I tried to smile. "No. Not at all."
"Hey, it's okay," he said. "The first time I met him, he made me a little jumpy too."
I shrugged. "He didn't look scary to me."
"I know he doesn’t look it," Conrad said. "But he sure as hell acts it."
"What’d he do, ransack your office?" I asked, only half-joking.
"Nothing like that," Conrad said. "You ask me, he isn’t as tough as everyone says he is." He laughed. "Don’t tell that to my assistant though. She's got a thing for him."
"Really?"
"Oh yeah," Conrad said. "She says he’s cool and mysterious. I think she’s nuts."
"I know the feeling," I said.
"Can’t be too hard on her though." Conrad pulled me close. "I kind of like mysterious people myself."
I tensed. He couldn’t be talking about me. I wasn't cool or mysterious. I was a basket case.
And something else was bothering me. Had I heard correctly? Bishop was buying one of those condos? They cost a fortune. That couldn't be right. Then again, maybe it wasn't for himself. He did have a rich brother, after all.
Finally, we arrived at the front door to the coffee shop.
"You always enter your apartment through the store?" Conrad asked. "Didn't I see a stairway off the alley?"
"You did," I said. "But it's boarded up for the winter." No need to share the whole sordid story. I pulled out my keys.
"Does this mean you're not inviting me in for coffee?" Conrad asked.
"Not tonight," I said. "But I appreciate the dinner. And the insight. I owe you one."
"Okay, okay," Conrad said. "I don't mean to be rushing things. I had a nice time."
I opened the door. "Me too."
Conrad and I stood together, awkwardly, until the beeping of the alarm panel reminded me that I had just a few seconds to close the door and enter the code.
"I'd better go," I said. I gave Conrad a quick peck on the cheek and plunged into the darkened shop.
Upstairs, I sank onto the sofa and buried my face in my hands as I thought of Bishop. I wanted to call him, but what would I say? I'm sorry?
Sometimes, sorry wasn't good enough. Was this one of those times? I didn't know.
But there was something I did know. When it came to certain things, Bishop could be shockingly ruthless. And yet, somehow, I'd always been exempt from all that.
Until that one day.
No, he never laid a hand on me, at least not in that way. But the damage he'd done had been infinitely worse. Already depressed, I closed my eyes and replayed the conversation that ruined everything.
Chapter 65
It had been five years earlier, but it seemed a lifetime. It was an overcast Sunday in mid-August, and we'd been sitting in his Chevy Nova, killing time before he left town for the night.
By now, the car had been fully transformed from an old piece of crap into a turbo-charged rocket. Bishop was always tinkering with things, either improving them, or blowing them up. His relationship with me had been no exception.
He'd been edgy for the last few days. If Bishop had been anyone else, I'd have wondered what exactly was scaring him. But in our two mostly blissful years together, I'd learned firsthand that he wasn't the fearful type.
The Nova had bucket seats, but somehow we'd been all over each other. I felt his hands in my hair and lips on mine. He'd been like this all day, touching me, kissing me, holding me, making love to me, all with the desperation of a condemned criminal heading for the gallows.
But he wasn't heading for the gallows. He was heading for some security gig in Detroit, just a routine thing with one of Lawton's fights. And if Bishop didn't hurry, he was going to be late.
"I love you so much," he said, pulling me against him for yet another ragged kiss. "You know that, don't you?"
It was like the hundredth time he'd told me that within the last few hours. I laughed. "I love you too, but you're going to be late."
"I don't care."
"You do too," I told him.
He was incredibly responsible when it came to his younger brother. If Lawton was counting on him, Bishop would definitely be there. And he'd be on time too. I felt myself frown. But even if he left right now, he'd have to break a few traffic laws along the way.
"Alright," I said, reaching for the door handle. "You go. I'll see you tomorrow."
He grabbed for my hand. "Wait."
I turned back, and something in his expression made my blood run cold. His eyes were pitch-black, and his jaw was tight. "I've got good news," he said.
Slowly, I turned sideways in the seat to face him. "What kind of good news?"
"I'm going to work with my brother."
I looked at him a long time, trying to process what he was really saying. "Which one?" I finally asked.
"Jake."
I stared at him. "You're joking, right?" In two years, I'd never even met the guy. But I'd heard stories that kept me awake at night.
Bishop shrugged. "He's got some ideas."
"But I don't even know him," I said. Then there was the thing I didn't say. What I did know about the guy wasn't good.
"Oh c'mon," Bishop said, "you've met him."
"No. I've seen him." I gave a humorless laugh. "Brawling on your dad's front lawn, remember?"
"So, you want to meet him?" Bishop asked.
I hesitated. "Do you want me to?"
"No."
"Then why'd you ask?"
"I figured you'd say no."
"Nice try."
Bishop gave me that crooked grin that always melted my heart. But something about this particular smile was definitely off, like a thin surface veneer hiding something rotten underneath. "Eh, it was worth a shot," he said.
I was still struggling to put his announcement into some sort of context. Working hard to keep my tone neutral, I said, "So, what are you guys thinking of doing?"
His smile faded. "Security stuff."
By now, all kinds of alarm bells were ringing in my brain. "Like what?"
He glanced out his car window and gave a small shrug.
"I don't get it," I said. "We're leaving town in a couple weeks. "Unless–" By now, my heart was racing. "–there's something you're not telling me?"
His voice was quiet. "Yeah."
When he didn't elaborate, I said, "What is it?"
"It's about Florida State," he said. "We're not going."
He'd been teasing me for weeks now. Or at least, I'd thought he'd been teasing. After two years of community college, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of finishing our education down South. But he'd agreed, and I'd silently vowed that he wouldn't regret it.
It wasn't only for me. I was desperate to pull him away from all this – his shady family, his uncertain future, and the risk of some lowlife mistaking him for someone else. No matter what, I was determined to save him, even if he never saw it that way.
I forced a smile. "Stop messing around," I said. "You're accepted. I'm accepted. All we have to do is go."
"Not true." His voice was flat. "I wasn't accepted."
"Oh stop it," I said. "You were too. I saw the letter."
"Fake," he said.
My stomach clenched as the pieces started to slide into place. "What?"
"Yeah," he said. "And by the way, yours was too."
About this, I knew he was joking. "Yeah, right," I said. "I've got a 4.0 average. There's no way I wouldn’t be accepted."
Something in his voice changed. "What about me? Would I be accepted?"
I hesitated. He'd never been eager to share his grades. But I knew he was smart, a ton smarter than me in a lot of ways.
But when I looked at his face, my heart sank. "Oh my God. You weren't kidding, were you?" I reached for his hand. "You weren't accepted?"
He gave a humorless laugh. "I never even applied."
"But why wouldn't you?" I said. "You've already got your first two years in, so you're halfway to your bachelor's." I tried to smile. "C
'mon, you can't stop now."
"You're right," he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Because," he continued, "I already stopped. Months ago."
"Oh come on," I said. "We've been meeting between classes."
"Your classes," he said. "Not mine."
I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. "You've been lying to me?"
He said nothing.
"Why?" I asked.
He gave a small, casual shrug. "Why not?"
I searched his face. "But you've worked so hard."
He gave a hollow laugh. "You've seen a few of my grades. I haven't worked that hard."
I sat back, stunned. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I know what I want, and I don't need some piece of paper to get it."
"But if you didn't plan to graduate someday, why'd you even go?"
"For you," he said. "To keep you." His gaze became intense, penetrating, searching for something. What, I didn't know. "Shit," he finally said. "You're not even gonna deny it. If I'd never enrolled, you'd have dropped me like a hot brick."
"That's not true." I reached for his hand. "You don't need a college degree for me to love you."
"Good," he said, "because I already told Jake 'yes'."
This felt like a nightmare. I let go of his hand. "Yes to what?" I said. "You won't even tell me what this so-called business is."
"Because I don't want you involved."
"Well that's just great," I said.
"Baby," he said, reaching out for me. "It will be great. I swear to you."
I pulled away. "But what am I supposed to do? Go to Florida State without you? You want a long-distance relationship? Is that what you're saying?"
"I already told you," he said. "You're not going."
I made a scoffing sound. "Like you can stop me."
His voice was very quiet. "I already did."
From somewhere in his back pocket, he pulled out an envelope. I recognized it instantly by the handwriting on the front. The handwriting was my own.
My head was spinning. "Is that my college application?"
"Yup."
"You never mailed it?"
"Nope."
I stared at the thing. "Oh my God. You didn't."
He glanced away. And that's when I knew.
He did.
Chapter 66
I could hardly breathe. "So that's why you talked me into applying by mail?"
He shrugged.
"And that's why you insisted on mailing it?"
He shrugged again.
This had been months ago. The premeditation was staggering. My breaths were coming in short, fast bursts. A strangled sound escaped my lips.
He reached out for me. "Baby, are you okay?"
"No!" I slapped his arms away and scooted backward, huddling against the passenger's side door. I took a long, steadying breath. My voice was only slightly calmer when I said, "Don't touch me, alright? I need a minute to think."
I sat there, trembling in the seat, unable to say more, and unwilling to consider all the ramifications of what he'd done. But I had to. And so I did. I thought of that fateful night two short years ago, when I'd ditched a scholarship to have him near me.
I loved him.
I had loved him almost from almost the first. I had wanted to save him. And more times than I could count, he had saved me. Never in my whole life had I felt so loved, so protected, so happy. But it was all a sham. Because he was the dangerous one, and not for the obvious reasons.
If only I'd been smarter, I'd have done a better job of protecting myself. I vowed never again would I entrust anything of any importance to him, or anyone else.
His eyes were haunted. "Say something."
My voice was a dead monotone. "I gave up a scholarship for you."
"What?"
"A scholarship. To Florida State. Two years ago."
"But you never told me."
"Because I loved you. I didn't want you to feel bad, or feel that my happiness was somehow your responsibility."
"Loved?" he said. "As in you don't anymore?"
"I wish." I looked at that dreaded envelope, and my voice cracked. "Why would you do that to me?"
Bishop reached toward the glove compartment. He opened it and pulled out a small velvet box. He handed it over. Slowly, I opened it. The diamond glinted dully in the overcast light.
He took my hand in his. "We can make a life together right here, right now."
I disentangled my hand. In my mind's eye, I saw where Bishop's road led. I'd worked too hard to be content on that path. And after what he'd done, it didn't matter where we lived. I couldn't trust him. I couldn't believe in him.
My stomach lurched. I set the box on the dashboard and opened the car door. "I've gotta go."
He grabbed my arm. "Marry me," he said. "Today."
The words twisted at my heart, but somehow, I managed to form a coherent sentence. "Even if we wanted to," I said, "we couldn't get married today."
"Why not?"
On autopilot, a dead answer fell from my numb lips. "For one thing, you need a license."
"Then we'll fly to Vegas."
I was barely listening. He'd tricked me. He'd lied to me. He'd tried to trap me. Still, I heard myself say, "What, and get married by Elvis?"
"I don't care," he said. "Just marry me. Be with me forever." He reached out, trying to pull me into his arms. "Baby, I love you. I love you so fucking much."
I pushed him away. "What am I supposed to say?"
"Say yes."
I didn't want to say anything. If I started talking now, I had no idea what words would tumble out. I pushed open the car door. "Let's talk later."
"Not later," he said. "Now."
"What?"
"I need an answer," he said.
"And I need some time."
His voice grew cold. "It's now or never."
I stopped, making myself focus. "That doesn't make sense," I said. "We have our whole lives ahead of us."
"I need an answer," he repeated.
His face was raw, and my heart went out to him. But I couldn't give him the answer he wanted. "You know I love you." My voice cracked. "But even if I could get past the bullshit you just pulled on me, I can't do this."
He gripped my arm. "Why not?"
His eyes blazed with something. It looked like hatred. I shrunk back. It was the closest I'd ever come to being afraid of him. Other people were afraid of him. But until that day, I’d never understood why.
I yanked my arm away. "Let's say I did finish school here," I said. "What the hell am I supposed to do with an English degree in Riverside?"
"It doesn't matter," he said. "You already have a job."
I stared at him. "Telling fortunes?"
"Why not?"
"You've got to be kidding," I said, my voice rising. "That's my mom's life, not mine." I blinked hard and lowered my voice. "But what about you?"
"What about me?" he asked.
"It's not too late. You could make up your classes." I reached out to squeeze his hand. God help me, I still loved him. And the thought of being without him was almost more than I could bear. "I'd wait for you."
"Forget it." He yanked his hand away. "You either love me for who I am, or you can get the fuck out of my car." He turned the key, cranking the car's ignition. "And my life."
I felt the first sting of tears. "Don't do this," I said.
He revved the engine. The sound echoed down the quiet street. "Now or never," he repeated.
"Why are you doing this?" I said. "This isn't you."
He revved the engine again. Impassively, he studied the street. "I don't have all day."
It was then that I lost it. I loved him. And I hated him for trying to trap me. Looking back, it was the same I felt about Riverside. "You want an answer?" I shouted. "Never! There. Are you happy now?"
I tore out of the car and slammed the door with both hands. The passenger window shattered, s
ending shards of broken glass into the place I'd been sitting. From the curb, I stood sobbing, watching the Nova squeal around the corner and disappear from sight.
He called me two hours later, begging for a chance to make things right. I listened. And then I lied, telling him, "We'll talk when you get back, alright?"
But when he returned, I was already gone.
Logistically, it wasn't as hard as it sounded. I'd always been a planner, so most of my stuff was already packed. And Crystal had already hired my replacement, some girl who lasted less than a year. I never did get into Florida State, but I did make it halfway there – to Alabama, where I eventually finished college and began my writing career.
I never heard from Bishop again, and I tried to tell myself it was for the best.
Over time, the years had given me perspective. I might have made a life in Riverside if Bishop hadn't backed me into a corner. And he might've graduated from college if I hadn't pushed him so hard.
When Crystal told me about Bishop's own departure only a day after mine, it had been a bitter pill with one small benefit. It opened the door for me to come and go freely without running into him.
Since then, I'd spent five years shuttling back and forth between my two homes – the one I loved because I was born there, and the one I loved because I belonged there. I was tired of driving, but I still couldn’t regret my decision.
Chapter 67
The morning after that awkward encounter between Conrad and Bishop, I spent a couple of hours writing and packing for my return trip South.
By mid-morning, I was done. But my day was just beginning. I'd need to tour the condos, sleep a few hours, and then drive twelve hours through the night. A mocha might help.
I slipped downstairs to find Steve and Anthony digging through the pastry case.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Snack attack," Steve said.
"Where's mom?"
"Ran out for milk."
"Where's Gabriel?" I asked.
"Giving some picketer a Tarot reading," Anthony said.
"Who's manning the coffee bar?"
"We are," Steve said.
I stared at them. "Do you guys even know how to work the espresso machine?"
"Sort of," Anthony said.
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