"No idea."
I throw him a sharp look. "This is your case."
"So? Do you have any idea how many cases I've got?"
I look at his empty hands. "Where's their file?"
He scoffs. "You're so cute." He cups his hands around his mouth. "Come on out, kids."
Finn stands beside the woman, shaking his head at her. "Ma'am," he tries. "Can I call anyone for you?"
My chest tightens. I know he isn't Greg, but this whole time, I've still hated him just as much. It's jarring to see him so full of empathy. Maybe he got the dose that was supposed to go to his brother.
"No," she slurs, leaning back against the couch.
The bedroom door opens and two young children creep out. A girl who looks barely six puts an arm around a toddler boy. His diaper sags, brown streaking his legs.
"Jesus," I whisper. "Where are they gonna go?" I ask Harrison.
"Come on," he coaxes them. "Follow me." He shepherds the children outside.
"Wait," I call, but he ignores me. "Do you have a car seat?" I ask the mother.
She slumps back, eyes heavy.
Finn shakes his head at me. "I'll have one of the guys bring me one from the station."
"Better hurry," I mutter. I wouldn't put it past Harrison to buckle the baby into the backseat.
Finn gets on his radio and asks for an ambulance and a car seat. With one last look at the mother, I turn and walk away.
There's one thing I can credit Bree with: she never used in front of me. It was always behind closed doors, with some boyfriend in her bed. Or she'd disappear for days. I knew what she was doing, of course, but only in an abstract way.
I wonder if Mercy caught up with Bree and, if so, what he found. If she's the same woman he fell in love with, or if she's still the woman he left. If he hadn't gone in for the MC, he would've raised me. That I'm sure of.
But he's left me again, which makes him no better than Bree. I will never, ever have kids. I'd rather not live with disappointing them. Considering what I came from, there's no alternative.
That's why it's better that Cliff and I are done. If I'm not with him, I can't repeat history. No one else gets hurt.
I know that, but it doesn't explain the tightness in my chest, the ache in my heart.
43
Cliff
I wobble into the parking lot of The Wet Mermaid, barely keeping the Screamin' Eagle upright. I pull into my usual spot at the end of the line of bikes, between Abraham and Olivia.
Olivia.
Her name is a sigh in my mind. Every time I come in, I'm torn between hoping she's working and hoping she isn't. The strip club is a skeleton crew, though—it's always the same people working. We're not a big MC, and Mark likes to keep it family only.
I forgot to stop for a coffee on my way from the factory job my P.O. got me a few weeks ago, so looks like I'm getting one from the bar. From Olivia.
I consider getting back on the bike and stopping at Dunkin' Donuts down the street. It's a shit idea. Balancing a hot coffee while riding is challenging enough. This exhausted, I'd be lucky if I didn't spill it all over myself.
Might as well suck it up.
I head inside. I'm slammed with bass the second I step inside. I don't get this obsession people have with bass these days. The vocalist sounds like Maynard James Keenan, but the band is not Tool. Neither is it A Perfect Circle. It's probably another one of his side projects. I've missed twenty years' worth of music. I've got no fucking clue.
I dig it, but the bass is too much. My bones shake. I scan the club and spot Mark, nodding along to it. I skewer him with a glare he doesn't see.
It's probably a good thing Olivia and I aren't talking, because if I gave her my thoughts on the bass, she'd call me an old man.
I drag my feet to the bar and lean on it. Olivia stands at the other end, making a tray of drinks. The guy sitting across from her says something, and she laughs, throwing her head back.
Jealousy snakes through my ribs, winding around them and yanking hard.
I shouldn't feel this way. For one, it's completely normal for Olivia the bartender to flirt with strangers. That's how she makes her tips. For two, she isn't mine anymore.
But her cheeks turn pink as she laughs, and the guy gives her a wink. I grit my teeth.
She turns my way and I pull my face into a blank slate. The smile drops from her lips when she sees me. She makes her way down anyway, her tongue flicking across her lower lip—something she does when she's nervous. Usually it's accompanied by a lot of talking.
I'm a little relieved that I still affect her. I'd rather make her feel other things when she sees me, though.
"Hey." Her hair is sleek and straight, completely unlike its usual curly chaos. "You look tired," she blurts.
Even though I shouldn't read too much into anything, I'm even more relieved that she's babbling. At least she isn't ignoring me.
I could take this one of two ways. I could turn on the charm, try to win her back. Or I could just be straight with her. Since I'm too tired to flirt, and I doubt it'd work on her anyway, I decide to avoid playing games.
"I am." I nod to the industrial coffee maker. "That thing on?"
"It can be." She gives me a curious look, then turns and starts making a pot. "Late night last night?" Her voice is casual, but I hear what she's really asking. She dumps in coffee grounds, barely measuring. I hope it's because she's eyeballing it, not some sort of evil plot.
I guess no one told her. I kind of want to see how she'd react if I was seeing someone, but that'd be cruel. I want to win her back, not drive her away. So I tell her the truth.
"I took a second job."
She flips on the machine and grabs a mug. Setting it down, she turns and faces me again. "Why?"
I give her a look. "Needed something to occupy my time."
Her lips form an O. "Why not just get Tinder?"
"Tinder?" I wrinkle my brow.
She hits the pause button on the coffeemaker and fills the mug. She holds it out to me, carefully offering me the handle. My fingers brush hers, and heat floods me.
It isn't the coffee.
She pulls away, inspecting her hand as if I spilled coffee on it. Blinking, she shakes her head. "It's a dating app. Well, more like a booty call app."
I lift an eyebrow at her.
"Tinder," she reminds me.
I shake my head, taking a sip of the coffee. Olivia makes the best coffee. I don't know if it's because she blindly throws grounds in and hopes for the best, and some kind of coffee god has blessed her, or she's just had a lot of practice at it. But it's her coffee I crave when I'm tired. When I need comfort.
"Not interested in that." I cock my head at her. Is she really that dense? Or maybe she's testing me. Even when I'm well rested, I'm no match for her. Right now, I don't have a chance in hell.
"So, a second job," she presses.
I nod toward the ceiling, indicating the club house upstairs. "I've gotta get my own place."
"Dorm rules getting you down?" Her eyes dance. For a moment, we're us again. Neither of us mentions that this subject is what tripped us in the first place.
"It's small. Don't get me wrong," I add quickly. "It's still bigger than my cell. But I need a place of my own." Especially if Lucy needs my help. I can't babysit above a strip club. I don't mention that because it doesn't look like Olivia knows yet. "I also need my own bike," I say, veering the subject a bit.
She laughs. "Me too. Got pulled over a few weeks ago and just about pissed myself."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She looks away, eyes dark.
Without thinking, I reach across the bar and wrap my hand around hers. It's such a pointless gesture. Holding her hand isn't going to make everything that hurts her go away.
But she places her other hand on top of mine, smiling sadly. "At least some good came out of it."
"What do you mean?"
"Finn," she says.
"The cop?" Putting th
e coffee down, I slip my other hand over hers.
"Yeah. I think he'll come in handy. I mean, I think we can make use of him. He feels guilty. It just sucks for me, because . . ." She shrugs.
"He looks just like Greg," I finish.
She nods, sighing. "So many things would be different if I wasn't broken." Her eyes meet mine for a second, then drop.
I frown. She's not broken, she's brilliant—all of her pieces shine. I want to tell her this, show her what I see. But I can't. I can't use words to change her mind about us. I have to let it be.
She pulls her hands away, and the moment's over. "Want me to top you off?" She nods at my half empty mug.
"Olivia," I begin, frantically gathering the things I want to say, the things she needs to hear.
She fills my mug. "Good luck with the new job," she says. Then she turns, leaving my end of the bar.
It's just as well. It's time for me to get to the door. Still, as I walk away, I glance over my shoulder. I catch her watching me, and hope masses in my chest again, a tumor that just won't die.
There it is, the real reason I took a second job at the factory. Hell, I'm considering picking up extra shifts. I don't sleep anyway. Every time I have a spare second, my mind drifts to her. I can't flush her out of me.
I don't think I ever will.
44
Olivia
I turn in a slow circle in the empty living room, my face turned up to the ceiling, eyes closed.
"Are you sure you don't want me to leave the living room furniture?" Esther asks.
I stop, wobbling a little. Opening my eyes, I take in the neat stack of boxes—the last of my roommate's belongings. Without her things, the apartment is basically my bedroom.
"Olivia?" She crosses the room, stretches a hand out toward me. "You all right?"
"Yeah." I can't smile, so I don't. I stare around the room again. When I replied to her ad for a roommate, I never thought we'd be friends. We're just so different—Esther bouncing from book to book, me bouncing from boy to boy. Now I can't imagine living apart from her.
"You know we're still gonna see each other, right, silly?" she teases, throwing her arms around me in a hug.
Donny strides into the apartment and grabs a box. "Holy shit, woman. What's in this thing? Rocks?"
She smiles sweetly at him, her arms still around me. "That one's just books."
He shakes his head at her, but warmth shimmers in his eyes. Hoisting the box, he carries it out to the U-Haul.
"Well, if you have to go, at least you're going with him," I mutter.
"Oh, Olivia." She kisses my cheek. "How long has it been since you and Cliff boned?"
I exhale, shoulders tightening.
"Too long, then. You guys will make up. You'll see. Then this place won't be so empty." With hearts practically bouncing in her eyes, she releases me.
"I liked you better when you were bossy." I cross my arms.
"Please. You know I'm right. Cliff loves you," she croons.
"That's the problem."
"Problem? Since when is someone loving you a problem? Cliff would do anything for you. He has. If I hadn't already snatched up Donny, I'd be throwing myself at that black-haired beauty."
I snort. "Esther, we both know you never throw yourself at anyone."
"It's so much more fun when they're chasing me." She wiggles her eyebrows. "Seriously, though. Maybe you should let it go."
"I can't." I almost flop down onto the couch before I remember there isn't one anymore.
She sighs. "He made a mistake. He meant well. He really did. Dude would kill for you."
"I know." Now that she technically doesn't live here anymore, I wonder if I can get away with smoking inside. My cigarettes are in my bedroom, though, and I don't want it to look like I'm walking away from her. I lean against a wall.
"You know, so what's the problem?" she asks.
"Me. I'm the problem. I don't do relationships for a reason."
"We've become pretty tight. You're close with your sister. What's the difference?"
I scoff. "I haven't talked to Lucy since graduation." Which is my own fault. I dig my teeth into my lower lip. "I'm not equipped for any relationship."
"Yet we love you anyway." Esther joins me at the wall, leaning against it so we're face to face. "Why not just let us love you as you are?"
I look away, at the scuffed paint on the wall, at the carpet in bad need of a steaming—anywhere but straight into her eyes. "How do you do it, Es?"
She tilts her head. "How do I do what?"
"Let people in. You and I, we've been through something similar. How did you just bounce back? How are you so . . . optimistic?"
Her lips twist to the side. Several moments pass, her eyes distant as she thinks. "I don't really think of myself as optimistic," she says. "I was a sunny kid, but I guess once you're touched by that kind of darkness, there's no going back. But, there are so many things I have in my life that keep me hopeful: the girls, Donny, even you. You gave me a gift that I didn't even know I needed. I'm not saying murder is always the solution, but . . ." She grins mischievously. "It sure helped me."
She pushes off from the wall and pads over to the stack of boxes. Running her fingers along them, she sighs. "I don't think you can ever beat trauma. It's always going to be part of you. It's a daily battle. You just have to do the best you can. You are, Olivia. You're doing the best you can. You're doing enough."
I frown. "Am I? Because I let him walk out into the world. I let him get married. How many other women has he hurt?"
"Are you responsible for what he does?" She twists her ponytail around her hand. "Was I responsible for Josué? Is it my fault he got my sisters, too?"
"No," I tell her, my voice stern. "It's not your fault."
"Then it can't be your fault, either, Olivia."
"At some point, someone has to say enough."
She nods. "I get that. Do what you've gotta do. But don't let go of the people who love you. Let Cliff move in here."
"That's not gonna happen."
"Why not? Don't you deserve some happiness?"
I hug myself. "Why does happiness have to equate shacking up with some guy?"
"'Some guy.'" She scoffs. "Cliff is not just 'some guy.' He's the guy. Dude popped out of thin air and dropped into your life. Don't let him get away. I've seen that shitty bartender eyeing him."
I wrinkle my nose at the mention of Trish. There's no way Cliff would ever go for her. She's not his type. Pru, on the other hand, is more his type. Not that I really know what his type is.
"You're way overthinking this," Esther chides. "Just invite him over, bang his brains out, and move on. Makeup sex is the best."
"How would you know? When have you and Donny ever broken up?"
"Sometimes we pretend, just for the makeup sex."
I groan. "Why did I ask?"
"You already know what you want," she says. "You're just afraid to take it."
"I'm not afraid," I balk. "I just don't want to be in a relationship."
"Olivia." Esther laughs. "Have you forgotten that I've lived with you for the past four years? If you're not hung up on Cliff, go grab yourself a one-nighter." She crosses her arms and lifts a dainty eyebrow at me.
Rolling my eyes, I walk out of the living room and into my bedroom.
"Ha! I didn't think so," she calls.
I snatch my cigarettes from the dresser and stalk back into the living room. Lighting up, I eye her, exhaling.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." She lifts her chin in triumph. "You can't move on from Cliff any more than he can move on from you."
"What do you mean?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Quit kidding yourself, and start living the life that's right in front of you." She grins, eyes all big and all but splooping hearts.
"Bossy, mushy, and nosy," I mutter.
"You know I love you." She throws her arms around me again.
The door opens and Donny sticks his head
in. "You good?"
"Yeah, we're about done here." Esther winks at him, not bothering to hide it from me. She hefts a box and inches toward the door. "Think about what I said."
"Not so fast." Donny takes the box from her. "These books are almost too heavy for me. Take that last one. It's light." Kissing the top of her head, he leaves us alone again.
She picks up the last box in the pile, labeled DELICATES. "See you later." Leaning over, she kisses me on the cheek. Then she flounces out of what was our apartment.
I guess now it's mine.
I don't want to stay here. Not alone. Probably not with Cliff. I'm not going to ask him to move in with me, like it'll solve all my issues. I'm going to do what I should've done weeks ago.
I'm going to call Lucy, beg her forgiveness for being the worst sister in the history of the world, and ask if I can move into her spare bedroom.
For now.
45
Olivia
Instead of calling Lucy, I decide to pop in. It's been almost a month since I've seen her face. I'm kind of surprised she hasn't called or stopped by to yell at me for going AWOL.
When I get to her place, I see Cliff's Screamin' Eagle in her driveway. Making a face, I pull in next to him. I can't seem to shake him lately. He's always where I am. I know we work together and we have the same circle of friends, but still. He needs to get his own Lucy.
I'm sweating in these damn skinny jeans. I hurry to the front door and let myself in.
I burst into the air conditioning, the cold air rushing over my hot skin. It's too early for this heat in June, but tell that to New England. There's no such thing as moderation or easing into things here.
Lucy sits on the couch, her legs crossed, a mug of tea in one hand. Tea—like it's thirty degrees out instead of ninety. "Hey," she says, grabbing a throw pillow and plopping it into her lap.
Cliff straightens in his seat next to her, then stands. "I'm gonna step outside." He kisses the top of her head. Then, with barely a nod, he eases past me.
I feel the ghost of his hands on my hips—they way he'd touch me before, when we were us. Sometimes he'd put a whole hand on the small of my back. Even though he doesn't touch me, my body leans toward him, just a fraction. He slips out the door and part of me goes with him.
A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 20
