Unfortunately, though, I had been able to think of little else since then. I just replayed it all in my head over and over again.
"You know, tears don't count as watering the garden, honey," my mom's voice called, calm, light, even at the sight of my tears.
What can I say? I was someone who cried a lot. I always had. My mother had always treated them with a grain of salt. Which was probably wise, since I often recovered just as quickly as I was afflicted with them.
This, though, this didn't seem fleeting.
This felt like a crack that had been chiseled in my heart.
So when I heard her voice, it didn't make a little hiccuping laugh escape me like it might normally. No, it made a pathetic sob do so instead as I raised my hands—garden soil and all—to my face.
"Dad was right," I told her, voice a weak sound. "About Niro. He was right. How could he be right?"
"I don't know, honey," my mom said, sounding apologetic. "I wish I did. It's been a lot of years. People change. Life changes them. In small and big ways. Good and bad ones too."
"There's nothing good about this. About him now."
"Hey, now, that's a little ungenerous, don't you think?" she asked. My mother hated unkindness the same way I typically did. She was not going to let me get away with it just because I was hurting.
"He was so cold," I told her, taking a slow, deep breath into my belly, holding it, then letting it go, feeling a small bit of the despair leave with it. "And even... even a little cruel."
"Niro? To you?" she asked.
I understood her disbelief. Because, had I not experienced it myself, I never would have thought him capable either. But I had. And he was. And it was like someone had torn something vital from me, something I would never stop missing.
"Yes," I told her, taking another deep breath as I lifted my head to look at her. "I don't even recognize him anymore."
"I'm sorry to hear that, baby," she said, reaching out to grab my knee, giving it a squeeze. "That can't be easy."
"I know it shouldn't be so hard. I mean, it's been years. I have no right to feel so hurt about it."
"You always have the right to be hurt if that is how you feel. And I get it. You two were inseparable. I imagine a part of you always thought you could pick up right where you left off, and nothing would be different."
"I guess that was pretty naive of me," I admitted, taking the rag she handed me to wipe off my face, tears and dirt combined.
"In a way."
"Mom," I said, half laughing, half scoffing. She never usually said anything like that to me.
"I mean, eventually, obviously, your lives were always bound to go down different paths. You'd meet partners. You'd settle down. Make houses. Have babies. There was no way to stay as close as you two have always been through all of that."
I didn't realize until that very moment that I had never actually envisioned that future. One where I was married to someone with kids, and Niro was married to someone else with kids.
Even as the thoughts were put there right then, something in me tried desperately to push them away, to replace them with anything other than a mental picture of Niro holding the hand of a little boy that looked just like him... and the hand of the unknown-to-me mother.
"You know what, let's think about something else today. Like how I maybe have..."
"I should have known to look for you out here first," Hope's voice called, cutting off my mom, making both of us turn to find her walking toward us in the leather pants Gracie had teased her about the night before as well as a green slouchy t-shirt, combat boots, and what looked like some sort of eye-gouging instrument hanging from a clip on the hoop of her pants, bouncing against her slim hips with each step she took. "I spent ten minutes getting every inch of me sniffed," she added. "And something—and I don't know what it was—tried to grab my foot from under that little cart thing in the kitchen.
"Oh, that's Marcus," my mom said, shrugging.
"Marcus," Hope repeated, brow quirking up.
"He's a raccoon. A tame, pet raccoon. I am trying to find him a suitable home. But he does like to swat at people. And dig through the trash. He shouldn't be in the kitchen, though. I am going to go put him back," she said, hopping up, and rushing past Hope, leaving the two of us alone.
"Sorry I lost you last night," Hope said, eyeing a goose warily. And I had to admit, she had a reason to be uneasy around them. They didn't care that I brought them treats. The biggest of the crew bit me right on the butt after I handed her some mealworms. The ingrate. "Things got a little crazy after the guys got all overprotective. I've never seen a group of alarmists like them."
"I mean, the club has known a lot of chaos over the years," I reminded her, remembering spending a lot of my childhood carted off with my mom and aunts and cousins to Hailstorm—a paramilitary sort of camp that my aunt, and now my cousin, ran.
"Yeah, but like, that was a little much. I swear, they all think we are the overreactive ones, but I think the world would be a lot less chaotic with some women in charge."
"You work with all guys, huh?" I asked, smiling at her.
"Don't get me started on them," she said, looking close to going off on a rant. "Anyway. Last night was kind of an epic fail. But the girls and I have a new plan for tonight."
I was tempted to demand No more surprises, but that would open myself up to a line of questioning about the night before that I didn't feel ready to handle yet.
"I think I have hit my social quota for the week. Or month. You guys know me. I like staying in. Maybe we can do a movie night or something." Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew how unlikely that was. We weren't teenagers anymore.
"Come on, one more night won't kill you. And it's an excuse to get dressed up," she added, trying for chipper but her own lip curled a bit.
"You're getting dressed up."
"No, no. I believe you misheard me. You can get dressed up. I am going as my usual underwhelming self," she said, waving a hand down at her outfit. "It's actually usually a dressy kind of affair, but I was the one who did a favor for the owners, so they will let me in no matter what I look like. Say you'll come. Don't make me send the others over here."
Really, they weren't going to give me a choice. It was better to get on-board now than to waste precious time and energy trying to fight it.
"Fine. What is it?"
"A surprise," she told me, smiling.
"I don't like surprises."
"Since when? You were the queen of loving surprises."
I had been. Once upon a time. Until I got the biggest surprise of all. Realizing I would never be able to see my best friend again. Just the cold-hearted man now wearing his face.
God, I was seeming pathetic. Even to myself.
Maybe going out with Hope would help shake me out of my bad mood.
"People can change, you know," I said, shrugging it off.
"Well, let me have one last surprise, okay? And you can leave at any point. I will even help you sneak away, lie about you having a headache."
She was being strange.
And maybe that should have put up warning signs for me.
But Hope was a friend, even if we'd grown apart. I had to trust her. I needed friends in town.
Now that I lost my best one.
Ugh, no. I needed to stop thinking about that.
I didn't typically operate that way. I wasn't someone who could just beat down their feelings. I always needed to experience them fully, then I could loosen my hold on them and let them go.
But just this once, I was going to try something new. Because I wasn't sure I was strong enough to let go just yet. I needed to hold on. Just a bit. For a little while longer. Then, I was sure I would be able to leave it, let it rest, move on without it. Without him.
"Okay. Fine," I agreed, taking a deep breath. "What do I need to wear?"
"Fuck if I know. A black dress if you own one? I think they're supposed to suit any occasion."
&
nbsp; "I don't have any black dresses."
"Of course not," she said, smiling, not unkindly, even though I knew she was teasing me for always wearing light things. "Well, wear whatever feels fancy enough without being crazy."
"That's vague, but I will try my best. Do I need to bring anything?"
"An ID I guess? Be ready at eight-thirty. It opens at nine. And I know it takes you twenty minutes to say goodbye to all the various... beasts," she said, waving a hand, giving the goose another side-eye. "We're taking an Uber," she added, turning to walk away, leaving me alone with any questions I might have had.
With nothing else to do, I went inside to prepare myself.
In the end, I settled on the only in-between dress I owned—a white lace midi dress that scalloped a bit across the bodice and fell just at my knee. It was fancy, but could just as easily be casual, so it would hopefully fit whatever Hope had planned for the evening.
I was immediately suspicious as soon as we got in the backseat of the Uber.
Hope kept casting glances my way. And not those "I am trying to figure you out" glances she was known for. This was different, but I couldn't place it. That was reason enough to be nervous, to worry. I had a feeling that if Hope was scheming, I somehow wouldn't like what was coming my way.
"What is this?" I asked when the driver pulled up to the front of an old abandoned school that hadn't been open since, well, I'd been alive.
"You sure this is where you want me to drop you ladies?" the driver asked, looking in the rearview, brows drawn together.
"Yep. This is it. Here you go," Hope said, passing him a tip then pushing me out the door, climbing out behind me.
"Is this a house party or something?" I asked, looking around dubiously, not seeing any houses with cars parked out front or anything.
"Not exactly," she said, moving forward toward the abandoned school with its massive black metal privacy fence I didn't remember being there in the past. But why would there be a new fence on a place that had been closed for so long? And one that only seemed to block the parking lot out back.
"If we are, like, breaking and entering, you know that kinda stuff has never been my thing."
"Oh, please. I only break into places for work now," Hope said, rolling her eyes at me before tapping on the gate. "Limp Bizkit."
"Limp what?" I asked, feeling lost.
"It's the password," Hope explained as the gate started to groan open. "It's always some obscure, half-forgotten band from the 90s or early two-thousands."
"But why do we need a password?" I asked, suddenly wishing I'd packed the pepper spray my father sent me every year for my birthday as a tall man in a black suit moved to stand in the opening to the back lot.
"Yes, you're very intimidating," Hope drawled. "Congratulations. Now move."
I couldn't ever hope to be half as badass as Hope was. It was something I understood even as a kid. And had more or less accepted it. But it was nice, nonetheless, to be associated with that badassery.
"He looks kind of..."
"Pissed," Hope filled in for me as she kept moving forward, leaving me to do the same. "Yeah, they tend to when women boss them around. That's what makes it so much fun."
With that, we made it past the side of the building.
And what did I find?
A packed parking lot.
Packed with a lot of luxury cars. And a couple bikes.
I tried not to stiffen at the sight of them, reminding myself that even if Niro was here, I could avoid him, avoid any further upset. Or I could leave.
"Hope, what is this place?" I asked, thinking maybe it was one of those escape room things. But we wouldn't need to dress up for that.
"It will be more fun to see for yourself," she told me, getting on the short line leading in the back door where another suit-clad man was looking over each person who passed by while he checked something off on his clipboard.
"You saw me yesterday. Remember, I was the one here, saving your boss's ass by being my capable and charming self," Hope said to the doorman who simply lifted his chin, wanting something from her. "You're ridiculous," she declared, sighing. "But fine. Eight seven three nine. Happy?"
"Fucking delirious, babe," he said, getting an unexpected little smile out of Hope before she pushed it away and moved inside, pulling me with her.
It was exactly what you expected from an old school. Concrete floors and stairs, tile and popcorn walls, a metal rail leading down the steps Hope was heading down with everyone else.
We even pushed open old school doors with the metal bars in the center that let out a little airy sound when you hit them.
And then I understood why she didn't tell me where we were going. Not because she knew I would love it. Oh, no. Because she knew there was no way I would have agreed to come if I had known ahead of time.
Whatever this place was called, it was some sort of underground fight club.
There was a raised cage that dominated a large part of the space, people gathered around it even though it was empty save for some woman wiping what had to be blood and sweat off the smooth black mat.
There was a long, full bar to the back where two more women were moving around, making drinks with a sort of frenzied, but practiced ease.
To the left of the room were high-top tables with chairs as well as small seating areas with leather chairs and coffee tables.
If it weren't for the cage, for the metallic waft of blood in the air, it would have looked like some upscale gastropub sort of place.
"God, I can't imagine what Jax and Ross are raking in here. Look at all this money."
"What money?" I asked, looking around, seeing none.
"The people," Hope clarified.
"And who is Ross?"
"Ross Ward. And his son, Jax. They own this place."
The names sounded vaguely familiar. I think I remembered Niro or Niro's dad mentioning someone named Ross Ward. And I was sure we'd all gone to school with someone named Jax, though he'd never been someone I'd associated with.
"Oh. Well, I guess fighting is sort of popular again."
"Again? It never stopped being in style. From the Roman gladiators to the cable MMA fights. People are very predictable. They like sex. And they like violence."
"They like other things too," I insisted, not wanting to see people through the uglier, more jaded lens that Hope did.
"But none quite as much," she said, shrugging. "Unless money counts," she added, leading me over toward the bar, ordering, then turning to lean back against the bar while she waited for her drink to be mixed.
"Hope, you know I hate violence," I reminded her.
"But the difference is, these fighters want to fight. They enjoy it."
"Well, clearly, they need some therapy," I decided, stomach turning at the idea of anyone enjoying inflicting pain. For self-defense was one thing. I understood that, even if I had a hard time imagining myself being able to raise my hands to someone. But hitting someone for pleasure? That seemed sick. It was the kind of thing only sick people liked. Right?
"Don't we all?" she asked, giving me a knowing look as she turned to grab our drinks. I had no idea what they were, but they were red and didn't smell too horrific, so I took a tentative sip.
"Are the guys here?" I asked, remembering the bikes in the lot. "Is that why you wanted to come here? Do you have something going with one of them?" I added. Sure, Hope was not exactly a romantic, and certainly not a relationship person, but she'd always had an appreciation for men. Not quite the same way Billie did, but in a way all her own. Sex dynamics for Hope seemed to have a power play to them. And I could see how an outlaw biker might be intriguing for her.
"Ew," she said, shooting me a 'Are you out of your effing mind?' look. "No. I mean they are always good for a hang. You find yourself not busy on a Tuesday night, they are partying up at some place or another. There's never a dull moment. But no. Not my thing."
"What is your thing then?"
"Making mo
ney."
"But you're an unpaid intern."
"Yes, well, hence my thing being making money," she agreed, shrugging. "But yeah the guys are here. A few of them anyway. I think I saw Fallon and Seth chatting up two up-and-coming jewelry designers. They are nothing if not predictable."
It didn't escape me that she hadn't mentioned Niro.
Thank God.
I mean my relief was two-fold.
First, that I wouldn't have to endure any other uncomfortable interactions with him.
Second, I didn't like the idea of him fighting. Even if we weren't close anymore. I knew his dad fought, and that he had always looked up to Pagan. But I was glad this was one of the ways he had differed from his father.
"Crap. I need to go inform Billie that the guy whose lapel she is stroking is a massive cocaine dealer in the city. I'll be right back."
And with that, she was gone.
I watched as she moved through the crowd, grabbing Billie, saying something to the drug dealer as she led a reluctant Billie away, pulling her to a corner to relay her information.
"You are the prettiest thing in this room," a deep voice said at my side, surprising me, making me turn to find an attractive older man with a little salt and pepper in his dark hair and beard, and unreadable, but attractive, light brown eyes. He was a massive wall of a man, too. Tall, strong. Unlike everyone else—save for the Henchmen who had dressed down as well—he wasn't wearing a suit.
"Oh, ah, thanks," I said, feeling my cheeks heat. I had never been any good at receiving compliments, even though I'd never been afflicted with any troubling self-consciousness. I guess it just caught me off-guard. I had grown up around a ton of drop-dead gorgeous girls in my circle. And my girl-next-door sort of looks always paled a little in comparison.
"I'm Toll," he said, pronouncing it Tah-ll.
"That's an interesting name. Is it a nickname or short for something?"
"Tolliver," he explained, shrugging.
"Oh, nice. I'm Andi. It's not short for anything," I added, since everyone asked.
"So, Andi-not-short-for-anything, you already have a drink which would usually be my next line. So how about I ask instead how you found yourself here?"
Andi and Niro Page 7
