Fervent

by Claudia Burgoa

  My stomach tightens as the memory of the last time I saw Sammie before she passed strikes me. Lucas found her. She lived in DC. My sister was part of a gang. She was linked to one of the biggest dealers in the city. His boss found out and transferred him to another case. I, on the other hand, tried to help her get out of that life.

  I failed.

  I parked my car at the subway station and made my way to the city. Sammie hadn’t contacted me or responded to my emails. She had agreed to leave and go to rehab. Dad would help her if she was willing to get clean. I walked downstream through the mass of people rushing toward the street, swiped my card, and boarded the car just in time. With food and enough money to buy her a ticket to wherever she wanted to go, I was ready to fight her. Once I arrived at my destination, I walked outside the subway station at the corner of the street. I stopped waiting for the light to turn green so she could cross. Looking around, I worried about her safety. The road was polluted, litter everywhere. A man sat next to the building across the street, begging for money.

  As I crossed the street, I watched the people surrounding us. Men eyeing me, licking their lips and whistling. They could stare all they wanted, but if any of them got close, I would make them regret it. My brothers and father had taught me to fight. I have practiced judo and karate since I was four. I continued past a fruit stand, a nail salon, and a chicken rotisserie store, and stopped at the front door of the third building. It was a complete mess, to put it nicely. A few boarded windows, the peeling door, the trash around it. Everything looked threatening. I rang the bell five times.

  “Who died?” A guy wearing a pair of boxers opened the door. Glassy eyes, bruises on his arms.

  “Who are you?” I glared at him, releasing my hand and pushing him so I could get through.

  There was only one rickety staircase leading to the first floor with a worn, beaten banister.

  The first floor wasn’t any better than the ground floor with the paint clinging to the walls and doors. A thick layer of dirt settled on everything in sight, I bet untouched by any cleaning supplies.

  “You’re high,” I whisper, walking toward my sister.

  Her brassy blond hair was matted, she only wore a T-shirt, and her legs were bruised.

  I set the food I brought on the table next to the piles of trash. “You have to be at work in an hour.”

  Lying on the couch, she releases a loud laugh. She’s skeletal. Barely any meat on her bones. “I made enough money to pay the rent. Get the hell out of my house.”

  “You made enough money? I loaned you money yesterday for the rent.” My voice comes out as a raging scream. “What happened to ‘I want to get better’? You asked me for help.”

  “I. Don’t. Need. You.”

  I shook my head, ignoring her hurtful words. Opening my purse, I search for the paper bag with the herbs. “Here’s some tea. Mom would’ve wanted you to drink it.”

  “You still think she talks to you, poor little girl.” She cackles, her angry words puncture my heart. “She was my mother. Not yours. You look nothing like her. I wished they had killed you when they killed her. I will never understand why they let you live.”

  Sammie was so high she spit nonsense just to be hurtful. Lucas told me to ignore her. That when I was born, she adored me. It was the drugs, but I hated how she treated me. Yet, I tried my best to save her.

  “Stop,” I ordered her. “You’re doing it again. I might not have met her, but she was mine, too. She loved me, I know it. I want to help you because you’re my sister.”

  “Get the fuck out of my house and my life. You’re nothing to me. If I see you again, I’ll kill you. This is your only warning.”

  Sammie’s dad was granted full custody when Mom died. As her stepfather, Dad didn’t have any rights over her. I don’t think anyone helped her work through Mom’s loss. She lost herself in drugs when she couldn’t deal with reality. She once told me that meth allowed her to achieve some of the happiness she lost when Mom left us. She liked to reach for that magic potion that helped her forget whatever it is she wanted to ignore.

  It wasn’t long after that last meeting when I received the call that my sister overdosed. I wish I had saved her, but maybe her addiction was like terminal cancer. I could only prolong her life for so long, but it was best for her to leave. A part of me hopes she’s happy with Mom by her side, that she finally got to be in peace. According to the few articles I’ve found, Mom’s body was discovered by her daughter. She saw what happened to Mom, lived her last minutes. That can scar any child.

  She was thirty-one when she died. She was sick, very sick.

  Mom’s killer is free. He might not have pulled the trigger, but he’s the one who did it nonetheless. Like in all my cases, if I can’t bring them home, I have to bring peace to their families. In this case, my father, my brothers, and maybe me. They took a piece of my heart when they took them away from me. It’s not about vengeance, but opening a case that was mistakenly closed.

  Will Harrison help me bring the killer down if I ask him?

  Eleven

  Harrison

  “How was last night?” Hazel is handling the espresso machine while Scott is in front of the stove.

  “Good morning?” I stare at her. How does she know I’m here?

  “Morning, Harrison. Do you want some coffee?”

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you this early, and dressed.” I stare at her mini dress and sandals. I saw her sleeping in the media room, wearing pajamas, only a few hours ago. “Where are you going, the beach?”

  Her shoulders slump. “That sounds better than Vermont.” She smacks her lips as she pours the frothed milk in the two mugs she has in front of her. “We are going antique shopping. I want to redecorate your Scott’s office.”

  She sets one on the breakfast table, then hands me the other one. “It doesn’t have any sugar or flavored syrup,” Hazel warns me and goes back to the cupboard for another mug.

  “We haven’t discussed your parents.” I bring up the tricky subject.

  “There’s nothing much to say, Harry.” Her voice is steady, but her body tenses. “Mom decided to call it off, Dad is brokenhearted.”

  Scott shakes his head, giving me a death glare.

  She sets the gallon of milk back on the counter, taking a few deep breaths. “There’s more, but I have to process it, slowly.”

  Hazel turns around. Her eyes are slightly red. “Dad blames me for Mom’s behavior. He said that if I hadn’t been so insistent on trying to change her, she wouldn’t have jumped.”

  “It wasn’t you.” Scott’s voice is gentle.

  “I know, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.” She drinks some of her coffee and stares at the pancakes on the table. “We should buy maple syrup. Vermont’s is as good as Canadian syrup. I should get my passport in case we decide to cross the border.”

  “Can we plan Canada for October?” Scott redirects her attention. “You already have the month of September booked.”

  “Sorry,” she whispers to him.

  “You don’t have to apologize. I’ve wanted to travel like this for a long time, actually I welcome the opportunity.”

  “You do like to travel,” I agree with him. “That was part of the plan until . . .”

  “I have a list for you.” Hazel snaps her fingers, chasing away the thick, gloomy atmosphere we were creating.

  She grabs her phone and starts firing messages. “I gathered some likes and dislikes from Luna. Things I know you won’t find out soon but are imperative. Study it. It’ll help you.”

  She finally takes a seat and grabs a couple of pancakes. “Now tell me, how was last night?”

  “You abandoned me.” I fake hurt, but I’m glad they left me alone with Luna.

  “We didn’t want to be your third wheel, plus we were starving. Scotty treated me to fish and chips since it was Friday,” she informs me. “We went to O’Leary’s.”

  “And came back to watch a Harry Potter marathon,
” I finish her adventure.

  Hazel frowns.

  “Scott was still watching it when I came back, but you were already asleep.”

  “Yeah, poor guy, he slept all night on the couch because of me. For your information, I think he’s starting to sneak into the top spot of who is my favorite Everhart.” She shrugs. “Just in case you want to up your game.”

  “Nah, I think I’m good for now. Having that position for the past ten years has been hard, I’m glad he started working his ass to win the number one spot.”

  “Speaking of which, you should head to my house and check on Luna,” she suddenly says before taking a bite of pancake. “Do something fun with her.”

  “I don’t understand why I’m actually dating her.” I bring it up casually, it doesn’t bother me, but Hazel is pushing the envelope a little too far.

  “Visibility and transparency are key during this operation,” she corrects me. “Follow my lead, I know what I’m doing. In exchange, you can have so much fun with her.”

  She finishes her coffee, holds her mug and smiles at me. “The woman is amazing, enjoy your time with her.”

  “You like her?” I narrow my gaze, studying Hazel.

  She has never liked any woman I’ve gone out with. Not even when she knows they’ll be gone the next morning. I wonder if she likes Luna genuinely or . . .

  “Are you sure?” I cross my arms. “You’ve never liked any of the women that my brothers dated. Why this one?”

  “I do like her,” she says, honestly. “As for the other women, they were less than average . . . no one has ever brought home a Luna. Everyone else was . . . unappealing.”

  “We need a Luna for Scott?”

  She turns to Scott. “He’s content right now. I don’t think he needs a woman. Do you, Scott?”

  “No,” he groans. “I’m happy with my life. Leave me alone.”

  “Hunter has Willow. My best match so far.”

  “But you like Luna.” And fuck, why am I so relieved to know that they are getting along?

  “If I were into women, I’d be snatching her away from you. She’s witty, fun, smart. And have you seen her practice yoga? She’s very . . . bendy.” She smirks. “I want to be like her. Actually, I’m going to practice yoga every day. My next man is going to love my . . . elasticity.”

  “Time for me to go,” I declare, then turn to Scott. “Good luck. You have your hands full this weekend. She’s going to tell you all about her . . . yoga poses.”

  I leave, laughing at the fact that my brother will be fighting a hard-on while he’s next to who I think is the love of his life. He should man up and just tell her how he feels.

  ✰ ✰ ✰

  I could get used to seeing her beautiful face every day. And that smile she uses to greet everyone around her is contagious. Luna waves at Carl as she exits the building, shooting happiness and sunshine around her. Until she halts. Her precious face becomes an ugly scowl the moment she spots me.

  “What, I don’t get to see that beautiful smile?” I hand her a cold matcha green latte, her favorite drink for the summer according to Hazel. Hot cocoa during the fall, peppermint chocolate during the winter, and hot tea after New Year’s Day. The little micromanager emailed me a list of helpful tips. Favorite flowers, drinks, food, music, and hobbies. Based on Luna’s preferred sports, she suggested the shooting range or a boxing ring for one of our dates. She loves her family and spends time with them every Saturday.

  Since Hazel is a professional matchmaker, I trust her judgment. Though, there’s also the possibility that she’d enjoy watching me die slowly in the hands of her new best friend.

  “What do you want, Everhart?” Luna narrows her gaze at the large cup of iced tea in her hand.

  “Did I do something to you that I don’t remember?”

  “No, I just don’t trust you.” She takes a few sips of the drink; her eyes never leave mine. “Thank you for the drink though. You shouldn’t have.”

  “You’re welcome?” I stare at her, feeling like we are on a chess board and the other one is waiting for the next move. “But you have to stop telling me what I should or shouldn’t do. I enjoy spoiling you.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “You have trust issues,” I observe, not understanding what exactly is going on between us. The plan was simple. I bring her a drink, we take a walk around Central Park, and maybe if things work out, we can go to the shooting range. I was going to let her borrow Clarisse.

  Does she have plans?

  “Where were you going so early?”

  “Why are you here so early?” she counters, then shows me the large bag she’s carrying with her. “I am heading to work.”

  “Work?” I repeat with confusion.

  “That physical or mental activity that one does in exchange for monetary remuneration,” she sasses me.

  “But it’s Saturday,” I highlight. “At seven f—” I stop when a couple of children holding their mother’s hands stare at me. “F-reaking in the morning.”

  “Why are you here on Saturday? At. Seven. Freaking. In. The. Morning, Harrison Everhart.”

  “Everyone woke up early at home,” I say, shrugging. “Hazel and Scott are going to Vermont. Fitz left for the gym . . . I hoped you’d want to hang out with me.”

  “Another time.” She lifts the cup, biting the straw. “See you around.”

  Luna waves, giving me a cautious smile and walks away from me. I stare at her sweet, round ass. Those yoga pants make my mouth water. But I snap out of the trance as she turns to the right and I lose sight of her. If she thinks we are done for the day, she’s wrong. I can wait for her outside of work. I can’t remember what she does for a living?

  Oh, right, she’s a yoga instructor. A very bendy yoga instructor.

  I jog to catch up with her. Though, I stop when I see her pull out a bag and hand it to a homeless man sitting with his back to the building wall. When she continues her walk, I stop in front of him and stare at the bag. It has water, a protein bar, and money. I pull out my wallet and hand him a twenty-dollar bill. For the next seven blocks, she hands a total of ten bags out.

  Harrison: Do you know about the Ziploc bags?

  Hazel: Yeah. Wouldn’t you want to date her for real?

  I hate to agree with her. When I agreed with Tiago, I had zero expectations about meeting his sister. After I met her, I liked her a lot, but still had a chance to keep myself away from her. Now . . . I’m not sure if keeping myself away will be easy.

  Harrison: I’m watching you, Beesley.

  Hazel: Can’t read more texts. We’re losing connection. There’s a tunnel ahead.

  Then she sends a gif with white noise. She’s ridiculous, but I think I’m starting to understand her game. And I hate to admit that I kind of like it. Because I kind of like her—Luna.

  Twelve

  Luna

  “You did great for your first time,” I praise Harrison who not only stayed for the first class but the second yoga class too.

  Both classes were for beginners, and a man as fit as him could take it. But the fact that he bought yoga shorts, joined the studio, and paid for an entire month was sweet—and heart melting. Just like dropping in at seven in the morning to bring me tea. I was in bitchy mode because I had zero sleep. Thinking about Dad and my sister, and reading Mom’s journals trying to find some words of wisdom, took a toll on my mood. Seeing him too early made me suspicious about him. Or maybe it was the fact that no one has ever shown up at my doorstep with my favorite drink and said “Hey, I couldn’t wait to see you” with just a smile. He didn’t need to say a word.

  “It was different. You made it . . . interesting.” He smiles down at me.

  His arm is right next to mine. The car of the subway is full. There’s no place to sit and not much room to move. He puts my body in front of his when we step inside. His broad frame covers my figure. And surprisingly, it doesn’t bother me that he’s protecting me. I only trust my safety to myself,
but right now, I’m letting my guard down and letting him be the one to look after me.

  There’s something about him that fascinates me. Or I should say that everything about him mesmerizes me. I could stare at his sculpted body, his bright blue eyes and get lost in them. However, Harrison isn’t just that. He’s the guy who makes sure that everyone in his family is taken care of, who worries about his friends. And I could listen to his husky voice for an entire day and never get tired of it. Among the best qualities, I’ve found so far is that sense of humor he uses to deflect an uncomfortable moment or to make the other person feel at ease. He surprises me every second we spend together.

  He’s not the person I thought he was during our initial encounter—a bitter guy who couldn’t smile by himself. I keep wondering what was bothering him that he wanted to shut the doors the first time we met. Now that I’ve spent more time with him, I know he didn’t shut the doors to be an asshole. He’s actually attentive with most people.

  “Do you work tomorrow too?”

  His voice snaps me out of my trance. I move my gaze toward the floor feeling silly for staring at his forearm and fixating on him so much.

  “No, Sundays and Wednesdays are my days off,” I tell him, holding tighter onto the railing.

  “What should we do tomorrow?” he asks, putting his arm around me when the car moves abruptly.

  “I got you,” he says, his lips almost touching my neck.

  “Not sure,” I stutter, as I try to move away from his hold.

  He’s too close, and I want him to step back because if not, I’m going to turn around and hug him, expecting him to hug me back . . . tightly . . . for a long time.

  “Why are we back to small talk?”