing them as he sets them back to their starting position on the worn board.
Seeming satisfied with his ritual, he finally lifts eyes—the color of mine—to sweep me with the same careful inspection. His lips twitch in amusement at the slip of my expression due to our likeness, a clear familial relation.
Since I’ve been in France, and due to whispers about my birth father, I’ve grown more curious about the man he was before his sickness claimed him. I’ve discovered some sparse details from Antoine, who was, from what I gathered, at one point in time his associate when my parents were together. My father was, in essence, an executor of orders for the highest bidder. Many feared Abijah. Some respected him. As a thousand questions bud on my tongue, I don’t dare ask them. I’m here on invitation, and I’m not about to fuck it up with my curiosity before I find out why the invite was extended.
He wasn’t on the exhaustive list of contacts Delphine so carefully constructed for me—that consisted mostly of my mother’s relatives—all of whom are former activists, and very few on my birth father’s side. In truth, he’s an unlikely ally. Skepticism takes hold for his motivations, but I know without a doubt I’m staring at Abijah’s father, my grandfather. Someone I would never have considered to enlist help from in any form, the fear ingrained inside of me when I was young. The notion embedded deeply by my mother that Abijah was a man I should never be curious about or seek out in any capacity. Because of that, I’ve rarely, if ever, given much thought to his extended family.
As we study each other, some part of me recognizes the possibility that because my mother fled France—taking Abijah’s only son while abandoning him completely for another man—that it may have caused an indirect grudge for all involved, including me.
I weigh his expression closely for any trace of that grudge or resentment. Instead, I find something resembling joy in his eyes as if he’s been thirsty for the sight of me all of these years.
But maybe it’s not me he sees as he stares back at me, but the ghost of my birth father, a son he lost to mental illness long ago. I can sense an inkling of that bond now as I stare back at him. A bond I had at one point with the man who raised me and that I now have with my brother.
The spring sun begins to beat down on our heads as the morning clouds part, lighting up the board.
“Se voir accorder le premier déplacement est perçu par certains comme un avantage. Je considère que c’est mon avantage. Avec ce seul coup, je peux souvent dire si mon adversaire est agressif ou non. Fais le premier pas, Ezekiel, je suis assez curieux de voir.” Being granted the first move is seen by some as advantage. I consider it my advantage. With that one move, I can often tell whether my opponent is aggressive or not. Do make the first move, Ezekiel. I am quite curious to see.
“Je n’ai jamais joué.” I’ve never played.
Another twitch of lips and a flicker of what I perceive as pride shines clear in his eyes.
“La plupart répondraient, ‘Je ne peux pas jouer.’ Je préfère ta réponse.” Most would respond, ‘I can’t play.’ I like yours much better.
He takes a pawn and moves it two spaces diagonally before pulling it back in its starting place on the board.
“Tu ne peux avancer ton pion de deux cases que la première fois, une fois qu’il est en jeu, le pion ne peut se déplacer qu’une fois par tour. Lorsque tu retires tes doigts du pion, c’est joué, tu ne peux plus revenir en arrière.” Only the first time can you advance a pawn two spaces, once it’s in play, the pawn can only move once per turn. Once you remove your fingers from the pawn, it’s done, never to be pulled back.
He draws his brows in question, and I give him the slow dip of my chin in understanding. He speaks clear English with his next words. “I was very unhappy to hear about your first move.”
Antoine.
It’s the only conclusion I can draw.
I barely have time to register the implications of what he’s saying as he gestures back to the board. “Pay close attention, Ezekiel.”
He moves down the line, demonstrating the horizontal and vertical movement rules of each piece until I’ve grasped a mild understanding of them. He does this silently for several minutes as I watch on, rapt, paying close attention to the way he regards each piece.
“Vous considérez le pion comme le plus important?” You con
sider the pawn most important?
“Cela dépend de la connaissance du pion et de sa position. Et puis, l’union fait la force, n’est-ce pas?” It depends on the knowledge of the pawn and its position. And there’s a comfort in numbers, is there not?
The question is directly related to my reason for seeking help in France, which lets me know just how long he’s been aware of me and my quest here, and how deep his connections run. Shoving my pride aside, I admit the truth I’ve gathered through years of isolation here and nod. The time I feel most at peace is at home, surrounded by my brothers.
“Mais tu vois, s’il est correctement positionné, le pion seul peut devenir l’une des pièces les plus puissantes du plateau, et a la capacité de mettre le Roi en échec.” But you see, if positioned correctly, the pawn alone can become one of the most powerful pieces on the board and has the ability to check the king.
He lifts the piece and turns it in his hands with great care, and I watch him, engrossed in his movement before he sets it back on the board.
A lesson in chess is not at all what I expected this morning. The irony strikes me that as much as I’ve compared my moves in my time in France to this game, I only know the basics, the essence of it, the central goal.
Awareness of the strongest kind overwhelms me, and I welcome it, thankful I trusted my instincts earlier on my walk here. There have been a few times in my life where I was certain about my path, by way of overall electricity that consumed me and told me I was exactly where I was supposed to be at a certain point in time. The first time was in the clearing the night my parents died. The second time it hit was the last night I spent in that diner with Preston. And I feel the same zing now as I lift my eyes to the man sitting opposite of me.
“Tu m’as dévoilé ton handicap avec tes premiers mots, ce qui n’est pas une sage décision dans un jeu de tactique. Je sais déjà que je peux et que je vais te battre, mais ton avantage est maintenant le premier coup.” You gave away your handicap with your first words to me, not a wise decision in a game of tactics. I already know I can and will beat you, but your advantage now is the first move.
The Finish Line Page 13
