by Jamie Howard
Another frown. “This seems like a conversation you’d normally have with Felix.”
“Yes, the two of us sit around talking about our feelings all the time.”
“I knew it.” Her grin dimmed a bit as she shoved my shoulder. “Seriously though, why me?”
I sighed and mumbled, “You’re the only one who knows about what happened with her.”
Her eye roll was emphatic. “Maybe the lot of you should sit around and have a chat about your feelings. Between what I’ve heard about Ian’s drama, Felix’s hermit issues, this, and don’t even get me started on Ben, you guys could probably put a therapist’s four children through college.”
I wagged a finger at her, from her feet back up. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of these sassy pants.”
“Please, you’re always wearing a pair of your own.”
An easy smile swept across my face. This is what I loved about Jules, she was always up for a good bit of verbal sparring. “So, let’s say your ex suddenly reappeared in your life.”
“That wouldn’t be much of a shocker since Erik and I are still friends.”
“Hypothetically, let’s say your ex mysteriously vanished without a word. Maybe he just disappeared and left you a fucking note that was like, Peace out, sorry I didn’t stay to say goodbye, and disconnected his phone and essentially dropped off the face of the planet. And then out of nowhere he just reappears in your life.” I blindly reached for the shelves. “Do you keep going and pretend like it doesn’t feel like there’s a goddamn bomb strapped to your chest every time he looks at you or do you avoid the place like it’s ground zero for the zombie apocalypse?”
We all, Elvis included, glanced at the back of the cart which was now overflowing with cat toys. His concerned stare rivaled Jules’s. Carefully, she picked them up and reshelved them. Even the one I was somehow still holding on to.
“You shouldn’t beat yourself up for still loving her.”
“I didn’t—” I shook my head and held up a hand. “No, I don’t. I definitely do not love her.”
She continued like I hadn’t even spoken. “It’s probably not all that different for her.”
“No.” My voice hardened as I bit out the word. “That’s where you’re really wrong. It was never the same for her. Ever.” A laugh popped out, sadder than I wanted it to be. “She never loved me.”
“How can you—”
“Because she never said it. Not when I said it to her. Not when she left. Never.” That time my laugh was nothing but bitterness. “I was such a stupid, naïve kid. You’d think I would have gotten the message, but no. I thought we were fucking soulmates. Soulmates. Like such a thing even exists.”
For a second she didn’t do anything but look at me, gaze roaming my face like she was looking for something specific. With a breath, she turned back to the other side of the aisle. “Did you pick out a collar yet?”
My mind tried to gain traction at the swift change of topic. “Uh . . . no, not yet.”
“I like this one.” She held up a thin leather one, then tossed it in the cart. “I think what you really need to ask yourself is, what is it that you want from her?”
I was getting whiplash from this conversation. Christ. I opened my mouth and closed it again, unsure what my answer really was.
“Do you want answers from her? Closure? Something more than that?”
What did I want? Did I really want to know why she walked away without a word all those years ago? Would the answer help me finally close that door on that part of my life or would it blow it wide open? It was hard to not want the more Jules was hinting at. Things between us had always been explosive, hotter than the finale of a Fourth of July fireworks show. But I didn’t need to see a therapist to know how epically bad of an idea that’d be.
Jules nudged me with her shoulder. “Until you figure that out, I think all you can do is what feels right. Go with your gut.”
I smirked at her. “Not follow my heart?”
She smirked right back at me. “Hearts are rarely reliable.”
Chapter 6: Dani
A tiny bell jangled as I pushed open the door to Lucky Leon’s, and I ducked my head as I was swamped by a quick burst of forced hot air. Tucking my purse higher on my shoulder, I swept my long bangs back with my hand and quickly cataloged the little hole-in-the-wall café—two booths along the front window, five stools at the counter, three round tables scattered throughout. There was no visible back exit, just a swinging door that led to the kitchen. No security cameras in sight. At 11 a.m. there were only four customers, an older man—African-American, forties, close-cropped black hair—and two women—Caucasian, middle-aged, both blond and nursing hangovers.
The last was the man I was meeting, and I already knew his features by heart.
“Hi, Dad.” My jeans caught a bit on the cracked upholstery of the faded blue booth. “Is everything alright?” I tried to shrug off my discomfort of sitting with my back to the door, reminding myself there was no one I trusted more to watch out for me than my father.
“Fine. Just fine.” He lifted his coffee mug with two fingers around the rim and took a sip. His gaze shifted around the room, never settling, never quite meeting mine. With a satisfied grunt, he pushed a paper bag across the table toward me. “I wanted to get this to you. A replacement after our abrupt departure from Chicago.”
My fingers tightened around the crinkly paper, the heavy metallic feel of the hidden object a familiar comfort. Within seconds I had the bag tucked inside my purse. Art supplies weren’t the only things I lost after the Chicago fiasco.
“Are you sure New York is the best idea?” My gaze traveled out the window, coasted over parked cars for anything that looked remotely suspicious. “It seems . . . dangerous coming back here.” In all truth, it was impossible for me to tell what part of my past catching up with me was causing the hair on the back of my neck to constantly stand up.
He relaxed his broad shoulders back into the cushion behind him. “When someone misplaces their glasses, you know the place they always forget to check?”
“Right on top of their head.”
“Right on top of their head,” he repeated with a nod. The clouds shifted and a burst of sunlight washed across his face, casting deep shadows in the wrinkles stress had carved across it.
“Hi there.” The waitress who’d been hovering behind the counter sauntered up to our table, two plastic-coated menus tucked under her arm. “Can I get you something?”
My gaze dropped to her nametag—Edith—and then back up to take in her general appearance—pert nose, cleft chin, a short, disinterested ponytail. “Just coffee please, black.”
“Anything to eat?” Her lips tightened, the reality of her dwindling tip erasing her smile.
“No.” Dad’s gaze flicked up to hers. “Thank you.” He tracked her retreat to the coffee pot and return back to our table, keeping his silence until she’d filled my mug and left. He cleared his throat. “You run into any trouble?”
I hesitated. Gavin counted as more than trouble. He wasn’t just a danger to my heart; the last time I’d gotten wrapped up in him we’d barely made it out in time. And I had the scars to prove it. One word about his reappearance in my life and New York would be nothing but a tiny speck in our rearview mirror. Part of me was anxious for it, but the other part wasn’t ready to lose him again.
So for the first time in more years than I could count on my fingers, I lied to my father. “No problems on my end. You?”
He shook his head. “All clear.”
I leaned a little closer, lowering my voice. “You’re okay on money?”
“Don’t you worry about your old man.” His hand closed over mine, the rough scraping of his callouses almost as comforting as the worn leather smell of his jacket. I never felt safer than when we were together, but being apart meant we were harder to track, harder to corner or pin down.
One corner of my mouth tugged up. “I always worry about you.”
“And I you, Doodle.” He sat back with a sigh, cast another sweeping glance around the quiet room, and fished through his inside jacket pocket. The small rectangle clicked as he sat it on the table, pushing it toward me with one finger.
I scooped up my new license and gave it a once over. Dani Winters. It was the alias I’d already given to Bonnie when they’d hired me at The Blackbird. Luckily, I’d manage to fend off all the official paperwork for a few days, claiming I’d lost my license. The birthdate was close enough to mine, only a few months off. I stared down at my picture as it stared back at me. It’d been a while since I’d been a redhead, though my current color was a few shades darker and a bit more burgundy than my natural color. I tweaked the end of my ponytail and tossed it behind my shoulder. Red was another risk—it seemed everything I did here was—but on the off chance I ran into Gavin, I wanted to him to remember me. And not just remember me, I wanted him to see the girl I used to be. The girl I’d lost somewhere along the way.
I flipped open my wallet and stuck the ID inside, my fingers taking a detour to pull out a few crumpled bills and toss them on the table. “My treat.”
His lips pursed together as if he might argue with me, but in the end he just shook his head. “Keep your head low. And if anything feels the least bit off, if you sense anything wrong, you send the message. You remember it?”
“Of course I do.” I rolled my eyes. When we’d first split up, years ago, the constant reminders were understandable. Now it was mildly ridiculous. The code had never changed.
The bottom of his mug obscured most of his face as he finished off his coffee. It clanked against the saucer as he set it back down. “Tell me.”
“You want to see a movie tonight?” There wasn’t any trick to it; it was only a simple phrase that acted like an alarm for either of us. Not like our normal communications, like the text he’d sent me to meet him today. For that we used a skip cipher, alternating the number that signified which letters to single out every time we switched cities. For New York, it was five. So the nonsensical message about the weather he’d sent me really said: Tomorrow. 2nd spot.
We had predetermined meeting locations for check-ins, burner phones, set rendezvous spots if shit hit the fan, backup places in case any of our original ones got burned. Every plan had a contingency, and a contingency for that contingency. There was a reason we were both still running instead of six feet underground.
“Good girl.” The booth groaned as he slid out and pushed to his feet. He paused as he straightened his jacket. “Two weeks, the fourth spot. Don’t forget to check for tails.”
My answer was cut off by the café door flying open with a bang, letting in a sulking teenager trailed closely by her father. The man ran a hand through his hair, the disheveled strands now matching his haphazardly buttoned shirt as he followed his daughter to the counter. “It’s not the end of the world, Gabby. There will be other dances.”
The girl snatched up a menu, burying her face in it. “You don’t understand.”
A heavy sigh. “Honey, I’m sorry but—”
“Whatever, Dad.”
The man glanced wearily over his shoulder, stopping on me and Dad. He offered a commiserating smile before turning back to his menu.
Dad cleared his throat and gestured to my purse with his chin like the interruption never even happened. “Keep that on you at all times.”
Involuntarily, I tucked my purse closer against my thigh. For the briefest second I let myself wonder what it might have been like if my life hadn’t gotten so fucked up. If my normal had been arguing about school dances instead of casual reminders to never leave home without my gun.
I banished the thought to the recesses of my mind. “Always.” My hand snaked over to his and gave it a quick squeeze. “Two weeks.”
“Be safe, Doodle.”
Chapter 7: Gavin
Go with my gut. I laughed to myself, letting the sidewalk traffic stream around me as I stood outside The Blackbird. The better advice might have actually been for me to follow my heart. That damn thing rarely chimed in anymore. Since Dani it’d taken an indefinite sabbatical. But my gut, well, that had led me right back here—to the best nachos in the city and a small welcome home get-together for Rachel.
As predicted, she turned down the California job. The only one of us who was even remotely surprised by that decision was Ben. And that reaction was equally expected.
I shouldered my way through the door, doffing my hat as I went and shoving it brim-first into my back pocket. I pretended to glance around the room and look for my friends, but really I was scoping out the situation at the bar. It took me about two-point-five seconds to catch sight of Dani’s red hair and another three to force my attention elsewhere.
There was only one open seat at our table, but I circled away from it to hand out hellos—fist bumps for Ian and Felix, a kiss on the cheek for Bianca, a ponytail-flick for Jules, head nod for Ben, and a huge squeeze for Rachel.
I pushed her back from me. “Tell me you went surfing.”
She laughed and tucked a strand of coffee-colored hair behind her ear. “I can’t ride a bicycle, but you think I can stand up on a surf board?”
I rolled my eyes and slipped into the chair across from her. “At least tell me you did something fun.”
“Umm . . .” Her fingers skimmed her throat. “I spent some time on the beach.”
My “Without your laptop?” collided with Jules’s “Meet anyone . . . interesting?”
We grinned at each other. Consider us professional button-pushers.
Rachel’s cheeks reddened. “That’s the wonderful thing about my work, I can do it anywhere.” She shrugged and purposefully looked towards Jules, which was the opposite end of the table from where Ben was not-so-casually lounging. “My boss was pretty interesting. Her sister is a pretty big-name sculptor. She took me out to one of her exhibitions.”
“Not quite what I meant.” Jules took a sip of her beer and leaned her elbows onto the table so she could lean forward. She might’ve been the newest to join our little group, but she’d actively taken up the role of matchmaker in regards to Rachel. “No flaxen-haired, hot-bodied lifeguards? Brooding artists with hipster glasses and chin dimples? Nothing?”
Bianca finally tore her gaze away from her cell phone and tuned into the conversation.
Ben looked like he was trying not to bite through his tongue.
Felix looked at me and mouthed, Flaxen-haired? then flinched as Jules casually elbowed him in the side.
Ian was clearly torn—eyebrows furrowed, lips pinched together. Poor guy was always stuck right in the middle of his best friend and brother.
“I didn’t . . . there just wasn’t . . . I was very busy.” Rachel drained her wine, sucking down nearly half a glass.
Bianca pursed her lips. “Juliet, don’t you have some connections over on the West Coast?”
Jules’s eyes freaking gleamed. “That is a brilliant idea. Nice call, B.” She sized Rachel up through narrowed eyes. “My ex, Erik, I definitely need to introduce you to him.”
Cheeks flaming, Rachel folded her arms over her stomach. But before she could even mutter whatever was about to come out of her mouth, Ben sat forward and said, “Are you sure Rach is his type?” One eyebrow arched up.
The temperature at The Blackbird might have been a balmy seventy degrees, but at our table the atmosphere hit sub-zero. Icicles formed a pathway between Rachel’s seat and Ben’s. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she bit out.
Oh. Shit.
Ben squirmed underneath the weight of everyone’s stares. “That’s not—” His hand coasted over his hair. “I only meant that, maybe, I don’t know, he really likes blondes.”
“Or boobs,” Ian chimed in, forcing the fakest smile I’ve ever seen in my life. Ian referring to Rachel in even the smallest sexual sense, a girl who was practically his sister, was a clear sign the apocalypse was nearly upon us. “You know because Jules has small ones and you—”
He waved a hand in the general direction of her chest and cringed. “You have some great, uh, big boobs.”
Felix scowled at him, his message clear: Seriously, man? What the fuck.
“Guys, seriously?” I leaned back in my chair. “We are in the company of three beautiful and highly intelligent women. If this Erik guy has any sense of taste, which he has to have since he dated Jules, he’ll love our Rachel. Who wouldn’t?” I lifted my glass towards her.
For a few beats there was only the pulse of a popular pop number between us. But the sound of it was inadequate enough to drown out the stir of emotions swirling at the table. Rachel’s eyes misted before she cast them down, fingers plucking at her blouse. “Excuse me a minute, I just need to get a refill.” Her chair scraped back, hair floating down to cover her face.
I leveled Ben with a stare. “Dude, go fix that.”
His lips clamped together, but he only hesitated a second before going after her.
I blew out a breath. “So, who’s hungry?” I gestured to the empty table, nothing but a few half-full glasses between us. “Seriously, who didn’t order nachos? I’m famished.”
“When aren’t you?” Felix grumbled.
Jules stirred whatever pink concoction she was drinking, making the half-melted ice cubs clink together. “Speaking of, how is your gut feeling?”
I tried not to, but couldn’t help sending a quick glance toward the bar. Blue eyes locked onto mine, caught staring. For a heartbeat, something stretched between us, anchoring itself to my chest so that it felt like my ribcage was being crushed. With effort, I wrestled my attention back where it was supposed to be. “My gut is fine. Empty. Needing nachos.”
Ian cocked his head at me. “You sick?”
Bianca’s eyes widened. “Is it the flu? Are you contagious?” She discretely scooted back and lifted her hand to cover her face. “Sorry, it’s just that I have a huge case I’m working on and I cannot afford to be sick.”
