BOSSY BROTHERS: TONY

by Huss, JA

  He draws in a deep breath. And when he lets it out he says, “One date. That’s it. One date and at the end of the night if it’s too scary, fine. If you’re still too afraid of what might happen, then fine. We’ll be friends forever. We won’t ever talk about it again.”

  I think about this for a few moments.

  “One date,” he whispers. “I earned it. Just give me the chance I deserve.”

  “Vann, this might—”

  “This might what? God, Belinda. Just fucking take a chance with me! Everything is a risk. For fuck’s sake, we committed several dozen felonies together down in Key West when we joined the Dumas family smuggling ring!”

  I smile and flutter a little as that sick, falling feeling begins to subside. “You have a point there.”

  “We could be in prison right now.” He steps forward and places his hands on either side of my head. His fingers grip my hair as he stares down into my eyes. “That was a risk,” he whispers. “I’m not a risk. I’m a fucking promise.”

  I swallow hard and nod my head. “OK.”

  His deep frown disappears immediately.

  “One date. But if it feels weird, or I get any suspicion that this is a bad idea, then…”

  “Then we go back to friends.”

  It’s never going to work. I think I just signed away our friendship by agreeing to this.

  Sure, it could go right. It could go great. But even if it does, how long will it last?

  And what if it doesn’t go great? What if the whole thing turns into a disaster?

  No one, not even perpetually optimistic Vann Vaughn, really believes that we’ll just go back to the way things were.

  This date is either the end of us—or the beginning of us.

  Vann leans down and kisses me. And it’s as heart-stopping as the one yesterday inside Anna Ameci’s.

  It doesn’t linger. But this kiss gets its point across in less than a single moment.

  This kiss is the stuff of fairytale fantasies.

  It makes me want him, it makes me long for more, and it breaks my heart at the same time.

  “I promise you,” Vann says as he pulls away from me. “I promise you it will be good. And I will not waste this chance. You’ll see,” he says, and takes a step back towards the stairs. “I’m going to prove it to you. I’m going to prove that you and I were meant to walk this life together starting… now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - TONY

  I hear every word Vann Vaughn pours out to Belinda from the side of the garage. I wasn’t going to spy—what I just overheard was a lesson in gut-wrenching, heart-crushing unrequited love. On Vann’s part, of course. Not mine. But… there is still something about Belinda—Rosalie, whatever she wants to call herself these days—that prevents me from walking away.

  I don’t use the word prevent lightly.

  I feel this tug. And I can’t even begin to explain it because it makes absolutely no sense. I could never—would never—stand up in front of Belinda and say those words that Vann just said to her. Never in a million years would I be able to force those words out of my mouth and mean them.

  But he meant them. That shit came from his heart.

  Fine. You know what? He can have her. I don’t even want her.

  Congratulations, Vann. You win. If that pathetic outpouring of emotion is what changes Rosalinda’s mind—slow clap, my friend. Slow clap.

  But I’m certainly never going to grovel at her feet like that. I should just go back to my rental and pack up my shit. Hit the next flight out of Denver International and settle back into my amazing Key West life.

  That’s what I should do.

  Hell, that’s even what I want to do. So bad.

  But… but… but… I can’t. I don’t know what it is about Rosalinda—I’m not sure if it’s the memory of who Rosalie used to be or the revelation that Belinda is still her, still mine, and yet not her and not mine at the same time. Or if it’s just some misplaced sense of obligation. I. Don’t. Know.

  I don’t get it.

  The only thing I do know right now is this: I will not be going back to the rental and packing my shit. I will not be in Key West by tomorrow. I will not be putting her behind me.

  Why? Or better yet, how? How the fuck does this little pink-haired girl control me like this?

  It’s like she has this spell over me. I thought hate-fucking her was the answer. I really did.

  I get what that says about me. I get it. I’m a douche. People should just start calling me Jesse Boston, that’s how much of a douchebag move this whole thing is.

  And that’s fine. I’m not going to deny that I’m an asshole. I’m not even going to deny that I came here to use her to fix myself. I’m not like Alonzo in the girl department—who, for the record, is insane and possibly stupid for dating a girl online for two years and then pledging his undying love to her the first time they meet in person.

  Unlike him, I get out. And I get around. I’ve dated a lot of tourists over the years. Not to mention Spring Breakers. But I don’t get attached to people. I certainly never got attached to Belinda. Not even back when she was called Rosalie.

  Even then it was just a slightly different version of what’s happening between us right now. One that came with a lot more fucking, but still, it was the same. We fight like mortal enemies and then we fuck.

  It was sick. It still is. I don’t even like her!

  She has always possessed this innate pull that kept me coming back. A sort of gravity. And I guess I had the same pull for her. Because she hung in there for years. She put up with me the same way I put up with her.

  But this? What I’m doing right now? Spying like a creep in the bushes on the side of her garage apartment just so I could get inside information on the future relationship status of a girl I don’t even want to be with and a guy who elicits a desire to smack him in the teeth every time he beams that stupid charming smile at me?

  What the actual fuck am I doing?

  Why can’t I just walk away?

  I have no answer to that question. I can’t even make up a lie to tell myself, that’s how illogical this whole trip is. So I just wait there on the back side of the garage, hidden in some overgrown hedges like a damn cat burglar, looking up at her window for many more minutes than I can reasonably pass off as a ‘safe’ amount of time before I start formulating a plan to sneak off the Vaughn property.

  “Fuck it,” I whisper, then stand up, pull myself together, and start creeping along the side of the garage towards the front of the house. The lights are still on inside the mansion, so I’m careful. The last thing I need is one of those crazy brothers to come out here with a shotgun.

  I’m just about to step out of the shadows and make a run for the driveway when I hear a familiar yipping sound and freeze in place.

  A few seconds later I see that same annoying little dog from yesterday, this time being walked by someone completely different. Not the girl, a guy. But not the same guy as last night, either. This one is wearing a suit.

  I check my watch. It’s four thirty-seven AM. What the hell is this guy doing? Walking this dog at this hour, in a suit?

  I dunno. Maybe he works far away and this is his usual dog-walking time.

  That could be right.

  In fact, it probably is right.

  But there’s a little nagging feeling inside that. The kind of feeling that begs you to pay closer attention to things. Because something is off.

  The man doesn’t stop in front of the Vaughn house even though the little dog is resisting its early-morning walk. He tugs on the leash, making the dog yelp in surprise, then kinda drags it along until they both disappear on the other side of the front hedge.

  I take one cautious look at the Vaughn house, then bolt for the driveway and hide behind the hedges until I see the man and the dog turn left at the next block.

  I have learned to trust that gut feeling when it presents. I’m in the smuggling business. I risk serious prison time twice a y
ear. And even though the FBI has been tentatively on our side and watching our back for over a dozen of those smuggling operations, coming out the other side clean depends on wits and a healthy dose of suspicion.

  And my gut is telling me that this dog is a clue.

  To what mystery? I’m not sure. I just know he is.

  So I follow them. And where do these two end up at the end of that trail? The coffee shop next door to Sick Boyz.

  They linger in the alley behind the building both establishments share. And the dude stops briefly in front of the Sick Boyz back door, even looks around shiftily for a few moments, like he’s having some internal debate about breaking in.

  I’m almost ready to step out of the shadows and ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. But that gut feeling is back, telling me to chill. Telling me stay quiet and still and just watch a little longer.

  And almost in the same moment, the back door to the coffee shop opens and the girl who was walking the dog that first time I saw it peeks her head out.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she whisper-yells to him.

  The dog begins to yap again, jumping in the air like a typical terrier maniac.

  “We could go in there and—”

  “We’ve talked about this, Matthew. We were told to observe. Nothing else. Now get that mongrel inside before it wakes up the entire neighborhood!”

  I hang back in the shadows as they disappear inside and the back door closes with a heavy thunk, the town going silent and still.

  What the hell was that about?

  He really did want to break into Sick Boyz. But they are under some kind of orders to observe? Observe who? The Vaughn brothers?

  I can get on board with that. Those boys all look like a bunch of thugs. They all look like they deserve some extra, unwanted FBI attention. Because that’s definitely who these coffee shop people are. I’ve met my share of undercover agents. I can practically smell them coming by now.

  But that gut feeling tells me they’re not there for the Vaughn brothers.

  They’re there for Rosalinda.

  She is the obvious target here. I mean, she is one of the witnesses.

  I backtrack out of the alley and then head towards the Fort Collins Theater as I think about this.

  Could this be the answer I came here for?

  Could these coffee shop people be the clue I need?

  Alonzo didn’t give me any specific instructions when he sent me up here—just said that Vann’s suspicions couldn’t be dismissed until we checked it out because things didn’t actually go to plan during that last smuggling mission.

  The FBI are definitely thinking about ditching our little agreement. Especially after we gave them the slip and ruined their plans during that last job.

  I didn’t think too hard about Alonzo’s directive because let’s face it—my mind was overcrowded with this weird obsession I have with Rosalinda.

  But I need to pull myself together and focus. Because all this shit is connected somehow.

  All of it.

  Me, my family, our smuggling, the Boston brothers, Rosalinda, Tara, and maybe even the Vaughn brothers too. Vann did say that his sister is involved with the custom bike-builder dude just down the street. And he did hint around that the guy and his friends had their own run-in with the FBI several years back.

  Add in the fact that this town is some kind of haven for discarded ‘witnesses’ and we’ve got ourselves a proper mystery here.

  I think about this as I go enter the stairwell to the theatre building apartments and climb the stairs. I hesitate on my landing, looking up at the fourth floor, wondering if I should wake up Soshee and ask her some questions.

  But my watch says it’s too early to wake her up with nothing more than a bunch of suspicious gut feelings. So I go inside my apartment instead. Undress and climb into bed.

  I wish I could say I fell asleep, but sleep is not my friend these days.

  And even though I’ve been up for more than twenty-four hours now, it still eludes me.

  The past twenty-four hours have been pretty monumental. So it’s not like I don’t have a bunch of stuff to keep me awake.

  But I’m not thinking about the day.

  I’m thinking about Rosalinda.

  Why?

  Why am I so fucking obsessed with that woman?

  I should be obsessing over Soshee. She’s pretty, and funny, and interesting. And I get that she thinks she’s in love with Vann, but even I can see, after just twenty-four hours, that they are not a thing. Never going to be a thing.

  I want to think about Soshee. Maybe even dream up some possibilities with her. I could see her and me together. We’d make a really good couple.

  But fucking Rosalie… dammit. She won’t get out of my head.

  It’s not fair and I don’t understand it.

  It’s like she’s haunting me. Like those ghosts in A Christmas Carol. Like I owe her something.

  And that’s bullshit.

  I don’t owe her anything.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - BELINDA

  It took me hours to finally fall asleep last night. I paced the floor of my small studio apartment in the dark like a freak who has no idea what her mind wants, let alone her heart.

  But I could not stop playing Vann’s words back in my head.

  His speech was the definition of grand gesture. A super-big, spectacular, heartfelt, amazingly romantic grand gesture. I’ve never had a man say things like that to me.

  And he was right about the way I’ve been dismissing him, too. Tony didn’t earn his chance. At all. Ever. Even back when we were younger, when this sick obsession was basically about sex, he never said things like that to me.

  But… it’s not even the things Vann said last night that are making me think twice about my opinion of him.

  It was the way he made me feel.

  I know I’ve said that I wasn’t into the age difference. He’s younger than me. I’m pushing thirty at this point and that feels like I’m about to hit the top of that hill while he’s just barely starting that climb into his prime.

  But sometimes age has nothing to do with maturity. Because the Vann Vaughn I met last night was someone… sure of himself. And sure of what he wanted. And he articulated his disappointment in a way that didn’t insult me. Or make himself look good while turning me into a shrew.

  He built me up the entire time. I can respect that.

  I pick up my phone, hit Tara’s contact, and let it ring. Because if ever there was a time when a girl needed her BFF, this is it. And I don’t care if we’re two thousand miles apart, she’s not getting out of being my best friend that easy.

  On the first ring, I miss her even more than I did two seconds ago. And I didn’t think that was possible. “Hey, bitch!” she says. And oh, my God. I’ve missed her voice so much in these past couple months. “What are you doing? It’s a little early on your side of the country, isn’t it?”

  “Tara?” I squeak.

  “What? What’s wrong? Oh, my God. Something’s wrong. What happened now? Is the FBI back? Did you see Diablo? What’s happening?”

  “No. Nothing like that. But—”

  “Holy shit. You’re sick.”

  “Kinda?”

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. What do you have? Please, don’t say anything bad. I can’t take it. I won’t be able to take it. Life just got good, Belinda! We made it! We’re on the upswing!”

  “Tara!”

  “OK. I’m shutting up. I’m ready. Tell me.”

  “I think I… I think I’m falling for Vann?”

  She laughs so hard on the other end of the line, I have to move the phone away from my ear. I stare at the screen, waiting for her to stop. But that guffaw continues for a few seconds too long.

  I tsk my tongue. “Why are you laughing at me?”

  She guffaws one more time. “Wait. What?”

  “It’s not funny. He came here last night—”

  “Holy shi
t. You’re fucking him. Well, good for you, Belinda. I’m happy about this. I like that boy.”

  “No, I’m not fucking him. And don’t call him a boy.”

  “Sorry. Man. Guy. Whatever. He’s not that young. I don’t know why you’ve always been so hung up on his age.”

  “It’s not his age.”

  “OK. So… what is it then?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know. Tony is here and—”

  “What? Stop. Back up. What the hell is going on? Did you just say Tony—as in my boyfriend’s brother, Tony—is in Colorado with you?”

  “Yes! He’s been here… Oh, I don’t know. A few days, at least. He just showed up out of nowhere and…” I sigh. “I told you how I get with him. He makes me crazy.”

  “Holy shit! You’re with Tony! We can be sisters!”

  “No! I mean, I did fuck him yesterday outside Sick Boyz—”

  She guffaws again.

  “Stop laughing! This is serious! Because while I was fucking Tony, Vann was fucking Soshee—”

  “She’s the moody one with red hair? Works at Anna Ameci’s?”

  “Yeah, that’s her. And he didn’t catch me with Tony, but I caught him with Soshee. Right?”

  “OK?”

  “And then I had this like… reaction?”

  “Define that?”

  “You know. I locked myself in the bathroom and puked and cried.”

  “OK. Keep going.”

  “And then Vic came and made me tattoo some hot army dude all night.”

  “Not sure that matters. But OK.”

  “And then I went home, and Tony and Vann were arguing outside my apartment. And I hit Tony in the mouth”—she laughs again—“and then he left and bitch, then… then… Vann starts pouring his heart out to me. I’m talking… like… serious fucking grand gesture-type things just flew out. Romantic things like he earned a chance, and he knows we’d be good together, and why do I give Tony all the chances when he didn’t earn them? Vann practically called me his soulmate.”

  “Well, that’s not a surprise, right?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Belinda, that poor boy has been in love with you for more years than we’ve been friends.”