by Rose Hudson
Bloodhounds are known for their incomparable tracking skills. Used by forces all over the world to track missing people, drugs and whatever else in existence, bloodhounds are determined creatures when locked onto a scent.
So rather than stop him like I want, I try my best to keep up with him and see where he’s leading us. He doesn’t do this for other dogs or food or something insignificant, in fact, I can’t remember him ever doing this so aggressively. So, I know it must be something important.
I’m about ready to let the leash go and let him handle it on his own when he comes to a screeching stop off to the side of the trail by a tree. If his leash wasn’t as long as it is, I would have just decapitated myself on the lowest branch, but instead have enough time to catch myself.
Bruno takes long, slow and stilted sniffs of the small snow mound beside the tree before starting to dig. When the item in question comes free of the snow, Bruno sits, pawing at it until I bend to pick it up and see that it’s Liam’s bear—his mommy bear.
Lydia had made this bear for him and the shirt that it wears is made from Madison’s favorite concert tee. So, there’s no mistaking whose it is. It’s Liam’s and Lydia always makes sure it’s in the car seat or the stroller with him always.
I’m sure she’s freaking out looking for it.
I’m sure I need to leave and take it to her.
But I’m not sure that I can go there and see her and be able to turn around and leave.
I need to focus, I have a fight tomorrow.
Fuck the fight, I want to see her. I need to see her.
I want to hear her voice and hug her to me and smell her and kiss her and…
I close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose. I fucking love her and I want her there. I want to quit with these fucking games, but I want to come to her when I’ve fixed everything. When my plate is clean and there’s no baggage for her to claim in order to be with me.
I hold the tiny bear, the size of my hand. I stuff it into the front pocket of my hoodie.
Tomorrow, after the fight, I’ll go to her.
And I won’t make excuses or reason with what has or hasn’t happened.
I’ll make her mine and not leave room for doubt in either of our minds.
ALL THIS TIME I THOUGHT that what I needed was a sexual partner. Someone to give me pleasure, bring my body to orgasm and remove the chaos surrounding me. But what I really needed was someone to take the space where Madison used to be, and also, a place where no one’s ever been before. As much as I know I can do anything I set my mind to, as much as I thought I didn’t have to depend on anyone, the more I realize that having Stone here is the only thing right.
He recognized my need for pain with my pleasure.
He recognized my need to fit him into this mold and compare him to people he has nothing in common with. Why? Because I think he understands what it’s like to need someone to believe in, someone to trust in and the need to hope for something.
But most importantly, he recognized that I was falling apart and needed someone to catch the pieces when they fell. He was there when I made him pay penance for a crime he didn’t commit. When I treated him like I was better and judged him. I tried to cast him as a monster when really, he’s my hero.
I pace my office, attempting to reason with myself, but knowing there’s only one way to make this right. Locating Rush’s file from the stack on my desk, I find the contact information listed and find the number I’m looking for. With anxious fingers, I dial the number on my cell and pray that he answers.
“Hello?” I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Thorn?”
“That’s me. Who’s this?”
“This is Lydia Norberg.” I think of how to put this, wondering if Stone ever mentioned me. “Rush’s attorney. A friend of Stone’s.”
“Ah, you mean the girl who’s got my brother’s head all twisted up.”
I close my eyes. Apparently, he’s informed.
“What can I do for you?”
“I need you to tell me where the fight is tonight.”
“Not sure I know what you’re talking about, miss.” Prick. Definitely fitting.
“You have to know calling you was a last resort, but I knew Rush wouldn’t know and Stone wouldn’t answer my calls. So, I’m asking for your help. Please.” I wait. Silence. One thing’s for sure, these Keeling brothers are loyal only to one another, and unless you give them a reason, you aren’t getting through that protective wall. “Look, I just want to be there for him the way he’s been for me.”
“If he didn’t answer your calls then he must not want you there. Plus, his head needs to be on straight, seeing you before—”
“He won’t even know I’m there. That’s why I broke things off in the first place. He was going to pull out because of me and I knew with someone like Cameron that this couldn’t be handled any other way.”
“Well, you did a bang-up job because I’ve never seen him wanna fuck someone up so bad before.”
“I’m glad that he has you. It’s been killing me knowing that he would think I walked away, when really, I did it because I love him. I love Stone, Thorn.” When I get nothing but silence again, I’m sure I’ve failed.
“Is this your cell?” he asks, finally.
“Yes.”
“I’ll get the address and text it to this number, but I won’t have it until an hour before the fight so you gotta be ready. And it wouldn’t hurt if you never tell him that I did this.”
“God, thank you. Really.”
“You can call me Thorn, but yeah, you’re welcome.”
I end the call and clutch the phone to my chest.
As I turn off the light and shut the door to my office, I run into my dad in the hallway.
“There you are. I was just about to see if you wanted to walk down together.”
“Sure. I was on my way out now.” We walk to the elevator together, stepping on as the doors open.
“Have any plans tonight? You could come by and eat take-out with your mom and I.” All the possible answers I could give him fly around like leer jets in my brain, but I’m tired of making excuses, telling half-truths and denying my feelings for fear of scrutiny.
“Actually, I’m going to the fight. And then afterward, I’m going to bring Joseph Cameron back down to Earth. So, we’ll have to do take-out another time.” The elevator lands on the ground floor and I step through the doors as they open without chancing a look over at my father. We walk through the lobby in silence, until his hand lands on my arm, stopping me before we can walk through the doors leading outside.
“Wait here just a minute.” He takes his cell from his suit pocket and pushes a few buttons, placing it to his ear. “Darling, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be late tonight. I’m going to take care of some business with Lydia.” There’s a pause and my mouth falls agape. “Everything is fine. I’ll call you on the way home.” He looks over at me, stoic and implacable as ever as he ends the call. “All right, let’s go.” He steps through the doors without another word, leaving me stunned and quick-stepping to catch up as we reach the sidewalk where his car waits by the curb.
“Dad, wait. What—”
“Get in.” He opens the back door and I stand unmoving. He glares pointedly. “Well, come on.”
I climb in, unwilling to duke this out with him in the falling snow. He climbs in after me, speaking to the driver. “Dearborn Park.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?”
“You heard me, I’m going with you.”
“To my apartment?” I ask, hoping that’s the case.
“Yes, I figured you’d want to change before we attend the fight.”
“We? Wait, Dad. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t—”
“If you think for one second that you are going to a place like that to speak to a man capable of the things Cameron is capable of, by yourself, then it ma
kes me question the type of father you think I am.”
“Then why not just demand me not to go like you normally would? I mean, come on, Dad. This is crazy.”
“Because I know you well enough to know that you would go anyway.”
I roll my eyes and look out the window, aware of how juvenile the action is. Dad takes my hand in his, forcing me to look at him.
“And because I know this has got to mean a great deal to you or you wouldn’t put yourself in this situation. Not after what this family has been through with Madison.”
I look down at our hands, words failing me and emotions running thick. I look up to see the man I always thought was so unaffected, and realize that he’s just my dad, the man who’s always had to be strong for me.
After changing clothes and nearly chewing off all my fingernails staring at my phone, Dad decided he wanted to look at all the evidence I’d gathered to present to the senator, which makes me almost just as nervous.
My father is a pacer, which is probably where I get it. When he studies a case he never sits. Instead he finds a rhythm and reads as he walks, drowning out the world around him.
All I can do is pour myself a glass of wine, opting to deny my pallet the tequila it craves, and gulp nearly all of it in wait for him to say something. He makes a pass into the kitchen, file in hand and eyes drilled to the documents inside.
“I think I’ll have a glass as well,” he says, eyes unmoving from the papers. I take a wine glass from the cabinet and pour it half full. Without hesitation, he takes it and drains the contents, closing the file and laying it on the counter just before setting down his now empty glass.
“God, Dad. Is it that bad?” I ask, feeling like I want to throw up. He eyes me in silence briefly.
“No, It’s that good.” Now I really feel like I want to throw up. “How have you managed to dig up all of this?”
“Oh, Dad, I’ve been working on this for weeks.”
“This would have taken me months.” He pours himself another glass of wine, shaking his head. “I wanted to come with you tonight because I was worried you’d gotten in over your head. I figured when it came to approaching Cameron that I’d have to step in.” He drinks the wine from the glass, looking at me with what I can only describe as pride. “I underestimated you.”
I beam in relief. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” I raise my arms above my head, dancing around in victory. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I freeze, nearly ripping my pocket trying to get it out.
I press the text notification to see an address and my heart stops.
It’s an address I couldn’t forget no matter the number of lives I live.
The same place I went to with Madison the night we watched Damon fight.
“Thorn just sent the address. How do I know Cameron will be there?” I look up at my dad, panic setting in that I hadn’t thought this through better, and now the clock is ticking.
“The odds of him actually being in attendance are slim to none. Surely he isn’t ignorant enough to chance a photo being taken of him.”
Needing to get out of the suddenly small space of my kitchen, I stalk into the main room, hands fisted at my sides, attempting to ball up all the frustrated, anxious energy.
“Why is it necessary that you talk to him before Stone fights?”
“Because Cameron doesn’t just want him to fight, he wants him to lose. If I get to Cameron before he fights, I can keep him from making a mistake he’ll have a hard time forgiving himself for.”
Hands in his pockets, calm and collected as always, my father walks to the window and appears to be enjoying the view, but I know he’s plotting, creating a plan of attack. “Call Cameron.”
My brows draw together. “And tell him what?”
“To meet you at this place. What do you have to lose at this point. I’m assuming it’s a public place?”
“Timmy’s in South Side.”
“Then draw him there.”
“But then he’ll know that I know where the fight is.”
“So? Even more reason for him to show. He’ll know at that point that you hold a few cards in your hand and he’ll want to be present for the flop.”
The neck of this hoodie suddenly feels like a noose. I tug it over my head and all but run to the hall closet and pull out a black blazer, throwing it over the white V-neck tee I had on underneath. My dad eyes me confused.
“Well, I can’t go in there next to you in a hoodie and sneakers.” I wave my hand up and down, reminding him he’s wearing a suit. “Call a cab, and before you disagree, a cab will take less time than the car service and we should’ve left ten minutes ago.”
Without words, he pulls out his cell phone and dials and I do the same, pressing the contact for Joseph Cameron and opting for a text instead of a call that he likely won’t answer.
Join me for a drink at Timmy’s in 30.
Pertinent business to discuss.
~Lydia Norberg, Attorney at Law
My father and I step onto the elevator as I push send and all I can think is, what if he doesn’t show?
I’m thankful for the twenty minutes it takes us to get to Timmy’s in South Shore. As we pull down the street it’s located on, I text Thorn.
Give me a five-minute warning before the fight and I’ll come down.
“Park across the street and wait,” Dad tells the driver. He looks at me, not a nervous stitch in his armor, only making me hope that I’ve taken more after him than just his pacing. “Remember, this is all you.” His eyes are confident. Mine, not so much. He opens the door and slides from the seat, holding it open for me as I do the same, toting my bag behind me.
We wait for traffic to clear to cross the street, and when it finally does, I see a black town car parked in the alley next to Timmy’s.
“Shit. He’s here.”
“Did you hope he wasn’t?” My dad smiles. “Lydia.” He puts his hand on my back, guiding me across the street. “You’ve got this.”
As expected, Timmy’s is fairly crowded when we enter. I scan the room, patrons playing pool and laughing over the background noise of music. The room is littered with round tables and the vivid neon’s on the walls cast an incandescent glow over everything other than the brightly lit bar along the far wall.
“Far left corner,” my father says in my ear. Turning my head slightly in that direction, Joseph Cameron occupies a corner booth along with two other men, his eyes already on us.
I force myself to remember what I’m here for and that the cards in my hand are stacked against his, that I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do, and because the man I love deserves to have someone in his corner for once.
“Give us some privacy,” he says to the men as we step up to the table. When they vacate the bench seat, I slide in, followed by my father.
“Senator,” I say. He looks around briefly, his hold on his composure visible.
“You can call me Joseph.” His smile is slimy and I nod rather than acknowledge his niceties. “And you are?” He looks to my father, who sits straight, stoic and unflinching.
“Stellan Norberg,” he responds, surprising me when he doesn’t extend his hand to the senator.
“Ah, I thought I recognized the name. How nice of you to accompany your daughter. Business can be a bit tough for little girls.”
“Joseph, is it?” my father’s elbows go to the table, fingers interlocking. “You’d do best to pretend I’m not even here and listen to Lydia. I’m just here for the fight.”
“Fight? I wasn’t aware—”
I slap a manila envelope on the table in front of him.
“Cut the shit, Cameron. Inside you’ll find everything needed to prove that you not only know about this fight but that you are the one that orchestrated it. As well as hand-written testimony of your housekeeper stating that she overheard you directly threaten Stone Keeling, in your house, that if he didn’t fight tonight you would pursue charges against his brother, Rush K
eeling.” He flips through the pages, slimy smile ever present.
“So, basically you have the word of a criminal and some lowly housekeeper against your next Illinois Senator?”
“No, I have the word of a respected businessman and a woman who admitted she obtained her citizenship illegally through you. Which caused me to do some digging, and more digging until I found exactly what I was looking for.” I pull another envelope from my bag and slide it across the table. “I thought it was rather odd that you had a Russian exchange student, considering that the man you’ve blackmailed Stone into fighting is a Russian fighter. Seemed like an awful lot of allegiance to the Russian’s to me. Turns out the exchange student you’re housing isn’t just some exchange student. He’s the son of none other than the nephew to the head of the Russian Mob, Foma Kiniaev.” The senator picks up his glass and sips, looking over the information in front of him as if reading the morning news. But the sweat at his hairline reveals the slip of his grasp on control.
“I have documents stating otherwise.”
“Documents like the ones directly linking you to the illegal immigration and citizenship of more than twenty men involved with the Russian mob? I don’t know who you have working on the inside of immigration for you, but I have more than sufficient evidence, that given to the correct agent in the CIA, could find the answer to really quick.” My phone buzzes in the pocket of my blazer and I utilize the moment to check the five-minute warning from Thorn. Responding to him as I speak.
“And I have someone with all the information you have before you, in hand, just waiting for the word.”
I don’t care what you have to tell him, but tell Stone not to lose this fight.
I press send and look up at the senator.
“What is it that you want, Miss Norberg.”
“I want you to have a signed statement dismissing all charges against Rush Keeling on my desk by Monday.”
“Done.”
