Burn Down the Night

by M. O'Keefe

  Eric looked down at his watch. “Why don’t you guys head to the cocktail party? See if you can find Dan. I’ll call my contact and meet you down there with more information.”

  Fern stood up, so I did, too.

  Eric stood up, too, because he was a gentleman, and he walked us to the door.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For listening. And believing…”

  He nodded like he understood. And really, quite frankly, before I knew what I was doing, I’d put my arms over his shoulder and I was…yes, I was hugging him. And somehow, he made it not awkward by saying, “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell your story.”

  I backed away and Eric opened the door. I stepped out into the hallway, but before Fern joined me, she leaned up and put her hand on Eric’s chest and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  The kind of kiss that said a whole bunch of things. Important things. I smiled and looked away.

  “Well, now,” Eric said with a very masculine smile. A smile that looked like a man getting some. “Will you look at that?”

  “See you soon,” Fern murmured, and then she was out in the hallway with me. I looked at her with my eyebrows raised and she blushed, hard.

  “He’s been really patient,” she said, running a hand over the belt at her waist.

  “Well, then I figure he should be rewarded.”

  Her lip twitched and it seemed somehow—for the moment, anyway—we’d stepped into a separate universe, a place where we’d become allies and maybe even friends.

  “Let’s go,” Fern said. “Before all the shrimp are gone.”

  “Shrimp!” I said. “You didn’t say anything about shrimp!”

  And we took off smiling down the hallway.

  The only thing missing was Jennifer.

  And Max.

  I stumbled, the weight of my grief and regret knocking me off balance.

  “Are you okay?” Fern asked.

  I was about to say no, but I couldn’t. I was all out of lies.

  “Hey,” Fern said, bringing me to a stop in the hallway. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “I know.”

  “Is Max meeting you there?” Fern asked.

  “No,” I said, past the hard awful lump in my throat. “He’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry, Olivia.”

  Finally, I shook my head, gathered myself, found a few more lies to keep me going.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Can you please just call me Joan?”

  She didn’t say anything more about it and that seemed enough like agreement to me.

  —

  Seriously. I wasn’t expecting him. I wasn’t holding out hope, or telling myself some kind of lie, thinking he wasn’t going to be here, but then silently sending up prayers that he wouldn’t listen to me and would be there anyway.

  I wanted him to be gone because it was what was best for him.

  But there he was.

  Talking to Nancy with a beer in his hand.

  He wore a pair of dark jeans and a white T-shirt that made the most of his tan now that his sunburn had faded. He’d trimmed his beard so he looked a little less lumberjack and more stylish thug. He had his jewelry on, too. I’d forgotten his big rings and the chains and leather he wore, like little bits of flash and glitter. The sunlight coming through the big plateglass windows caught the silver on his fingers and wrists. He looked like some kind of magpie king. A deadly assassin in some alternate universe.

  And it made my heart stop.

  “He didn’t leave,” Fern said over my shoulder.

  “I guess not.”

  It took some serious work on my part to chain down my heart. It was already light and unpredictable from telling Eric all my sins, but the sight of Max clean and bright made it crazy. It pounded in my throat like it was trying to climb out of my body. Like it had some message to send to him.

  “Hello, honey!” One of the women bearing gifts from the other day approached with a tray full of little punch glasses. “Would you like—?”

  I grabbed one, tiny and ridiculous in my fingers. Not enough booze to douse the fire in my belly. It would only make things worse.

  “Careful, it’s real strong. Cecilia’s—”

  I downed it and then gasped as it burned. The woman, kind and wrinkled, smiled at me. “Family recipe. It’s all bourbon and brandy, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s delicious,” I gasped.

  She moved on with her tray and suddenly Max was there in front of me.

  I’d thought he was hot before. At the club, surrounded by all that danger and all those walls, I’d been head over heels in lust with him. But here, in this sun-splashed lobby with his sunburn and his fragile smile, I was a mess from him. I was destroyed in secret and hidden places.

  “The punch is brutal,” he said and handed me a cold beer.

  I didn’t take it.

  That’s how dangerous this felt.

  “Joan,” he whispered, the beer still held out.

  “I don’t want you here.” There I said it. As true a thing as I had in my life. And also the most false. This truth was a knife I held in my hand so hard, I was cut and bleeding but there was no way to drop it or change it. It was simply a thing I had to get used to.

  He nodded. “I get that,” he said. “I’ll leave when I know you’re going to be okay.”

  “Oh, I’m going to be okay. I’m going to get a lawyer and cut the most ridiculous deal ever seen by a woman who set off bombs that hurt people. And you’re going to be pulled in on that. You get that right? Me going to the cops and getting clear of all the shit I did so I can save Jennifer, it means you’ll go down.”

  He simply watched me, his blue eyes steady, turning up the heat on me until all my molecules bounced and scattered.

  “You need to get away from me!” I yelled.

  Please, I almost said. Please, don’t let me hurt you. I can’t keep hurting people. It’s killing me. Tears were burning behind my eyes and I blinked hard to keep them from falling.

  “Let me tell you what I’m going to do,” he said, stepping a little closer until I felt the heat of his chest against the bare skin of my arm and neck. My breath came out in one long, slow sigh. “I’m not going to go anywhere. I’m not leaving you to do this shit on your own. And I do not want you to worry about me.”

  “I already worry about you,” I confessed. “And someone should. You deserve that.”

  His hand cupped my waist, burned through the fabric of my shirt to the skin beneath until I felt branded by him. Oh, I was in pieces.

  “You and me are so alike,” he said. “Everything is either-or. It’s one or the other. Us or them. Sacrificing ourselves for our family because that’s all we have to give up. But I’m not giving you up, Joan. Not yet. And you’re not alone. That’s my promise. You are not alone.”

  Never in my life had I had this much support. This much help. A web of people standing around me helping me avert disaster. The impulse to fight it was not small. It was huge, in fact. It was nearly a tidal wave. I could smash Max’s kindness with a few well-chosen words. I could kick Fern and Eric until they turned their faces away. I knew how to do it.

  But forcing myself not to was not as hard as I thought. I took one breath, and then another, and then when Max tugged I followed and I stepped right up to that warm chest, wide and strong. Its dark tattoos hidden under his shirt. His bright heart hidden under his tattoos.

  He put his arms around me, holding me—just…holding me and it was the best thing I’d felt in years.

  And it did not occur to me to ask what he was giving up for me.

  “And that kiss, babe,” he whispered. “A kiss like that, I want to see where that goes.”

  I laughed against his chest, because I did, too.

  Someone cleared their throat behind us, and I stepped back and turned to find Eric and Aunt Fern. Eric looked very pleased and I had to assume it wasn’t because Max and I were hugging it out in the middle of the cocktail party. />
  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I have good news. The FBI have been aware of Lagan for the past year, they’ve got an informant on the inside of the compound.”

  “They do? Who?” I asked, trying to think who was that brave. Gwen, maybe? Gwen was a tough cookie.

  “They’re not giving me that kind of information,” Eric said. “But they’re eager to talk to you. They’d like to meet with you in Charlotte on Monday morning. Eight a.m.”

  “Really?”

  “They’re taking this very seriously.”

  “It’s a good thing,” Fern said, to what must have been my stunned expression.

  “Then why Monday?” I asked. “Why can’t we go now? I’ll tell them what I know and they can—”

  “Because you need time to talk to a lawyer,” Max said, his arm still over my shoulder.

  Right. A lawyer. For the deal-cutting.

  Fern and Eric glanced at each other. “Yeah. I’ve made arrangements for you to meet with a guy I know in Tampa. He’s good. The best really—”

  “That sounds like there’s a but coming.”

  “But,” Eric smiled ruefully, “he’s expensive.”

  I felt myself bristle. Because I’d go into the deepest debt I could to save Jennifer, but it’s not like there were tons of people ready to loan me money.

  “And,” Fern jumped in, “I’m going to cover the costs for you.”

  “Aunt Fern,” I breathed. “It’s going to be so expensive.”

  “It will be,” she said. “But I’ve got the money.”

  My head fell forward. It was just too heavy to hold up.

  “He’s ready to meet with you tomorrow at ten thirty in his Tampa offices,” Eric said. “I’ve given him the gist of the situation, but you have a lot to talk about. Here’s his card.”

  Eric handed me a little white card of really nice paper.

  Darren Jackson, Attorney-at-law.

  There was an address and phone number.

  “Okay,” I said. “This…this—” It was so much and I was completely overwhelmed. Max’s arm over my shoulder felt very much like the only thing keeping me on my feet.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” I said. “All of you.”

  “Well,” said Fern. “You can take this seriously as your one chance to really help Jennifer and not sabotage it.”

  “Fern!” Eric chastised and Max all but hissed at her, pulling me closer to him.

  “No,” I said, jumping to Fern’s defense. “That’s fair. That’s…legit. I’m pretty good at sabotaging things when I put my mind to it.”

  “You…you can’t sabotage this,” Eric said. “I can’t guarantee there’s a second chance with this opportunity. Darren—”

  “I understand that,” I said. “And I won’t.”

  I made myself look straight into Aunt Fern’s eyes. “I promise,” I told her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t kind.”

  “I’ve done plenty to deserve it. Don’t sweat it.”

  I promised to call both of them when I got back from Tampa, to tell them what the lawyer had to say. Fern looked like she was going to hug me but I managed to telepathically fend her off.

  “You better lawyer up, too,” Eric said to Max.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Max said.

  “Your boys in the club. They’ve already been talking and you’ll get pulled in on this and it will mean serious time.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  Eric stared at him hard, one last, long minute, and then slapped his hands together twice like he was washing himself clear of responsibility.

  Eric and Fern left and Max and I stood there. I couldn’t speak for him but I felt hollowed out.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Max said.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’ll jinx it.”

  He rolled his eyes at me but I wasn’t joking. Good things were fragile in my life. Either I broke them on purpose or I broke them by accident. It didn’t matter. Good didn’t last. Not for me.

  I was scared of breathing too deeply in case I might wreck something.

  “Joan,” Max breathed. “Relax. I’m gonna get you a drink.”

  “Yes,” I said. “A drink is a great idea.”

  Max

  She was strung so tightly I was scared to touch her. One wrong word and she might spook. Fuck. How had this happened? How had she gotten so used to eating worms and dirt and garbage that when something good came along she was terrified?

  Well, I knew how that happened. I’d eaten my own share of dirt and called it dinner. After a while, it didn’t even taste bad. It tasted like what you deserved.

  Clock and BLJ had talked in prison. I couldn’t even muster up the surprise.

  I got Joan another glass of that punch and a beer to chase it down. Which I watched her do, like she was taking medicine.

  “You all right?” I asked.

  “Better,” she said.

  And then, because I never saw her eat, not really, I loaded up a plate at the buffet table. I’d noticed she liked cheese a lot, so I grabbed a bunch of the little cubes all cut up on a tray. I threw on salami and some crackers. Helen had made tamales and they were going fast, so I grabbed two of them. There were plenty of peel and eat shrimp but Joan didn’t seem like she had the patience for that. A whole bunch of dips and chips. Some vegetables. I remembered she’d complained about there not being enough vegetables during the steak night and I grabbed even more. A plate full of carrots and shit.

  My hands full, I headed back over to her just as she was finishing the last of her beer. She looked wild-eyed.

  Completely unpredictable.

  “What’s that?” she asked. Her voice had an edge like she was digging around for a fight.

  “Food. When’s the last time you ate?”

  “I’m not hungry.” She met my eyes square and I didn’t know if she meant to show me as much as she was showing me. But it was all right there. She wanted me to push so she could push back.

  “Cool,” I said. I put the plates down on a wicker end table and picked up one of the tamales. My mom used to make tamales; she had learned it from her mom. Who learned it from hers. On her good days, when I was growing up, she talked about how she was going to teach me to make them. She never did though.

  I wanted to tell Joan that story, break off that little piece of myself and hand it over. But I could tell by the way she was standing what she would do with that. I’d give her some other shit we could fight over, if that’s what she wanted. But not that.

  Some things you couldn’t unsay after a fight. And my guess was me and Joan had plenty of experience with that. I wouldn’t give her the ammunition to destroy this little thing we had.

  I took a big bite and the flavors were perfect. The masa melted on my tongue. “That’s good,” I said. “Really good. You don’t want that one?”

  “No,” she said and put her beer down on the wicker table. “I’m gonna get another drink, you want something?”

  There were tons of other people in this world who would not understand what she was doing. Who wouldn’t get it. But what I saw was a person who had no idea what to do with something that was bright and shiny and clean. Not when everything in her life was dirty. So, the only thing to do was to take the bright and shiny and clean thing and mess it up. Just a little. Just so she could hold it in her hand.

  She got another beer and I watched her circle the tables. Making tense small talk, leaving people in her wake looking at each other with worried expressions. When she got back to me I had a plan in place.

  “You ready to go?” I asked her, wiping my hands on a leftover Easter napkin. I dropped it, crumpled on the paper plate of vegetables.

  “Go where?”

  “Back to the condo.”

  I ran my eyes down her body, nice and slow. Insulting a little. Because it was something she would recognize.

  I to
ok the bottle from her hand and tipped a sip into my mouth. The glass rim was warm from her mouth but the beer was still cold. A combination so like her.

  “End it with a bang?” She smirked. “Really, Max?”

  I didn’t smile. I didn’t feel like smiling. I felt like throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her back to the condo so I could burn my hands on her body. I used to try and control a group of criminals with the power of my will. My intent, if I wanted it to, could be broadcast over a room.

  I let my intent, my will, fall over her and I watched as that smirk fell from her face. She glanced around as if she wondered if other people were feeling what she was feeling. If they could sense what was playing out in our little corner of this lobby.

  I didn’t give a shit. I would fuck her here if that was what she wanted.

  Her eyes met mine and it was over. No more games. No more pretend.

  “Let’s go,” I said. I turned and walked out of the lobby.

  Joan followed.

  Chapter 24

  Joan

  Every hair on my body was standing up. It was as if all the warning systems I’d accrued over the years were blaring their alarms and flashing the red lights. It was dangerous, following this guy back to our condo, for a whole truck full of reasons.

  And—I’m not kidding—that’s why I went.

  Our footsteps were loud in the hallway, against the painted cement floor. But our silence was even louder. It pounded. It pushed against my chest. I wanted to scream just to break it, just to find some relief.

  We’d been fucking each other for months without touching. And the last few days had this thing between us strung so tightly it was amazing we could move.

  He was going to wreck me. Break me.

  And I’d never needed anything more.

  He stopped at our door and unlocked it with the key Fern gave us. He pushed open the door and stood there, holding it for me. His face was still. Calm. Like he wasn’t feeling what I was feeling. Like his heart wasn’t pounding in his throat and his dick wasn’t hard at the thought of what we were going to do to each other.

  It made me want to punch him.

  Hurt him.