Honestly, it doesn’t sound like the kind of place he’d frequent. But maybe when he’s drunk. Which is often, so I’ve heard. Maybe he saw the beautiful server through the window and decided to make it a place he’d frequent.
Would I do the same if I caught sight of Ava through the window one morning after heading home from the bar? Maybe.
She shifts around uncomfortably as the silence stretches, and I look up to meet her eyes. Her fingers are back in her hair, twirling it unconsciously. “No. We met in law school. I’m a second year.”
I’m careful not to slow down on my food prep, so she doesn’t see my surprise. A lawyer? I definitely didn’t see that coming.
“You work full-time and go to law school?” There’s admiration in my voice. I’m the middle son of an Irish family; I’ve got strong appreciation for that kind of hustle.
Ava smiles weakly and waves her hand. “Well, sometimes that’s what it takes. We don’t all have family money.”
She freezes, the color draining from her face, as she leaps to apologize. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean…”
She’s too polite, too afraid of pissing people off. I imagine personally shattering the kneecaps of every person that made her feel like that. But good manners aren’t a bad thing.
“Don’t worry.” I give her an easy grin so she knows it’s okay. “But it’s not exactly like that. I’m no Stacy brat with a silver spoon. My dad owns a bar and some other businesses. He’s been an entrepreneur for a long time, but more bootstraps than ballrooms, if you know what I mean. But I’ve worked my way up, full-time since before I was eighteen. Construction, office work, you name it. My father always says that you need a lot of skills to get by.”
She smiles again then. A real smile that makes it all the way up to her eyes and lights up her face. It’s impossible not to smile back, as she looks at me with those bright green eyes.
“It sounds like I’d like your dad.”
Her words land hard. My father isn’t a happy subject right now, and it takes everything I’ve got not to harden up. I fight to keep the walls down, and my attention on the woman in front of me. The eggs hit the frying pan with a sizzle, and I slide bread into the toaster. Popping the lever down, the bread drops with a metallic ping.
“He’d like you. Admires fighters, like yourself.” I see her shoulders sag. Does she really not know that about herself? That’s something to address later. For now it’s best to move on. “I’m really impressed, but it sounds like you have a full plate.”
Actually, it sounds fucking insane, but clearly there’s something else going on here. Not everyone has a family that has their back, or one that lays out the entire path of their lives ahead of them practically before they’re born. That can be both good and bad.
Clearly, in her case, at least the lack of family hasn’t been a good thing. It sounds like she’s working way too hard. But she’s clearly not afraid of hard work. I admire that she’s going after her dreams.
Law school. That’s something to be proud of.
She nods. “Actually, it’s not so bad. The work’s shitty sometimes, but the money’s decent. And I love school, so that part is good. The whole thing with Brooks though, the stress. It’s a lot.” Her voice drops again, and she’s staring at her hands. She’s at a loss for what else to say, the way people get when nobody has asked how they’re doing in too long.
“Can I ask how you ended up with Brooks?”
There’s no judgment in it. Things happen. People turn out to be someone other than what you expect.
She’s obviously a smart woman, and he’s obviously a real shitbag. Right now, I want to understand the forces that pulled them together. Like it’ll help me understand who she is better, and how I can help.
Still, I don’t want to be another of her bullies. “No is an okay answer, Ava. You don’t have to tell me.”
Her shoulders had tensed at his name. She rubs her forehead and blinks a couple of times before saying softly, “We met at the first-year party, the one after orientation, just before school starts. Our advisor introduced us. She said we share similar interests. I want to go after corrupt politicians. His family was in politics.”
Her eyes meet mine and she snorts. “Clearly, she missed a few key details there. I didn’t have a lot of friends here in the city, and he looked good on paper. Something felt off, but I didn’t trust myself. That was my biggest mistake. And it’s a mistake I’ve paid for dearly.”
When a beat of silence goes on, I want to jump in to apologize. Shouldn’t have asked this. Don’t want her to have to relive it.
“We broke up late last year after everything bad happened. I moved. Things quieted down. Then we had a class together this semester, a mandatory class I couldn’t afford to take at a different time. He tracked me down to where I work, where I live. That’s when it started escalating again.”
My throat tightens and resolve hardens in my chest. I’m going to hurt Brooks Stacy very badly for what he’s done to this woman, and make sure that he never hurts her or anyone else again.
I duck my head, catch her eye, and give her a small smile. “It happens, Ava. We do the best we can to understand who people are, but at the end of the day? You’re always taking a chance.”
Like I took a chance bringing you here. Like you took a chance coming.
“The mistakes were his, Ava. Not yours.”
A minute goes by, and then she looks up at me again almost shyly. Those eyes. Good God. They’re the color of dark emeralds, shamrocks, and Fenway Park. All the best things in life for a Boston guy.
“Tell me about your family,” she says brightly, cutting into my thoughts.
My family? Tension ripples over my muscles. Does she know who I am? But then I see her looking at a picture of me with my brothers, the five of us laughing and saluting the camera with our beers at some barbeque.
That part is simpler.
“I have four brothers. Four of us work in the family business, including me, and Seamus who we just got back full-time from some fancy law firm, but my youngest brother is actually a fighter.”
She searches the image and points to the huge bruiser in the end of the lineup. “Him, right?”
“The black eye is a giveaway, huh?”
I’ve got the eggs and toast plated and slide it across the island. Lowering myself down onto the stool across from Ava, I’m struck again by how stunning she is. It’s not lost on me how domestic this scene is. It feels good and I don’t entirely like it; I don’t have time for this.
“Scrambled eggs? You made me scrambled eggs?” She sounds like she might start crying again. This woman has had a rough day.
“Look, they’re not fancy, but they’ll taste good. I promise.” I shove the plate a little farther in her direction and then dig into my own. Normally I’d hit a takeout place or bring a sandwich home from the bar, but I’m too distracted tonight.
“What about your family?” The second I ask, I wish I could take it back. Why are we getting so damned personal? Her composure fractures for just a second, before the mask falls back into place. Her face is utterly bereft before she masters it, telling me everything I need to know.
“It’s just me. My dad left when I was really small, and my mom raised me. She was amazing, but her family didn’t approve of my dad, so they didn’t have anything to do with us. Not even after they separated. Unfortunately, she got sick with cancer when I was in high school. By the time she passed away and I was in college, there just wasn’t a lot left.” Clearly a story she’s told before, but also like she has gone into more detail than she usually does. Maybe further than she intended.
Things go quiet again. Worry spikes for a second, like I fucked up. I’m not used to these conversations. Personal conversations, especially not with beautiful women. Most of the women I talk to are more interested in surface things: the money, the flash of glamor at Intrigue, the Doyle name. I don’t know how to bring it back from the edge when things get too deep.
“These eggs are really good. Thank you again,” she says. She’s standing up, moving toward the couch with a slowness that reminds me she was injured tonight. “I can just crash here, if you have a blanket.”
I’m on my feet and step into her path, blocking her way to the sofa. “Absolutely not. You’ll be sleeping in there.”
Her eyes shift uneasily toward the bedroom that lies in shadows beyond the door and then back to my face. She pulls her bottom lip in, and sucks on it. “Listen, Connor…” Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but do I hear a note of regret along with the shoot-down she thinks she’s delivering? Even the vague suggestion of being in my bedroom with Ava has my cock twitching, a fact I’m working hard to ignore.
“Alone,” I add firmly.
I stride toward the master bedroom and throw on the light. I pull a T-shirt out of a drawer, trying not to think too hard about why I grab my favorite Red Sox shirt and not one of the brand new shirts right next to it.
I want to imagine her wearing nothing but my favorite shirt. In my bed.
It’s all I can do to keep from growling. Going to be a long damned night.
“It’s a little big, but it’ll be fine to sleep in. Bathroom’s over there. Help yourself to the shower, there’s an unopened toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. Door locks from the inside, here and here,” I indicate the door lock and slide bolt.
It’s a lot of security, but you can’t have too much of it in my business.
I pull a business card out of my pocket and put it on the nightstand. “This has my cell phone number on it. If you wake up and I’m not here, and you need anything at all, call me.”
“If you’re not here?” She’s starting to get panicked again, her eyes going immediately to mine.
Something catches in my throat. Every part of me needs this woman to know that she’s safe. Protective instincts I haven’t felt in a long time crash to the surface. Plenty of time to figure out why later.
“Things sometimes come up at the club. Don’t worry.” I point at the couch. “I’ll be right out there and anything that wants to get to you will have to get through me first. You’re completely safe. Get some sleep.” Not that I’d be sleeping. No, I’d be wide awake imagining her in my bed, in my favorite T-shirt.
“Good night, Ava.”
Before I turn to go, she reaches out and grabs my hand. The soft skin of her small hand around mine, the pressure of her touch, and the way she’s looking at me are too much. This girl – and what she does to me on multiple levels – is taking me into a whole new territory. I don’t know if I like it.
“Thank you, Connor,” she whispers softly, giving me the faintest smile.
Her touch is electric, and my body comes alive with an awareness of how close she’s standing. She gives my hand a squeeze, and then I pull away and walk out, closing the door behind me, before my body gets other ideas.
4
Connor
The shower stopped twenty minutes ago, and the lights went out. She’s probably asleep, and I can’t sit on this damned couch anymore staring at that door.
Grabbing my keys and phone, I head into the outer hallway and take the stairs two at a time up to the apartment building’s penthouse. My fist pounds the door for just a second before my brother throws it back. Seamus stands there, looking annoyed but not surprised to see me.
“What the hell?”
I push past him into his apartment and turn to face him. Despite the late hour, he’s dressed for a business meeting in a pressed shirt and black slacks. Every hair in place. I don’t know how he does this.
He returns my gaze, and clearly I look like a brawling Irishman at 2:00 a.m. Fair.
“Can we talk, Seamus?”
He quirks an eyebrow. I didn’t exactly give him a choice. But that’s one of the best things about Seamus. He might seem like an uptight hardass, and he is, but he’s an excellent listener. Even gives good advice, not that I’d admit it to him. Wordlessly, he crosses to the bar, pours two fingers of Macallen into crystal glasses and hands me one. He sits down at the chair behind his desk, leans back and regards me.
My eyes drop to the papers spread on his desk.
“Dad?” I can’t help but ask.
He nods and sighs. His eyes are bloodshot and the worry lines deepening on his face.
“Everything is a damn mess, Connor. I need to get it straightened out, some assets moved around, and protected. Trusts. Wills. You know…” His voice trails off.
“And fast.”
My head begins to pound, as it has for the last several weeks when the details that I’ve been blocking out seep in. Not long ago, my father brought us all together to tell us that he was sick. For a second, I’m back in my dad’s favorite booth at the Kildare, the beer-stained wood sticky beneath my fingers. My brothers are crowding around, giving each other shit.
And then the silence as his words wash over me. Cancer. Sick. No treatment. A few months, several at most. You boys will handle it. Keep the damn Carneys out.
Everything changed in an instant. From a safe world where the toughest guy I know keeps us on the straight and narrow as we continue to take the Doyle businesses into the modern world, to one where I’m trying to imagine how everything’s going to work without my father at the helm.
What the hell is my role, and how am I supposed to help?
My throat constricts and I clear it quickly.
“Listen, what can you tell me about the Stacy family?”
Seamus instantly looks wary. Whatever he was expecting me to ask, it wasn’t that. Some of it I know, but he’s more plugged in, handling all the legal and business details.
“Boston political dynasty. Carter’s the mayor, his brother’s big into property development. Their father owns half the seaport. We’ve gone head to head a few times and haven’t gotten much city work since the last election. But you know all this. What’s up?”
He leans forward, putting his elbows on his desk. His tattoo is the same one as mine.
I run a hand through my hair. It’s sticking up in every direction.
“A woman came into Intrigue tonight. She was running away from some drunk asshole that beat her up. Turns out it was Brooks Stacy.” I don’t tell Seamus I had Sully rough him up.
At the name, Seamus takes a strong pull from his drink, before giving a disgusted headshake. “Jesus, Connor. Brooks is the mayor’s son. He’s in law school down at Suffolk.”
He gives a little shrug and can’t seem to stop from adding, “ Couldn’t get into Harvard. Not even with all his connections.”
Unable to help myself, I snort. Leave it to Seamus to throw in a Harvard reference whenever he can.
“Honestly, Connor, he’s bad news. He’s been in court a bunch of times, DUIs, fighting. And I heard he beat up a girl very badly last year, although it sounds like nothing has stuck. He’s been in a few courses I’ve lectured to at law schools here in Boston, and every instinct says he’s a piece of shit.”
He shakes his head and his eyes take on a guarded look. “Bad news. I’d stay out of it if you can.”
He’s watching me hard, and I can tell from the tightening line of his mouth that he doesn’t like what he sees on my face.
I lean back in my chair, putting a little distance between us.
“Seriously, Connor. We don’t need any more shit than we’re facing right now, and that especially means staying clear of the Stacy family. You know the history.”
I do know the history. The Stacy clan has old, bad blood with my father and they’ve rained down misery on us every chance they gotten. But there’s other history I know too. Our family history, that we don’t let brutality against women go unanswered. And we definitely don’t leave a woman in trouble to fend for herself.
Just the thought of it pisses me off.
He can clearly read me like a goddamn book, because his eyes go to a framed picture of our family. My father, my brothers, and our closest cousins – including Claire – gr
in at the camera from decades in the past. Fuck.
“I can’t leave it,” I say, my voice a deep growl. “But it’s not going to blow up. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
He looks unconvinced, and we finish our drinks in silence. “Look, sorry to barge in here so late, man. Get some sleep.” I head for the door, knowing that he’s not getting any rest tonight either.
Back in my apartment, I stare the bedroom door. Those protective instincts are stirring, making me feel restless. Seeing Ava’s face, just for a second, just to prove to my lizard brain she’s safe… Finally, I go over and try the knob. It opens easily.
She didn’t lock it. I thought for sure she’d lock it.
I’m just going to check on her, I tell myself. There’s a faint light cast from the clock, and she’s sound asleep in the bed. The huge comforter practically swallows her up, but she’s as far to one side—my side—as she can get. And she’s even more beautiful than I remember.
Stepping back, I close the door and head toward the guest bathroom to change before heading for the couch. Almost wish I hadn’t turned that second bedroom into an office, but this way I’ll be closer to Ava.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
5
Ava
Light streams in from the window, hitting my eyes. I toss a hand over my face and nestle deeper into the warm bed.
Connor’s bed.
I shoot up into a sitting position in a panic and my pulse hammers in my throat. Clutching the blankets to my chest, I look at the clock. Ten in the morning. I can’t believe it. I haven’t slept this late or this soundly in ages.
Not since before Brooks. Not since I lost my mom.
I collect myself and take a deep breath. Running my fingers over the silky surface of the bedspread, I imagine for just a second what it’d be like to feel Connor’s weight pressed next to me. The rise and fall of his chest. Those huge, muscled arms wrapped around me. His hot breath on my ear whispering promises. My breath catches in my chest and my stomach twists. But not from fear. From something elsethat hasn’t touched my life in a long time: desire.
Grind: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 3
