A Love Restrained

by Becky Flade

  “Did it occur to you maybe since I said I wanted to be alone, I actually wanted to be alone, and that’s why I wasn’t answering calls or the door?”

  He smiled, unrepentant. “Nope, can’t say it did.”

  “How’d you get in?”

  “You couldn’t come up with a better hiding spot for your spare key? You’re a cop for crying out loud. Why any common criminal could’ve come right in, right up those steps and gotten a free peek at all your goodies. You didn’t even close the bathroom door.”

  “Case in point?” She tipped the glass in his direction.

  “Honey, I’m anything but common.”

  She laughed—she couldn’t help it.

  “Enjoy your bath. Enjoy your book. Enjoy the wine. G’night, baby. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “You want to be alone. I wanted to see you for a minute, say goodnight. I’ve done both.”

  He ran his fingers through her short crop of hair, tugged on the ends and was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. From down the hall, she heard him call out, “By the way, I love where you put the fern. Don’t forget to water it.”

  She shook her head and took a sip of wine. Crisp and cool, just the way I like it. His bike roared in the distance, and she retrieved her book. But it no longer held her interest. She stepped from the tub, wrapped her body in a thick towel, and padded across the hall to her bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she dialed his number from memory.

  “Hey there, sexy.” He answered on the second ring. “Bath over already?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t get back into my book.”

  “Want to talk about whatever it is put you in a funk?”

  “Why would you think I was in a funk? Cause I wanted an evening to myself?”

  “I could be dead wrong, but I had the general impression when a woman armed herself with a bubble bath and a trashy romance novel, it meant she had something or someone unpleasant she wanted to avoid.”

  “It’s not a trashy romance. But yeah, I had something on my mind.” She took a breath. “I ran into your sister today.”

  He swore. He apologized. But he made no excuses for his sister. She didn’t mind. In fact, she appreciated the fact he didn’t offer platitudes or false promises.

  “My mom gets out of the hospital tomorrow. Come with me?”

  “I wish I could, but I’ve got Jordan’s brood this weekend. They’re getting dropped off first thing in the morning.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. Does this mean I won’t see you till next week?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’d like for you to come over. I’ll probably be desperate for adult conversation before you can say, Best. Aunt. Ever.” She paused. “It’s a shame you were so quick to leave tonight.”

  “Come open the back door, and I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

  “You’re here?”

  “Not yet. But I hoped you’d invite me back, so I stopped at Devane’s.”

  “Can’t you use the spare key?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The condo smelled of lemons. The dining room table polished, the chairs repaired. The floors had been vacuumed, and the carpets shampooed. New curtains hung at the windows, pinned back to let in the sun.

  “Was this you?” his mom asked.

  “Not me. I expect one or more of the Parkers are responsible.”

  I’ll thank them. She won’t remember to, won’t want to. She sat on the edge of the mended sofa, picking at the edges of a delicate blanket someone had tossed over the back and one arm. She seemed confused. He couldn’t remember a time anyone had done anything kind for her, without strings.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  She nodded. She looks like a kid, a scared kid staring out of an old, small woman’s face.

  “Why are you afraid of me? Is it because I look like dad?”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” She lowered her eyes and her voice as though preparing to tell him a secret. “I see your father when I look at Amy.”

  “Then why don’t you want me around?”

  “Every time I look at you, every time I look around this apartment you provide, the food and money you give me, the car, all of it, but especially when I look at you, I’m reminded of how much I hate myself.”

  “What?”

  “Your father almost killed you, because of me. And I would’ve stood there and let him because I was more afraid for myself than for you. I did nothing, said nothing. Then I ran. I can’t hide from my failure as a mother, as a woman, when you’re standing there looking at me. Reminding me.”

  I didn’t think she could look older, smaller. I was wrong.

  “I never blamed you.”

  “I know. That makes it so much worse.”

  “You survived, the only way you could. There’s no shame in that.”

  “Nothing but shame.”

  She turned her face away as her tears fell. I’ve seen my mother cry enough to fill a lifetime. He stood, gave her privacy, and took stock, moving room to room, of the changes since he’d been here last. Someone had set out little tchotchkes; there were flowers in vases and a bowl of lemons on the kitchen table. The Parkers, for he was sure they’d done it, had made his mother’s condo a home. Amelia will destroy all of this. Well, it’s my name on the lease. I’ll make sure she stays away.

  He peeked. She seemed to have pulled herself together and appeared, to him, to be sitting taller, straighter, than he thought he’d ever seen. I’m not letting Amy ruin that either.

  “I want to talk to you about Amy.” He sat beside her on the couch. “She can’t live her anymore.”

  “I won’t let her come back unless she’s sober. Because I’m not helping her the way things are. She needs me to be strong.”

  “That’s good. Real good.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about that girl, about Kylee Parker.”

  “I appreciate the thought, but it’s a little late for the birds-and-the-bees talk, don’t ya think?” To his surprise, she smiled. It was a faint, hesitant gesture and lasted a second. Still, she smiled.

  “What on God’s green earth, do you think you’re doing getting tangled up with her?”

  “Being happy.”

  “For how long?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You must realize this can’t go any farther. Your family and ours may be from the same neighborhood, sure, but we are, and always have been, worlds apart. This will end badly for you both.” She put a hand over his. “I don’t want to see you broken again. I’m not sitting by and watching this time. Someone needs to tell you the truth. They’re good people.”

  She looked around the now sweet apartment. “I don’t deny that. But she’s not for you. And the bat she wields? That’s a hurt you’ll be hard pressed to ever heal.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Something’s wrong. He’s holding back. The kids were back home with their, if looks could tell, happy parents. She made her signature dish, stuffed shells, and expected Jayson any minute for romantic dinner. He had until dessert to tell her what weighed on him, he just didn’t know it.

  Her phone rang. “Food is getting cold, handsome.”

  “How well does it reheat?”

  “You’re not making it?”

  “No, babe, I’m sorry, I’m not. I got pulled into something last minute. Take my word for it, I’d much rather be there with you.”

  “Are we okay?” So much for waiting until dessert.

  “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “I know I had the kids all weekend, but you seemed preoccupied when you were here and distant on the phone. And now, the first chance we get to be alone in days, you’re calling last minute to cancel. It’s not an unfair question.”

  “You’re right, it’s not. But we’re fine. My mom voiced some concerns over the wisdom of you and I being in a relationship. She thinks our worlds a
re too different and we’ll both end up hurt.” He paused. “I don’t agree with her, but it did make me think.”

  “What about?”

  “There are things I need to tell you. Things I should’ve told you before now. Things I meant to tell you the night we ate at your parents. And its stuff better said face to face. Shit, I gotta go. You’re on day shift tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow evening we’ll shut off both cell phones, have dinner, and talk. I…miss you.”

  “Be safe.” She disconnected. She wrapped and stored the untouched dinner on auto-pilot too preoccupied with the conversation she just had to think about eating.

  I miss you was not what he wanted to say. Am I ready to hear the words I think he wants to say? Do I want to hear them? I’m not sure how I feel. I can’t not say it back, but I can’t say it if I’m not sure. Christ is that what he wants to tell me? Does he know a future with me can’t include Chic Checcio? I don’t want to throw ultimatums down like gauntlets, but I can’t, I just can’t. His own mother knows that can’t work. But I don’t want to know yet what life without him is like.

  She stared at empty counters without seeing them. Her head full of the contradictions that were Jayson Donovan.

  * * *

  The following afternoon an older woman flagged down her squad car in a known drug corridor. By silent agreement, they pulled over, rolling down the passenger side window.

  “A couple of punks keep selling drugs out of the alley behind my house. They are out there all day and night, every damn day and night. They wave their guns around in the air and talk to us like we’re trash. I’m tired of it. I’ve lived in this house since the day I got married. My daughter won’t even bring my grandbabies to visit me anymore, it’s gotten so bad.”

  “They back there now, ma’am?”

  “Didn’t you just hear me say they’re out there all day, every day?”

  She got specifics on the alley while Matt called it in. “Okay, Mrs. Whitaker, what I want you to do is go home, lock your doors, keep away from the windows, and stay in the house.”

  The old woman nodded before hustling down the street and out of sight around a corner.

  She took her place at the east entrance to the alley, leaned against the wall and waited. Four men stood at the midpoint, under a dark street lamp. Matt entered from the west and announced himself as police. Four heads turned her way. She smiled and watched as they dumped drugs, money, guns and God knows what into surrounding yards. These are not the brightest criminals in Philly. One guy, the largest of the four, looked back and forth from her to Matt, then back to her and smiled. He thought she’d be easier to get by. He wasn’t the first to make that mistake. Bad idea, buddy.

  He launched into a sprint. She called a warning. As did her partner. Pumping his arms and legs, a smile plastered on his face, he raced toward her. Bastard’s fast. Big too. When a couple feet remained, she stepped to her right and turned to the side, giving the runner a clear path. His smile widened. She’d already unbuckled her baton and had it in hand, resting along the thigh facing the suspect. It wasn’t hidden. He wasn’t looking. As he passed, she squatted and stuck the baton in front of his feet. He landed hard, sliding a few feet on his hands and chest. His friends howled with laughter.

  “Nice move, Parker.”

  She glanced at the two officers coming towards her from Lawndale Street. Jiminez and Burke. She allowed them to take over cuffing and Mirandizing the now cursing giant. “You guys would’ve stopped this fool if he’d gotten by me, right?”

  “I had twenty riding on you taking him down yourself. Burke thought you might shoot him. Or take him to dinner. Who knows with you these days?”

  Burke elbowed his partner. Hard.

  How long will they keep that up? Not until after it stops stinging. Cops have long memories.

  “I like ‘em prettier than this asshole.” She looked Burke up and down in a lazy, disrespectful fashion. In the same lazy, disrespectful fashion he used on in her since Guff died. “And you.”

  She turned on her heel, ignoring Jiminez’s laughter, and went to see if her partner needed a hand. All three of the guys he corralled were cheerful and chatty; watching Claude the giant get tripped up by a “lady cop” the most fun they’d had all week.

  She spent the remainder of her shift doing paperwork. And twitching. She’d known Claude would overpower her if she’d tried to go at him head to head. Just as she knew he’d have run right through her if she’d tried to block him. Tripping him was the smartest, safest way to immobilize him. But it hadn’t offered relief for a surge of adrenaline she’d experienced. Unused, pent-up energy had her bouncing in her seat, drumming her fingers against the desk, and aggravating everyone around her, including the always congenial Matt.

  “For Christ’s sake, Parker, go.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll finish. Get the hell out of here before I kill you myself.”

  She grinned, grabbed her things and had clocked out before her partner changed his mind, or her boss found something for her to do. She had a couple of hours to spare before dinner with Jayson. I could take a long bath, pamper myself. No, no, that won’t work. I’m too amped to relax. She hit the speed dial for Jayson’s number as she turned the jeep out onto the street.

  “Hello, sexy.” His voice purred out of the phone. “We still on for dinner?”

  “What do you think about going out? Doing something?”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m great. A situation almost jumped off today, but didn’t. I’m edgy. Usually, I go for a run. Wanted to do something with you instead.”

  “I’ve got an idea how I can help you work off some energy.”

  She smiled. “Do tell.”

  He laughed. “Not that; well not just that. Why don’t you meet me at 225 Lincoln Highway, in Fairless Hills, in about ninety minutes?”

  “What’s there?”

  “You’ll see. And babe? Wear clothes you won’t mind getting dirty.”

  She turned into the parking lot of a small, non-descript industrial complex with a few minutes to spare. He waited for her beside his bike, a small, knowing smile on his face. She hopped out and indulged the overwhelming urge to be held, running and leaping into his embrace. He caught her and returned her kiss with enthusiasm before setting her on her feet and holding her at arm’s length. Ah, he was worried about me.

  “Do I pass?”

  “Barely.” He pulled her close again and nuzzled his cheek against her temple. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She inhaled the mingled scent of cologne, deodorant, and gel unique to Jayson. “Where are we?”

  He took her hand and led her inside the first office off the door. “Good idea?”

  He’d brought her to a paintball place. “It’s a great idea.”

  Two hours later, smeared with dirt and paint, she hunkered down between a large rock and a dense bush. She had the high ground and a tree at her back. She checked her range of vision and, happy with her choice, nodded. Donovan is going down. She smiled.

  They’d chosen a one-on-one winner takes all duel rather than joining one of the larger parties. She’d underestimated him. He was good. Damn good. But after taking the first round with an ego blistering volley of shots to her back, and one embarrassing shot to her rear end, she’d brought out her A-game. They were tied, three to three, and this was the tie breaker. Triage, the paintball field they were on, closed at nightfall, and the shadows were already growing deep and dark. I’m winning this.

  She heard quiet, careful footfalls to her left. It could be Jayson. It could also be the referee Triage had assigned them or a player from another group who had wandered into their field. If she stood too soon, she could reveal her position to Jayson, lining up the winning shot for him. She’d have to wait where she was and hope whoever it was didn’t lose the game for her. Her heart pounded as sweat dribbled down her back, but she didn’t fidget. She didn’t flinch. Her finger rema
ined poised over the trigger. I’m winning this.

  He appeared about twelve feet in front and to the left of her position. He faced her, but the setting sun was in his eyes. He can’t see me. She wished the helmet didn’t shield his face from view. Bet he looks every inch the fierce warrior standing in the dying light, weapon in hand, the thrill of the hunt glinting in his eyes. She shook off the notion and took slow, deliberate aim.

  She whistled. He raised his marker to chest height and squeezed off several shots. They were too high, hitting the tree with a series of thunks that rained bits of paint into her hair, and too late. From a crouch, she landed a game winning shot center mass with a burst of bright pink paint. She leaped from her hiding spot, shaking her paint-smeared bottom, and pumping her fists in an impromptu victory dance.

  She heard the pop and swish of his marker firing a second before she felt the ping of the paintball burst against her rump.

  “You can’t shoot me if you’re already dead.” She rubbed the spot. That’s going to leave a bruise. “I can’t believe you took a cheap shot at my ass. Spoil sport.”

  “Involuntary muscle reflex caused by death throes couldn’t help it.”

  “Liar.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and lifted her chin. “Kiss the winner, handsome.”

  They were tangled up in each other’s mouths when the referee found them and cleared his throat. She laughed and pulled away, but he held fast to her hand as they walked back. They’d rented camouflage jumpsuits to wear over their clothes that, along with the markers, had to be returned. As she waited her turn, she browsed the retail offerings. She was in the middle of a conversation with one of the boys manning the counter about Triage’s policy on law enforcement discounts when Jayson emerged from the restrooms.

  “You ready?”

  “All set.” She shook the young man’s hand. “Thanks so much, Brian. I’ll be in touch.”

  She pushed her card across the counter as she turned away and, with a cocky wink, hip checked Jayson on her way out the door.